Locke Adriana - Wherever It Leads -

Wherever It Leads Copyright (c) Adriana Locke, 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED This book is a work of fiction. Any references to events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author ’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. Cover Art: Kari March, Kari March Designs Cover Photos: Dollar Photo Club Editing: Lisa Christman, Adept Edits Interior Design & Formatting: Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

Wherever It Leads Also by Adriana Locke Dedication CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 24 CHAPTER 25 CHAPTER 26 CHAPTER 27 CHAPTER 28 CHAPTER 29 CHAPTER 30 CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32 CHAPTER 33 CHAPTER 34 CHAPTER 35 CHAPTER 36 CHAPTER 37 CHAPTER 38 CHAPTER 39 CHAPTER 40 CHAPTER 41 CHAPTER 42 CHAPTER 43 CHAPTER 44 CHAPTER 45 CHAPTER 46 CHAPTER 47 EPILOGUE Acknowledgements About the Author Excerpt from Sacrifice by Adriana Locke Excerpt from Last Call by Staci Hart

THE EXCEPTION SERIES (each novel can be read as a standalone) The Exception (book 1) Purchase from Amazon The Connection (book 1.5) Purchase from Amazon The Perception (book 2) Purchase from Amazon STANDALONE Sacrifice Purchase from Amazon

To my mother. You taught me to work hard and not sweat the small stuff. I’m still working on the latter. Thank you for teaching me what a mother ’s love is supposed to be . . . and how to make a great pizza. I love you.

Fenton

“Tell him I got his message yesterday and I don’t need him to blow me. But thank him for the offer.” Grabbing the nearest shopping cart and sliding it in front of me, I toggle the phone against my shoulder. It nearly slides off my rigid muscles, a mix of workout fatigue and work stress setting up shop across my back. Duke sighs through the phone, not even pretending to hide his frustration. “Fenton, that’s not true,” he says, exasperation thick in his voice. “He didn’t ask to blow you.” “Obviously it’s not fucking true. I just want to hear him have to deny it.” “You know what? Just forget I called. I’ll come up with a response myself.” “That’s probably the best idea you’ve had yet.” Duke sighs again, louder this time. I’m sure I’ve been an asshole to deal with since I hired him, but I gave him plenty of warning what he was getting into. This entire situation, the one he was hired to deal with, has been a complete clusterfuck from the start. There’s nothing more vexing than being able to fix a problem and having your hands tied behind your back while being needled that the problem exists. I know it exists. I’m keenly aware and no one wants it fixed more than me. “I’ll just tell them the status hasn’t changed.” “I could’ve taken care of this,” I bite out. “I know. I know.” “And they wouldn’t let me.” “I. Know.” “I know you know. Try to impart some of that knowledge to them. I’m playing by their rules right now, but I’m starting to lose patience with their—” “Fenton, you have to play by their rules. Otherwise—” “I’m heading into the store,” I interrupt. “The service is going to get shitty.” “Talk soon,” Duke says, ready to end the conversation anyway, and the line clicks off. I shove my phone into the pocket of my black athletic pants. My jaw pulses, the buzz from this morning’s workout now vanished.

Ignoring the eyes of an uptight man perusing the apples, I skirt my cart left to avoid interaction. I have no idea why I chose today of all days to do my own grocery shopping. I could’ve waited three damn days until my housekeeper gets back from vacation. Steering clear of the apples and the negative energy rolling off the shopper, I head towards the bananas. I need to find the optimism I had five minutes ago before Duke called from the office and ruined my Saturday morning. The bananas are organic and perfectly ripe, so I pluck a bunch off the podium. I start to push away, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A ruffle of unease scatters through my subconscious. I pause mid-step and glance around the store. People mill about, minding their own business, nothing out of the ordinary. I start to push away again when I spy the offender. A black piece of plastic peeks out from behind a bundle of bananas, the overhead light ricocheting off it and catching my eye. I reach behind the produce and pull out a black cell phone. Turning it over in my hand, it looks no worse for wear. I press the round button on the bottom and the screen lights up. Staring back at me are two gorgeous girls, probably a couple of years younger than me. Midtwenties, I’d say. The dark-headed one is flashing a peace sign in a barely there white bikini. She’s hot as fuck. But it’s the blonde that draws my attention. She sits crossed-legged in shorts and a tank top on the beach, her hair falling around her narrow shoulders. Her body is covered, her stance demure, but there’s something striking about her that I can’t pinpoint. I almost can’t look away. Her blue-green eyes taunt me, tease me with a look that’s downright beguiling. The touches of vulnerability hidden behind her confidence intrigue me, make me want to hear her voice and know what she’s thinking. Laughing at my ridiculousness despite the heat rolling in my blood, I skim the store again. No one seems to be searching for the phone. I glance back down and my gaze goes immediately to the blonde. The curve of her hip has my thumb gliding over the screen. I should turn the phone in to management. It’s the logical, responsible thing to do. My feet don’t move. Losing your phone in the bananas doesn’t exactly shout responsibility. Taking a deep breath, I ponder my options. I can turn it in to Lost and Found and hope that they actually give it to her if she comes looking. Or . . . I could try to get in touch with her myself. Keep telling yourself you’re playing the Good Samaritan. Leaning against the produce display, I do a quick analysis. The odds of her finding it at the Help Desk aren’t great. Maybe fifty-fifty. Some bagger boy will probably see the lock screen and take it to the bathroom and jerk off. The odds of that are phenomenal. The odds of me breaking the passcode aren’t great either, but if possible, would greatly increase her chances of getting it back. And the chance for me to see those eyes in person. I type in 0000. “Try again” flashes on the screen.

