I froze mid-step, one heel dangling ridiculously as I processed the horror before me. There, tangled shamelessly in the rumpled sheets of the luxury guest bed, was my childhood bestie Leon. His bare ass was regrettably tenting the covers in a way that yanked my gaze straight to his junk.

"Leon?" I sputtered, trying in vain to unsee the disturbing image. "What in Jane Austen's ghost are you doing?"

He rolled over groggily at the sound of my voice, flashing me a lopsided grin as the sheets parted farther. And wow, yeah - that was entirely too much of Leon's...erm...physique on display for my retinas' wellbeing.

Realizing his stark nudity, Leon yelped like a kicked Chihuahua, promptly tumbling off the bed in a flurry of flailing limbs. A dull thud and pained groan signaled his ungraceful reunion with the plush carpet.

For a beat, he just lay there, lips parted in a stupor. Then the realization slammed him like a load of bricks. Leon's eyes flew open cartoonishly wide as I averted my scandalized gaze. Because yeah, no amount of shared bathwater as kids could erase this particular mental scar.

"Abby!" he squawked, frantically trying to cover his nude form with the rumpled sheets. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

I shot him an incredulous look over one shoulder. Seriously? This was the freaking guest bedroom of Penelope Anderson-Hart herself—queen of all Hollywood and most major streaming realms. The legendary TV titan who had written and produced approximately 75% of the shows that still kept basic cable afloat.

Or, just Leon's mom.

"Um, hello?" I retorted, choking on the absurdity. "This is the guest room, you arse! The door was open, but clearly I should've knocked before interrupting...this whole situation."

I waved a hand vaguely at the tragic naked burrito he'd become, grimacing as I felt a fresh blush of mortification heat my cheeks.

"So yeah, my bad I guess. I'll just be investing in an industrial-strenght memory bleach on my way out!"

I spun on my heel, fully intent on evacuating this awkward situation with whatever shreds of dignity remained intact. Only my dramatic exit came to an abrupt, humiliating halt as my hip clipped the edge of an ornate side table forcefully. A jarring clatter erupted as a vase, books, and various trinkets rained down in a spontaneous shockwave of chaos.

So much for making a discreet exit, Bourne Identity style, and maintaining any last shred of dignity.

"No, wait! Ab, please!" Leon pleaded from his nude tangle of sheets. "Lemme explain..."

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, rubbing harried fingers across my pounding temples as Leon's muffled scrambling only compounded one mortification after another.

Suddenly, a stern baritone cut through the humiliating cacophony like an adamantium blade:

"Leonardo Maxwell Anderson!" The commanding tone brooked no arguments whatsoever. "Just what in tarnation is going on here?"

Oh crap. My stomach plunged straight to my toes at the sound of that unmistakable timbre. Even without turning, I knew that icy authority from the woman who had shaped my literary ambitions at least as much as she bankrolled half of Hollywood's hits.

More importantly, she was also the closest thing I'd had to a supportive feminine figure after my mom passed away and Dad became a permanent fixture at the office.

Reluctantly cracking one eye to confirm my suspicions, I withered at the sight of Penny. The entertainment icon cut an intimidating figure despite her petite stature - hands firmly planted on her narrow hips, eyes narrowed to icy slits above an immaculate burgundy pantsuit.

Leon went ghastly pale, hastily clutching a nearby tasseled throw pillow to maintain at least a semblance of modesty as his incensed mother's words sliced through his lingering drunken haze.

"Ahh...hey Mum," he warbled out weakly with that trademark roguish smirk I'd once found so charmingly attractive. Now it just grated on my nerves, amping the cringe factor up about a million percent. "You're uh...you're back from the Aruba cruise early?"

I shrank back against the ornate side table as Penny's withering glare shifted from her disgraced son to me. Those hawkish eyess narrowed further, her plum-tinted lips flattening into a grim line of disapproval as she registered my presence amidst the scene of Leon's debauchery.

"Abigail Marie Smith..." She drew out each syllable with a biting precision that seared like acid. "I certainly never expected to find you here, amid such...compromising circumstances."

Christ, she didn't think...? No, there was just no way - Not Leon and me, for the love of Hemingway's cats! Sure, the bastard was ridiculously, unfairly attractive in that permanently wind-tousled, casually roguish sort of way that simultaneously charmed and infuriated me. But still, he was just my friend since we were kids getting belly button rings and watching bad sitcom reruns.

We were like siblings—the thought of anything else twisted my stomach into knots. There are just some lines you never cross with your oldest friend, romantic plotlines be damned.

So no, she couldn't possibly think Leon and I were...smooching. The very notion was patently absurd, despite the admittedly concerning optics.

"Penny," I rushed out, fighting down the wave of panic. "I swear to God, this is NOT what it looks like at all!"

One perfectly sculpted gray brow arched with pointed skepticism. Yeah, that was totally what she thought.

"So I should not assume you and Leonardo were indulging in some... grown-up dress-up games in the bedroom?" She waved a hand to indicated the gloriously disastrous state of the room - and Leon, still lingering gloriously nude on the floor amidst the wreckage we'd created.

My jaw dropped as the implication zinged through me like an electric current. I blushed bright crimson at the sheer depraved absurdity, risking a hesitant glance at Leon to gauge his reaction.

Of course, the bastard was absolutely no help whatsoever—just eyeing us both with bleary confusion while clutching that damned throw pillow protectively over his Royal jewels.

Snapping my gaze back to Penelope, I opened my mouth to protest. But you know that embarrassment reflex, when the harder you try to force words past your shame, the more they stick in your throat like a hairball?

"I...we...he..." I spluttered, tripping and stumbling over the very notion like an absolute cretin. "Not unless pigs were flying! Yuck...no!"

Christ, could I just combust already? That would be infinitely preferable to this fresh hell of mortification.

"Very well then," Penelope clipped out in that tone of parental finality I recognized so viscerally. "I expect an acceptable explanation in short order."

Well, there it was, the million-dollar question. How do you explain finding yourself in a compromising situation that even the most creative mind couldn't conjure up?

"Yes, ma'am," I squeaked out contritely as she turned an imperious look on her gawking disaster of a son.

"Leonardo..." She fixed him with a glare that would wither whole studio boards into terrified compliance. "After you've dressed and collected yourself...we are going to have a rather thorough discussion about last night's activities."

Leon nodded fervently, his pupils blown wide like a deer caught in headlamps. Then Penny spun on one impeccably sharp heel and strode from the room in a swirl of crisp burgundy, leaving us alone amidst the wreckage in the devastating wake of her piercing judgment.

An eternity seemed to elapse before the bedroom door clicked shut behind her. Only then did Leon allow his throw pillow shield to slump, sagging in a pantomime of sheer relief.

"Damn it..." His voice cracked like a pubescent boy's. "She's gonna kill us both, isn't she?" I could only manage a weak nod, sinking onto the upholstered bench beneath the floor-length window.

My heart stopped as the realization set in. How had an intelligent, decorated, and highly regarded author like myself—acclaimed for my enchanting tales of love and passion and recipient of numerous Romance Writers of America awards—landed in such an unspeakably awkward and zany position?

Leon shot me an apologetic look before quickly retreating out of the room. As he disappeared, leaving me to face the impending storm alone, I knew this bizarre turn of events would become a tale to rival the most absurd plotlines from my own novels.

But before we delve too deep into that whirlwind, let me rewind to that fateful day when my carefully crafted literary world took a nosedive into chaos.