"His and every other guy in this town, it seems. I should just give up and become a nun."
"Asia, stop it. You're beautiful and sweet. I'm going to find you the right guy. Stay off those damn dating sites and leave this to me."
Oh, God. Nothing good ever comes of her plans. Especially when she's trying to "fix" me.
"Really, Kat, it's fine. I'm good." I try to mask the fear in my voice at the thought of her plans. "You can barely find your glasses on your own head sometimes. Please don't try to find me a man."
"I found Rob, didn't I?"
"You rear-ended him at a red light while you were texting and driving. You're lucky you didn't hurt him," I remind her.
"It was fate. We were meant to be. And now I'm going to help you find the right guy."
"I'm okay, really—"
The frenzied clicking of a keyboard seeps through the phone. "I got this, girl," she says. "Have faith in me."
"No, Kat, please don't get anything with me. Remember when you painted my living room for me?"
The keyboard clicking continues. "So I forgot the ladder. No one ever said the new paint color had to go all the way to the ceiling, ya know. I totally reverse-ombré'd your walls."
Laughing at the memory of coming home to find her painting disaster, I roll over onto my side. "I'm gonna go, Kat. I'm exhausted from all the walking."
"I'll call you tomorrow. Forget that douche. He can't hold a candle to you. You're my shiny sparkle. Don't you forget that."
Pressing end, I wonder if I'll ever meet a guy who will actually like me and isn't only interested in looks, money, and sex.
Chapter 3
Talon
"I'm glad you're here, I have something exciting to discuss with you." My mother gestures for me to sit in the chair on the other side of the huge cherry wood desk she pretty much lives behind. Rolling my eyes, I flop into the red velvet chair and put my workboot-clad feet up on the front of the desk.
"Talon. Off." She glances away from her laptop screen for a second to glare at me and then goes back to typing, her red-tipped nails flying across the keyboard.
Standing, I walk around her office while she finishes whatever it is she's doing. Hundreds of books line the shelves of her office. Some written by her, some by other authors. I'm lucky enough to have a famous musician for a father and a best-selling romance author for a mother. Technically, that should make me a musical romantic genius, but I seemed to have only inherited the music gene, along with a monstrous appetite for sex.