The party was in full swing and Julie Carpenter swiveled on her desk chair to impotently glare at the door separating her suite from the rest of the house. Eardrum-shattering rock music pumped through the place, the bass making the walls tremble like a tired old man looking for a place to lie down.

      Her head throbbing and her stomach growling, Julie surrendered to the inevitable. No way was she going to get any work done tonight.

      “Thank you, Evan Fairbrook,” she muttered and tossed her pen down onto the legal-size pad of paper in front of her. Letting her head fall back, she stared at the ceiling through gritty eyes and called down one more curse onto the head of her ex-husband.

      He couldn’t be just a liar and a cheat. Oh, no. Wasn’t enough just to sleep with her best friend and God knows how many other women in Cleveland. Evan, it turns out, was a first-class weasel. Before Julie had caught on, he’d emptied their bank accounts and stolen her car. If she’d had a dog, he would have kicked it.

      She couldn’t stay in Cleveland. Not with everyone looking at her, whispering about her, wondering how such a bright woman could have been so knuckle-dragging stupid. Julie sucked in a gulp of air and reminded herself that moving to California had been a good thing even though she missed her folks and her younger brother. She was in a new city, with a new job, surrounded by people fortunate enough to have never even heard of Evan Fairbrook.

      No more suburban split level for her, either. Now she shared a historic old house high in the Hollywood Hills with two women who had become good friends. And, she was reinventing her career. The career that had supported Evan while he got his software business up and running.

      The same software business that had folded the minute Evan milked all the money out of it and took that plane to Barbados. Julie’s only hope now was that he got melanoma from romping around buck naked in the sun with her ex-best friend Carol.

      “On his nose,” she mused, smiling. “He should get a big, black hairy mole on his nose. Or maybe another body part he’s equally fond of. Yeah. And then it should rot and fall off. The body part, not the mole. Slowly.”

      As curses went, it was one of her better ones, she thought, enjoying the mental image of Evan standing helplessly watching as his prized member swayed, tilted and dropped to the sand. As for Carol, the treacherous witch, it was enough of a curse that she was with Evan in the first place.

      Julie blew out a breath and snorted. “Good for me.” A year after Evan had screwed her over, she was able to see the humor in the situation. Sort of. Her pride had been dinged a little—okay, crushed, stomped and spit on—but once Evan was gone from her life, she’d been forced to admit that she hadn’t really missed him. So what did that say about her?

      She shook her head. Man, it was way too late to do any soul searching. Instead she’d eat the last of the Coney Island Waffle Cone ice cream in the freezer. She got up and headed for the door leading from her suite to the hallway connecting it to the kitchen of the huge old house. The mother-in-law suite she occupied in the 1920’s Craftsman-style house was way at the back of the building, usually giving her the privacy she preferred.

      She’d been lucky to find this place. Number one, she hated apartment living. But more than that, being a freelance writer for the L.A. Times meant she needed a home base that was flexible. She did a lot of traveling and having housemates meant she didn’t have to worry about her place while she was gone. Plus, she had company when she wanted it and privacy when she didn’t.

      Eventually, though, she’d like to move to the beach. And she’d take summers off. And do some damn sand frolicking herself.

      Her cell phone rang before she could open her door and she checked caller ID before answering. “Hi, Kate.”

      “Hi.” Kate Davies, one of Julie’s housemates whispered into the phone, her voice almost lost in the slam of music still pounding through the house. “Hey, what do you want to eat tonight?”

      Julie smiled. Living with two women who considered splitting an M&M a walk on the wild side had its fringe benefits. Neither Kate nor their other housemate, Alicia Walker ever ate if they could help it. And since they were determined to maintain their chic, skeletal look, whenever they went out on dates—which, let’s face it, was a lot more often than Julie did—they brought a doggy bag back for her.

      “Where’d he take you tonight?” Julie asked, hoping for a decent steak for once. If Kate or Alicia brought her back one more box of sushi, she’d sprout gills.

      “Oh,” Kate whispered, “you’d love it. Ruth’s Chris. Just breathing in here I think I’ve gained two pounds.”

      “Thank God. Meat.”

      “So, what’ll it be? Filet mignon?”

      Julie sighed. “I think I just had an orgasm.”

      Laughter spilled through the phone. “Baked potato or garlic mashed?”

      “Please. Garlic mashed. Definitely.” Not like she had to watch her breath or anything. “Order the steak rare to allow for heating up later.