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with Paul’s sapphire blues. A jolt of electricity zapped through me. “You’re here.”  
    “I told you I would be.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Shall I give you my phone number now or later?”
    Beside me, Brian stiffened.
    So much for losing my floozy rep.
    My cheeks heated. “I, er . . .”
    Brian squeezed my waist, then he turned to me accusingly. “Do you know this guy, Kaitlin? Why is he offering you his phone number?”
    “Brian, this is Paul.” I stepped out of my date’s grasp and gestured toward Paul who looked drool-worthy in a black and white tuxedo. Huh. The other waiters were in vests. . . Paul must be the head waiter tonight or something. “My friends asked me to get his number, actually. He’s helping out with a . . . tub caulking project.”
    Brian’s scowl immediately dissipated, and he thrust his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Paul. I’m an architect and work with a lot of contractors. I’d be happy to give your number out if you’re looking for work.”
    Paul shook his hand then eyed him as if sizing him up. “Nice of you to offer, but I’m only doing this project as a favor for Kaitlin. Not looking for anything else.”
    Brian’s brows drew together as if he were insulted that his offer had been declined. “My firm designed this hotel, as a matter of fact.”
    Uh, okay. Where had that come from? And hadn’t he just said he was an independent contractor?
    Paul’s eyes narrowed, then they flicked to me. “Geoffries Martini for you, Kaitlin?”
    A rush of pleasure vibrated through me that he remembered my favorite drink. “Yes, that sounds perfect.”
    “I’ll take a dirty martini.” Brian’s voice rose a bit too loud for a drink order.
    Paul’s mouth formed a straight line. “Coming right up.”  
    Instead of dashing off, Paul scribbled on a napkin, handed it to me, then smiled at me in a way that had my stomach doing flip-flops.
    “Thanks.” I watched him walk away, then glanced down at the square paper napkin in my hand. Ten digits guaranteeing my bathtub a little TLC from Kristen (or her boyfriend, depending on how she worked it). My brows drew together at the unfamiliar area code. Not Sacramento, so I wondered where he was from.
    “Kaitlin?”
    My head jerked up at Brian’s voice. “Huh?”
    “I said it’s time for our interview.”
    “But our drinks . . .”
    He slipped his arm around me, leading me in the opposite direction where Paul had gone. “I’m sure the waiter can find us.”
    I bit my lip, hoping that was true.
    ****
    During our interview with the radio talk show hosts, I let Brian do most of the talking, which seemed to suit him fine. He’d spoken at length about his independent contracting business but no word on his firm or how they’d designed this hotel. Weird.  
    When it was my turn, I kept my sentences short and sweet, thanking the Geoffries and the other sponsors for their hefty donations toward diabetes research and finding a cure. Then I gave a shout-out of love to my cousin and all those who suffer from diabetes.
    While we were suiting up to rappel down the hotel—hard to believe I was really doing this—and being given instructions, camera flashes went off. I could only hope the pictures would be burned (or deleted, as the digital case may be) since my silky black dress was folded around me like a diaper under my harness. A photo I wanted frozen forever? Not so much.  
    As Brian scooted off to find a glass of water, I wandered to the edge of the terrace and watched the last of the sun go down. Tightening my wrap around myself, I inhaled, then peeked over the wrought-iron railing. The steep drop made my stomach lurch. A gasp escaped. Squeezing my eyes shut, I covered my heart with my hand.
    Was I really going to jump off a freaking skyscraper in downtown Sacramento? Okay, we were only on the fifth floor, but how dire was the situation for me to say only the fifth floor?
    My chest flickered with fear, but at the