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The last thing I expected to find in my dossier was sexy stockings, a plane voucher to London, and an invitation to dance at a gentleman's club. I'm a quiet museum curator for God's sake. No way, no how am I going to slide down a pole for a bunch of over privileged, narcissistic men-until I see Sean Fraser, my childhood crush, enter the establishment. Since I'm no longer that overweight teen with braces and mousey hair, there is no way he'll recognize me. Hmmm . . . Maybe I'll give him a fake name-and a private dance. That ought to make him finally notice me, right? What the hell is Kennedy Lane doing sliding down a pole in a private Gentlemen's club? I'm not sure, and while I know she's hands off, I want her. I've always wanted her. She might have been too young for me back in the day. Now, not so much. Hands off leads to hands on after a private dance, and while Kennedy spends the weekend pretending to be someone she isn't, I know full well who she is. And I'm not quite ready to let her hang up her stockings when the show is over. Contains mature themes.
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