1234. “Try again.” Steering the cart with my elbows towards the customer service desk, I run through possible passwords before I commit to my final try. I have one more chance before it locks me out for good and I have no choice but to turn it over to Bagger Boy and his bathroom break. I go for 1111, another overused password. It makes a clicking sound and the lock screen opens. The phone toggles in my hands, my jaw dropping in disbelief. It worked. The home screen is filled with apps over shiny gold wallpaper, waiting to be explored. Should I or shouldn’t I? My thumb glances over the photo album and I see the first photo. I definitely should.

Brynne

The oversized and absurdly overpriced cream-colored sofa cushions my landing. I flop, face first, onto the pillows and let myself sink into the down stuffing. “It’ll turn up,” my best friend, Presley Bradshaw, says from the other side the room. “It’s probably here and we’ve just overlooked it.” “We’ve looked everywhere.” My voice is muffled and I’m sure Pres can’t hear me, but I’m too despondent to care. Mementos of my life, especially my life before everything became discombobulated, is on that device. Pictures from beach bonfires with Presley and our little group of friends. Texts from my brother before he left the country for work. My music, notes, my entire life is recorded on that stupid. Little. Phone. I might just lie here until I die. “Brynne. Earth to Brynne.” Groaning, I summon the energy to roll onto my side. Presley is watching me with a quirked and perfectly arched brow. “What?” I mutter. “We’ll find it. If not, we’ll just go get you another one.” “I don’t want to just go get another one. I want mine.” “What does it matter? It’s a phone, Brynnie. We’ll just get you a better one! I’ll get you one like mine and we’ll pretend it’s a birthday present.” “It’s not that. I didn’t have my stuff backed up.” We exchange a glance and I watch the realization hit her. Her face falls. “Yeah,” I say, sitting up and pulling a pillow on my lap. I need it to warm my soul and bring me some comfort. But if there’s anything I know about finding comfort, it’s that a pillow isn’t going to give it to me. If it was that easy, these last few months wouldn’t have been so difficult to transverse. Presley sits beside me. “Do you have any idea where you left it? Think back. Where was the last place you had it?”

