She didn't recognize the voice, but unless the bank had started sending enforcers after her, she had a client, and she'd better look at least semi-professional.
She swung her apartment door open--and her mouth followed suit. Not a client. She'd never be lucky enough to get one who was six feet of gorgeous, hard-muscled, black-haired masculinity.
I'm sitting at 11,400 words right now and plan to make at least 900 more before quitting for the night.
