“Need some help?” Looking over her shoulder, Cailin saw Ian tugging on the door. He leaned against it with a casual grace any man—or woman, for that matter—would envy. “Thanks. Too much stuff to pull out. I still don’t understand why I have to go to this dinner tonight.” “Because Alex said so,” he teased before grabbing her hanging garment bag from her arms. The dress inside had cost way more than she or her credit card cared to think about, but the charity/business event was formal, and only the upper crust of the upper class here in Atlanta were invited. Sara Beth had given her the name of a designer, and Cailin had found a dress, the least expensive one she actually liked. The fact that her hand shook as she paid for it, she’d tried to ignore. “Besides,” Ian said, “it will be fun: I’ll be there.” Cailin rolled her eyes. The Flirt strikes again. “So why are you arriving in a cab?” Ian asked. “Car trouble.” When she’d gone out to leave for work, her engine wouldn’t even hint at turning over.
