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.