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I should’ve known that’s the conclusion she’d jump to. My mom is such a hopeless romantic. She thinks any interaction has the potential to be a love story in the making.

Dad

Yes. I double-checked his name and number.

Roman

Chill, Mom, it’s not a date. She’s just my new assistant.

I just figured this could be a great way for her to meet some of the people she’ll be working with on the festival.

That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. Kira needs to meet the people she’ll be working with, and what better way than something low-stakes like a dinner theater? It’ll be the perfect amount of social interaction for her to get a feel of the people in town without getting overwhelmed and bombarded in a town meeting with everyone arguing and talking over each other.

Mom

I didn’t even know you hired a new assistant.

Is she single?

Nothing like Mary Kingsley to get straight to the point, asking the hard-hitting questions. I guess I know where Leo gets it now.

Roman

No, Mom. She’s married. Not that it’s relevant to her attendance.

Guy

Technically…but she’s also living with him. So, I’d say it’s more than a little complicated

Mom

WHAT!? Why am I only just hearing about this!?

Roman

I’m going to remember that, Guy.

See you tonight

I click my phone off and shake my head. Well, that’s done.

Now, I’ve just got to break the news to Kira…

Thirty minutes later, after I’ve done a quick muscle pump, I emerge from the house in my most revealing swim trunks. Not only do they show off my muscular thighs, but they also make my ass look great. Kira Blakely isn’t the only one who can show a little skin.

Kira’s perched on her elbows reading—dark hair piled on top of her head, tan skin gleaming with sunscreen. Not a bikini strap in sight—wedding ring either.

I add another tally to my ever-growing list of evidence.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask as I spread my towel over the lounge chair beside her, not waiting for her response before I take my seat.

She tucks the book away, but not before I get a glimpse of the title: Pussy Power. 13 Rules for Embracing Your Feminine Rage.

I quirk a brow, my questions rushing back to the front of my mind. “What’re you reading?”

Her cheeks flush pink. “Oh, nothing. Just research for one of my upcoming roles.” She waves a hand like it’s no big deal. “Was there something you needed or⁠—?”

“It’s a beautiful day. Thought I’d soak up a little sunshine,” I respond in my usual easy way.