Free In the Mood for Love by Beth Ciotta

had a major case of blue balls.
    She turned and caught his gaze.
    He knew, without a doubt, if he chucked her phone under the sofa and hauled her into his arms, she’d be hot and ready for a go against the wall. Tempting. But also distracting.
    Sam glanced at his watch and mouthed, “One-oh-five.”
    “I’m sorry you feel that way, Sapphire,” she said calmly to the woman while glaring at Sam. “Maybe we could revisit … I’m sure I can spin that…”
    Ah, yes. Harper doing what she did best. Smoothing ruffled feathers. Fixing someone’s problems. Taking control. No trace of the panicked woman who’d lost it the night before. Harper in full Harper mode. He knew her well enough to know this could go on forever. But he also sensed a new element of desperation that rubbed him the wrong way. Why was Harper, a woman who bent over backward for clients, essentially begging mean-spirited, foulmouthed Sapphire to give her a second chance?
    Sam turned on his heel. If Harper wouldn’t end the verbal abuse, he would.
    “Wait,” Harper said. “Hold on … Sam!”
    He looked over his shoulder, saw her holding the phone to her chest.
    “Where are you going?”
    “We had a date.”
    “I know. I’m coming. Just—”
    He opened the door then walked out.
    “Dammit,” she blurted. Then … “I’ll get back to you, Sapphire.”
    Sam didn’t know how Sapphire felt about being cut off. He didn’t care. One thing he’d learned during the time he’d spent in Harper’s company was that most of her clients were has-beens, one-time-wonders, or reality stars. Most of them were self-absorbed and reckless. All of them were needy. He’d never understood why Harper wasted her time putting their train-wreck lives back on track. Maybe he’d ask her today. Burning question number ninety-five.
    That’s if this date ever got off the ground.
    Just as he reached the truck, he heard the front door slam. He turned and saw Harper eating up the stone path in her shiny yellow heels. She was wearing a short, flowery dress and a snug yellow sweater. Her long dark hair bounced around her perfectly made-up face. She was gorgeous. And angry.
    “What the hell, McCloud? You’d break our date just because I’m running late?”
    “I suggested noon. You said one would be better. It’s one-ten.”
    “What are you, the Time Nazi?”
    Sam opened the passenger door and helped her up into the truck. His gaze lingered on her long legs as she set aside her massive pocketbook and buckled in. “Why did you let her talk to you like that?”
    “Like what?”
    “She was screaming at you, Harper. Berating you. I’d have to be deaf not to overhear.”
    “Sapphire’s high-strung to begin with and I let her down.” She frowned. “I’ve let a lot of people down lately.”
    “Doesn’t sound like you.”
    “Haven’t been myself for the last month.”
    “Why’s that?”
    She broke his gaze, stared at the dashboard. He’d never known her to be at a loss for words, but she was struggling now. She clasped the silver bracelet around her wrist. Twirled it once, twice. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”
    “Try me.”
    Sam stood rooted, his body positioned between the open door and Harper’s wired body. He was keen to her every twitch. Saw the moment anxiety reared. Now she was staring out the window, mind spinning. Along with that bracelet. Twirl . Twirl. “You look pretty,” he said.
    An unexpected compliment that snatched her out of her daze. Exactly what he wanted.
    “I like your dress,” he added when she looked at him quizzically. Which sounded lame and awkward, even though he meant it.
    She arched a brow and smirked. “No offense, Rambo. But no wonder your recent string of dates bombed. You suck at casual flirtation.”
    He skated over the teasing insult. Besides, it was true. “Who told you about my recent dates?”
    “Daisy. She keeps me apprised of all Cupcake Lover issues.”
    “My social life has no bearing on the Cupcake