Gritting her teeth, Zoe trailed her colleagues—all men—into the bar for happy-hour drinks. Their laughter filled the place, and jealousy zinged through her. What they'd achieved so effortlessly, she'd never mastered. Oh, she had the Midas touch when it came to investments, but the easy camaraderie, the feeling like she played on their team . . . for her that was nearly impossible to obtain.

"What'll you have?" the bartender asked as she shrugged off her black wool coat.

"Club soda with lime, please," she answered, hoping only the bartender heard. She wanted to look like one of the guys, and the guys drank.

Moments later, a martini appeared. A red explosion swirled in the olive's place.

"What's this?" she asked the bartender.

"An atomic fireball."

"Like the jawbreaker?"

"That's what's at the bottom."

Her mouth watered. "But I didn't order it."

"It's from one of the guys," he answered, nodding at the men from her firm.

"Really? Which one?"

"The leader of the pack over there."

"Oh," she said, looking where the bartender pointed. Phillip Kingdom, dark hair shining, smiled at her. Zoe tried not to appreciate the strong line of his jaw, but ignoring his dimpled grin was harder. She raised the glass to him in a stoic thanks.

"He said the drink's a lot like you," the bartender added, walking away.

That sounded like something Phillip would say.

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