Donovan
When Saturday night arrived, I was looking forward to doing absolutely damn nothing—maybe watch whatever new action flick was currently streaming, water my plants, kick my feet up on my coffee table, and suck back a cold beer or two. I deserved a reward. I’d managed to catch up on my billable hours, and I hadn’t broken down and called a certain woman whose name I would not be thinking about tonight—especially when I climbed into bed later. Over the last few days, I’d managed to talk myself down off the cliff I’d been standing on. I’d worked seven long years to get where I was today, and I was not going to let a woman f**k that up, especially not one who had no interest in me.
Nope. I was not interested in Autumn Wilde.
Not in the least.
I picked up the spray bottle on my kitche
