cleaned equipment to one side of the plastic-covered floor and looked around for a razor knife.
Blade extended, she knelt down and cut a wide swath of plastic around the paint puddle. She set aside the knife and carefully pulled together the four corners of the plastic. She spotted the nearby roll of duct tape and used it to secure the top. With the paint contained in the makeshift plastic bag, Whitney carried the whole mess to the garbage can on the other side of the room and dropped it in the bin.
She found the roll of plastic in the dining room and dragged it out to the living room to cut a new piece for the living room floor. She made sure to cut it much bigger than necessary so the overlap would offer extra protection. She used masking tape to secure the new piece in place and tested its hold with her toes.
The big roll of plastic went back into the dining room, and Whitney squeezed back into the kitchen for plates, cups, and iced tea. She ducked into the dining room and dug around in the side table until she found the happy yellow tablecloth she loved so much. She placed it in the center of the living room. Just because they had to eat on the floor didn’t mean they couldn’t do it in style.
“Whit?” Eddie called out her name as he came down the hall. “You home?”
A tremor of nervousness shook her core. Visions of Eddie and Mick in a sweaty embrace, their hard bodies rocking and bucking, filled her mind. She quickly cleared away the naughty image and tried to focus.
“Yep.” She surveyed her little floor table-scape. “Hey, would you grab those floor pillows from the office closet?”
“Sure.” He returned a few minutes later with the pillows in his big, muscled arms. Whitney tried not to stare at his naked torso or the towel tucked around his trim waist. His relaxed features went rigid as he frowned. “You cleaned up our mess.”
She took the pillows from him. “I’m hungry. I didn’t want to wait.”
“Yeah, but-”
“No buts,” she said, shaking her head. “Go get dressed before the food gets cold and gross.”
Eddie glanced toward the takeout bags. “Szechuan Palace?”
“Of course! Now shoo!” She snuck a glance at Eddie’s bare back and taut backside as he padded out of the living room and disappeared down the hall. She made quick work of setting out the containers of soup, noodles, and entrees. She placed the pitcher of iced tea Eddie made every morning in the center and ran back into the kitchen for utensils. Eddie’s chopstick skills were less than stellar, and he preferred a fork.
“Is that string-bean chicken I smell?” Mick rubbed his hands together as he strode into the living room.
“Yes, but you can’t have any because you didn’t clean up your mess.” She shot him a teasing smile. “You get to sit there and watch me eat all this yummy food.”
Mick pouted as he plopped down on a pillow. “Not fair.”
“Neither was me cleaning up a gallon of paint that I didn’t spill.”
He made an apologetic face. “Sorry about that. Eddie fell and knocked over the paint. We were both covered in the stuff, so we hit the shower.”
Whitney’s eyebrows arched as she questioned their reasoning. “So you would be squeaky clean when you wiped up the mess?”
“Errr…” Mick looked sheepish. “Yeah. That’s a good point.”
“Clearly planning isn’t one of his strong suits,” Eddie said as he came into the room and gestured at the mess.
“Kind of scary for a doctor,” Whitney said, needling her good friend.
Mick played up the puppy-dog eyes. “You’re mean.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t work on me. I’m immune after all this time living with you.”
“Thank god.” Eddie took the pillow closest to her and reached for the pitcher of iced tea. He filled her glass first then Mick’s and his. Rather shockingly, he leaned over and pecked her cheek. “Thank you for grabbing dinner and picking up the mess.”
“You’re welcome.” Whitney’s skin tingled from the warmth of his unexpected kiss.
“Hey! Don’t leave me out.” To her utter surprise, Mick leaned across the makeshift table and kissed her other cheek. “Thank you, Whit.”
“Anytime.” Whitney’s face blazed. Sure, as roommates, the three of them had constant contact, but never kisses, not even gentle, chaste ones like the two she’d just received. Something had changed. Had it been inspired by her transformation in attitude? She had been bold as brass and felt up Eddie while she grabbed his keys.
“So,” Mick said as he dished out food onto his plate, “how was Paris? How was Miami?”
“Miami was fabulous!” Whitney poked a pair of chopsticks into the nearest container of fried rice and pushed a serving onto her plate. “It was so nice to see the girls and lounge around the pool with a mojito and a good book. There are some amazing clubs down there. And the food!” She closed her eyes in exaggerated remembrance. “Delicious!”
“Clubs, huh?” Eddie’s tone caught her attention. She sensed a little jealousy. “You were careful, right?”
“I watched my drink like a hawk. I declined the shots offered to me from random dudes. I came in a group and left in a group. I kept my pepper spray and the rape whistle you gave me in my purse. We took a cab between the hotel and club instead of walking because it was late at night.” She squared her shoulders and held his gaze. “Does Sergeant Dillon approve?”
Eddie flashed a devastatingly sexy grin. “He does. Well done.”
She preened. “Thank you.”
“So did you meet anyone?” Mick focused on his egg-drop soup, but Whit could tell he was anything but disinterested.
“I met lots of great people, but if you’re asking whether or not I met a man”-she paused to gauge Mick’s response-“the answer is no. I wasn’t actually on the lookout for a hookup. I was a bit more career-minded on this one.”
Mick’s brow furrowed. “Are you thinking of switching jobs?”
“Sort of,” Whitney said, twirling noodles around her chopsticks. “I feel like I’ve gone as far as I possibly can at the style house. I want something different. I’ve worked my ass off since high school. I interned at fashion magazines and with some of the best designers around. I’ve done public relations and marketing. I’m not getting to use any of those skills right now. I’m just styling clothes for shoots and shows.”
“But you love styling,” Mick pointed out in between sips of soup.
“I do,” she agreed, “but I want to do something more.”
“Do you have a plan?” Eddie seemed concerned. “The job market is rough, Whit. I’d hate to see you leave a fairly well-paying and stable job for something that may not pan out immediately.”
“I do have a plan.” Her stomach fluttered with anxiety. She’d made her decision, but it didn’t make it any less scary. “An old mentor of mine is opening a public relations, marketing, and branding firm. It’s a big deal. She has lots of awesome, first-rate clients lined up already. And she wants me to head the styling side of things.” Whitney waved her hand. “I’ll work with clients on developing their brand, and direct and design photo shoots and shows around that brand.”
“Wow.” Eddie sat back, clearly impressed.
“Definitely a wow,” Mick echoed. “That’s a great opportunity, Whitney. And it speaks highly of how well regarded you are by your peers.”
“I guess,” she said, a little discomfited. “I just try to work hard and come up with new, fresh ideas.”
“That’s exactly why you’re being headhunted,” Eddie said. “Your mentor sees what we see. You’re brilliant. You have a great work ethic.”
“You obviously know fashion,” Mick interjected. “You busted your backside in college and earned double degrees on top of your internships. Your mentor would be crazy not to ask you to join her new venture.”
“So you think I was right to give notice and take the job?” Whitney desperately needed to know what they thought.
“Absolutely,” they said in unison.
“Good,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Because even though I’m excited about the new prospect, I’m really scared. I mean, I have enough money socked away to pay rent and-”
“Whitney,” Eddie interrupted, “don’t worry about the rent.”
“Eddie’s right,” Mick said with a nod. “If you find yourself in a tight spot, let us know, and we’ll cover your
