Adam had dedicated too many of his personal hours transforming Seth from a death-defying frat boy into the beginnings of an incredible firefighter. He couldn’t lose him to a crate of tampons. Plus, Adam had been that same fearless troublemaker at one time too, getting distracted by a flash of cleavage and making shit decisions that nearly cost him his entire career—and worse. If it hadn’t been for his former captain seeing the potential in Adam and giving him a second chance, he wouldn’t be a fireman, living his dream.
“Here’s how this is going to play out,” Adam said. “I’ll call Roman, tell him I was driving the truck and—”
“No way,” Seth said. “I can’t let you take the fall.”
“As opposed to you getting passed on for the job?” When the kid still looked ready to argue, Adam added, “And McGuire getting written up for giving you the keys to go on a banana run? Not to mention, whoever else knew what was going on and didn’t step in?”
Seth thought about that long and hard, until Adam could see the frown split his brow. And okay, the situation wasn’t quite as dire as Adam was making it out for the other guys, but Seth didn’t need to know that. Once word got out of exactly why Seth had hit the tampon crate, Chief Lowen would rain down on him like Hurricane Katrina.
“So we go with my plan,” Adam said when he heard a car idling out front.
“I don’t like it,” Seth finally said, “but I’ll go with it.”
Adam didn’t like it either. In fact, the second he saw the polished red truck pull into the drive, he was rethinking the plan. The plan sucked. And he needed a new one. A-SAP. One that didn’t involve him, on his day off, dealing with this BS.
Because this hurricane had just turned into a Category 5. It wasn’t Roman behind the wheel of the department vehicle, but Battalion Chief Lowen. A notorious hard-ass who’d spent too many years behind a desk to remember what it was like to be in the field. He upheld the letter of the law, rather than the person’s intent, and based all decisions on potential media coverage.
Adam was so screwed. There was no way even a guy like Lowen could positively spin a fender bender involving a new engine, a tampon crate, and a banana run. Not with the implications about wasting taxpayer dollars on engine repairs when they were already suffering from budget cuts.
To make matters worse, Lowen also had an extreme dislike for Adam.
Partly because Adam lived to walk the line, but mostly because when Adam had been an FNG he’d taken the chief’s goddaughter on the grand tour of the station—ending with a ride around town in the engine—where she’d rung his bell.
“Baudouin. Why am I not surprised?” Lowen barked, negotiating his spare tire around the steering wheel to get out of the truck and inspect the dent. Then he inspected Adam, who was about to take the blame for a collision he hadn’t caused—while wearing nothing but flip-flops, shorts, and a PLAY HARD tee.
“Chief,” Adam said, smiling. “How’s the family?”
“Still off-limits.”
Mondays had always been Harper’s favorite. There was something about the start of a fresh week, the unlimited possibilities the next seven days held, and the sounds and smells associated with Main Street coming alive. Monday had a rhythm, an ebb and flow of the unexpected and the familiar that brought her comfort.
Residual effects of the unconventional childhood she’d shared with an unconventional mother.
Today was the perfect Monday. The sun was out, the sky was clear, and the zinnias and morning glories filling the wine-barrel planters that lined downtown were in full bloom, painting Main Street with all the colors of summer. Even better, Harper had channeled her inner sexy to try to help her grandmother.
Maybe channeled was too strong a word, but she’d definitely acquired enough intel to fake it.
Harper pulled the “Fast Track to Seduction” article she’d discovered online out of her purse and looked at the first rule. According to the twelve-step article, sexy was a state of mind. So, contrary to popular belief, there was nothing wrong with faking it.
Harper gave herself a stern nod, then put the article back. If she wanted to save her grandma’s shop, then she needed to stop thinking like Suzie Sunshine and fake herself right into the role of a bedroom bombshell. At least until she got through this meeting with Lulu Allure.
And maybe got herself some adult cookies to go with a tall glass of yummy man.
Which was why, instead of wearing one of her go-to farm dresses with floral-patterned tights and Mary Janes, Harper had come to the shop early to dress for sex-cess.
Embracing rules number five, less is always more, and seven, the profound power of red, she’d purchased a body-hugging scarlet number that was sleek, sophisticated, and posed more questions than answers. Then, since sexy was in the accessories, or so she’d heard, she’d slipped on the naughtiest pair of panties in the shop, mile-high heels, and applied just enough makeup to appear flushed.
With one last look in the mirror, she fluffed her hair and hoped it looked more like bed-rumpled waves than corkscrew curls, then strutted out of the dressing room and into the shop. Where she nearly tripped over her feet.