The last place I remember having it was while I was talking to my mother. She was giving me the latest on Brady, which means she had no new information. Because my brother has been gone for four months now and there hasn’t been any break in weeks. They say when dealing with terrorists, silence is better than threats, but I’m not sure. Maybe silence means there’s nothing left to discuss, but I don’t tell my mother that. Not just because she couldn’t handle the idea, but because I can’t fathom saying it aloud. The thought alone makes me want to die. “At the coffee shop. I stuck it in my pocket while I paid for my latte,” I say. “That’s the last place I know I had it for sure.” “Don’t tell me the hottie with the Mohawk was working and you got sidetracked?” “Nooooo,” I draw out, but it’s kind of true. Or a lot true. But it’s not there because I went back and checked . . . and managed to snag Mohawk’s number, but I’m not telling her that right now. She’ll end up getting all wired and start planning our wedding, and I don’t need that. I need my damn phone. Presley rolls her eyes, knowing I’m lying, and pulls her hair into a wild knot at the top of her head. “We’ll discuss Mohawk later and I’ll find out why your face did that,” she says, waggling a finger in my direction. “For now, go through your brain. What happened after you got coffee?” “Well, I swung by the post office and then went to Angel’s Market. I stopped for gas and then came home.” “Did you call all of those places? Maybe some do-gooder found it and turned it in.” “I called from your phone while you were in the shower. No one has seen it,” I sigh. “I’m screwed.” My friend flashes me a sad smile. Her mouth opens and closes a few times. Although I don’t want to hear whatever she has to say, I know I will sooner or later, so we might as well get it over with. “What?” I ask. “Don’t let this do that to you.” “Do what to me?” “That,” she mutters, shaking her head. “That look like the world is out to get you. Because it’s not.” She fidgets in her seat, scooting away from me. I’m not sure if it’s to give me room or to keep me from strangling her, but it’s a good idea either way. I love Presley. But her inability to not say whatever she’s thinking sometimes makes me hate her . . . times like I think this is going to be. “The world is out to get me. That’s how it feels, Pres.” “Look, people lose their phones every day. This is not a conspiracy.” “My life is one colossal piece of evidence that the universe hates some people. At some point approximately a year ago, I did some great injustice to the world and it’s taken it upon itself to fuck me over.” “Shut up.” “Let me refresh your memory,” I fume. “I get accepted into the college of my dreams. I manage to get my brother ’s best friend, Grant McDaniels, the boy I’d pined for all of six years, to fall in love

with me as soon as he’s back from the Marines. We spend an ah-mazing year together—the best year of my life, mind you—and then he goes away to Africa for some fucked up job and comes home a weirdo. Within four months, I catch him with another woman, he gets my brother a job and they go back to Africa . . . only my brother doesn’t come home. And to top it off, I have to drop out of school to deal with everything.” “I know how bad it’s been for you. I’ve been here the whole time. I’ve seen it.” “So tell me how I fucked over karma.” “You didn’t. It’s a terrible aligning of the stars, I know. But this isn’t personal.” “Oh, it’s personal.” I jump off the sofa and turn to face her. “How is it not? My life goes from basically perfection to utter destruction in the course of a few months. How’s that not personal?” Presley watches me. “Because bad things happen to people every day. The people that make it through life without being complete assholes are the ones that can see the silver lining and go forward.” “I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to keep my head right and think Brady is going to come home. That this whole thing will change our family in a good way. That watching my boyfriend fuck a random blonde on the bathroom floor was somehow a positive in my life, but right now, it all seems like I’m being punished. I’m in this rut of losing and can’t get out.” “There’s a silver lining somewhere in Grant, but not Brady.” Her lips flip to a frown. “The fact that you haven’t had a complete breakdown is a miracle. I mean, he was freaking kidnapped in Zimbabwe. So, yeah, feel all pissy about that if you want.” “I want.” “Brady’s going to be fine, though. I’m telling you. He’s tough. And smart.” A grin teases her lips. “And so, so hot.” “Presley . . .” Her giggle pierces my heavy mood. “Stop,” I say, trying to stifle a laugh. I know she’s just going there to break the tension, not that she doesn’t believe it. She’s made it known my brother was “hotter than hell” a number of times since meeting him for Thanksgiving a couple of years back. And then she heard he was a doctor and her jaw dropped. At least she didn’t ask for a physical. “Let’s try to call it again. And if we don’t find it, we’ll go to the carrier and get a new one and see if they can remotely disable your old one or whatever magic they do,” she says in her easy way. I start to argue, but the look on her face stops me. “Okay,” I say in defeat. “Let’s try it.” Presley picks up her phone and turns to face me again. “We need to get away for the weekend. I’ll just use Daddy’s credit card since mine’s at the limit—thanks to the sale at Kitson on Melrose—and we can go somewhere fun.” She taps her lips with the tip of her finger. “How do you feel about Tybee Island?” “I feel like you’re crazy.” She laughs, having heard that from me a number of times over the course of our friendship.

