There were friends and extended family members who disagreed-I was a tabloid reporter in a family of doctors and lawyers, and after a brief stint in Los Angeles last year, I’d returned to the same small college town outside Philadelphia where I’d grown up, and lived in a condo owned by my mother. Not exactly a “success” by Adams family standards. But to my mother, I was happy and healthy and after the hell I’d gone through, that was all that mattered. And if she was satisfied, then there was no need to burden her with the truth.

So I called, gave her my story, canceled our lunch date and promised to phone again the next day.

DRESSED IN A deep orange cowl-necked top and flouncy tiered miniskirt, I strolled up to an ugly rear service door and rapped, ready to present myself to my new associates.

Getting their attention wasn’t that easy, as it turned out, and my knuckles were raw by the time the door swung open. But it was worth the wait.

I’ve never been one to swoon over hot guys, and I blamed it on elevation sickness from my new three-inch heels, but when that door opened all I could do was stare. He was average height, average weight, average build…and above-average gorgeous, with collar-length black curls, copper skin, deep-set, hooded green eyes and a grin that sucked my rehearsed introduction right out of my head.

I recovered after a split-second of gawking, fast enough to realize he hadn’t noticed my reaction. He was too busy doing his own appraisal, that gorgeous smile making me as giddy as any chaos vibe.

“I hate to say it,” he said, “but the club doesn’t open for another hour, and you’ll need to go in the front entrance.”

“I’m here to see Guy.”

“Oh?” Another notch on the smile. “In that case, come on in.”