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number two of being a grown-up.”
    She turns to face me, one hand braced on the fridge and the other propped on her curvy hip. “Oh yeah? And what’s rule number one?”
    “Don’t shit where you eat,” I quip without thinking, only to realize it’s the perfect advice.
    Penny is invaluable to my business. I can’t afford to shit where I eat. If I screw up our working friendship because I can’t stop thinking about how much I’d like to have the weight of her breasts heavy in my hands, I’ll never forgive myself. I’m a thirty-two-year-old man, for God’s sake. I should have more control over my thoughts, not to mention my dick.
    But the Incredible Bulk has been semihard since the moment Penny opened the door and shows no sign of softening in the near future.
    Which means anything that might impede my self-control is a bad idea.
    “I’ll take a lemonade, thanks.” I move to face her across the island. “And then let’s start with wardrobe. If we get in a crunch for time, we can always sort out the love story on the way to the Hamptons, but I’m not familiar with the shopping out there and it doesn’t sound like there will be much time to go searching for battle armor with all the events your mother has planned.”
    “Battle armor.” Her full mouth curves into a half smile as she fetches the lemonade from the fridge and two glasses from the tiny cabinets above the sink. “You really think clothes matter that much?”
    “I know that clothes matter that much,” I say without hesitation. “You know what they say, looking good is the best revenge.”
    Penny wrinkles her nose. “I thought the quote was living well is the best revenge.”
    I accept the glass of lemonade she pushes across the counter. “You’ll live well after the revenge is over. For now, we’ll concentrate on making your mother green with envy and Phillip want to kick himself repeatedly in his own ass for letting you go. From the moment you step out of my car Wednesday, to the moment we drive off into the sunset on Saturday, we want all eyes on you, the lovely duckling who has turned into an even more stunning swan.”
    “You remember that my mom is a famous movie star and former model, right?” Penny asks, a dubious expression on her face. “She might be forty-two, but she sure as heck doesn’t look it.”
    “She doesn’t look twenty-five, either.”
    “I don’t know.” Penny takes a considering drink of her lemonade. “She could easily pass for early thirties. She exercises four hours a day, eats superfoods for every meal, and can afford all the lotions and creams.”
    “Lotions and creams?”
    Penny nods seriously. “Some might tell you that plastic surgery is the path to eternal youth, but truly rich people know it’s all about exclusive lotions and creams. The more snail goo, ground up beetle shells, and whale semen in them, the better.”
    I barely avoid spitting lemonade all over the counter.
    “Bull semen, too,” Penny adds, with a grin. “Semen is kind of a big deal. Or so I hear.”
    Fixing her with a mock glare, I swipe my sleeve across my mouth and point toward a door on the other side of the room, which I assume leads to her bedroom. “Quit stalling and go put on something pretty.”
    She lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. “Fine. But I’m warning you, this fashion show is going to be brief. I pulled anything even remotely appropriate out of my closet, and everything that still fits after my close encounters with several pints of ice cream this spring is out of style, boring, or has grass stains on it.”
    “Why grass stains?” I ask as she flounces around the island, looking so much like a kid being sent to her room I can’t help but smile.
    “I used to like reading books stretched out on the great lawn at grad school. Back when I left the house more than once or twice a week.”
    Before I can think of how to respond, she disappears into her bedroom. As the door shuts behind her, I scan the apartment.