The furniture district is my personal hell. I don't know my ass from an ottoman. But when a hot designer comes to my rescue, I realize my problems are bigger than the house I'm trying to furnish.
A scorching kiss over fabric samples makes me question all my choices. But is it too late to change my entire life to get more of them?
CARTER
I need this gig, but my cocky new client leaves out a couple crucial details:
He doesn't mention that he's a famous hockey player. And he doesn't own up to the way he's always trying to undress me with his dark, broody eyes.
The man throws out more mixed signals than a broken traffic light. I've never been more sexually frustrated in my entire life. I need to back away before I do something stupid, like lose my heart.
