The sharp trill of my phone was a lifeline—a loud, obnoxious escape from the trap I’d willingly walked into. I glanced from Aiden—all shirtless glory and smirking confidence—to the phone screen. Damon Bass. Of course. My timing for chaotic events was impeccable.
Relief coursed through me as I clicked the phone open, stepping back to put some much-needed space between us. “Cheryl Taylor,” Damon’s husky voice filled my ear, smooth and commanding as ever. “Why haven’t you sent me your address yet?”
I hesitated, glancing at Aiden, who was now leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed, his curiosity unmistakable. Clearing my throat, I tried to mask the surprise from my voice. “I didn’t think I was supposed to send it immediately. The date’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”
Damon huffed, a sound