When I met her at the beach a couple of summers ago, I never imagined she was as carefree as she is. She was lamenting a red wine stain on her new white bikini and I mistook her for an uptight bitch. She set me straight, waving a finger in my face, then offered me a glass of the offending wine, and we’ve been best friends ever since. “I’m not crazy. I’m fun. There’s a huge difference.” Before she can continue, her phone rings in her hand, a quirky little melody chirping through the room. “Hello?” Her eyes light up as she listens, a slow smile touching her lips. “No, I didn’t lose my phone today. But my friend did.” “Someone found it?” I leap across the room until I’m right in front of her. I try to hurry her along, to get more information, but she just waves a hand to silence me. “Why, yes, it was a great day on the beach.” She fans her face, her wide eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m the one in the white bikini. My name is Presley Bradshaw, by the way.” She listens again, mouthing oh my God, before composing herself. “That’s Brynne Calloway. It’s her phone you have.” “Where?” I thunder. I’m bouncing up and down, saying a prayer of thanks that a do-gooder did find it, vowing to be a better person, cleanse my soul, eat less Snickers—whatever it takes to keep this good tide rising. “Of course,” Presley coos. “Absolutely. How thoughtful of you to do this. You’ll never know how much it’s appreciated. We’ll be right there.” She ends the call and sighs dreamily. “He sounds gorgeous.” “You can’t sound gorgeous.” “Just wait till you hear him.” I roll my eyes. “The important thing here is that he has my phone. Yes?” “Yes! Yes, he does,” she sing-songs. “And he’s waiting for us at Angel’s Market.” “He’s probably homeless,” I say, heading to the door and making my way down to Presley’s Mercedes. “We’ll have to make sure we give him a big reward.” “Well, he’s a homeless guy with a voice like cashmere,” she chirps, hopping behind the steering wheel. “And if he looks half as good as he sounds, I’ll happily sprawl out like a reward buffet.”

The early afternoon sun trickles through the car window sending a kaleidoscope of colors through the crystal dangling from the rearview mirror. The warmth permeates not just the glass, but my skin as well. The Vitamin D soaks into my soul and reminds me of lazy days at the beach and picnics. None of those things have happened much this summer. The last true beach day I had was with Presley the afternoon I found Grant cheating on me. “Brynne.” He said my name simply, like he was just sounding it out. The calmness in his voice was a strange contradiction to the anxiety in his eyes. He made no move to get off the woman lying underneath him. Naked. Smirking at me with her bright red lips.

“What are you doing?” I shrieked, my hand cupping my mouth to keep the vomit from pouring out. My hand trembled as I watched, in absolute horror, him actually pulling out of her body. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the train wreck in front of me. Grant reached up and grabbed a towel and tossed it haphazardly over her body. My vision was blinded by white-hot tears that built, yet failed to fall. “What are you—” I started to say, but then stopped. “Don’t answer that.” Grant rolled off of her, but didn’t come to me. He made no effort to console me or try to talk his way out of it, not that it would’ve made a difference. “Fuck you,” I bit out. “This is complicated,” he said finally, his voice still eerily calm. I snorted. “No, it’s really simple. You are the most pathetic asshole I’ve ever known.” I turned on my heels and fled. He didn’t call for me and I didn’t look back. Little did I know, but that day was the start of so much sadness in my life. “Wanna go to the beach today after we get your phone back?” Presley asks, pulling me out of my reverie and picking up on my beach vibe. “We could just do a quick little trip this afternoon. It could be fun.” My shoulders rise and fall, the magenta tank top slipping off my shoulder. The sun warms it and I find myself leaning further into the light. Something about the way the sun raises my spirits, like it’s done since I was a little girl and would lie on the hill behind our house and read magazine after magazine, makes me realize one thing—Presley is right. I can’t start down the slippery slope of selfpity again. It’s easy to fall into the trap but harder than hell to climb out of it. Glancing over my shoulder, Presley is dancing in her seat to the beat of a song on the radio. I really want to capture that feeling again of being alive and happy about it. I just need something to set the spark. “Yeah, let’s go to the beach later,” I say. The words feel good coming out of my mouth. So good, in fact, that I sit up in my seat. “Let’s get some cheap wine and Mexican food and see what kind of trouble we can get into.” “Deal!” she beams. “And how about Tybee Island? Are you up for that?” “I actually work this week,” I groan. “And I can’t miss. I can’t ask my parents for help with my tuition this fall. They’ve spent so much on finding my brother that I just can’t even bring it up.” “I understand.” “I might have a few days off next week, though, if you want to treat me to a mini-getaway.” “Yay!” she exclaims, piloting the car down a side street. “I’m taking this as a sign my best friend’s back.” “I’m trying.” “You know,” she says, flipping off the radio, “Brady wouldn’t want you moping around. He’d want you to live your life and be happy.” “He does want that,” I correct, trying not to cringe. “He does. Because he’s alive.”

“Of course he is.” I can’t help the fear that pierces me that the reverse might be true. Or at least possible. Although Presley is my best friend now, Brady and I have always been extremely close. We changed schools three times growing up and were always seen as outsiders. So we learned to hang out together, playing chess and video games, fishing, reading books. My world wouldn’t be the same without him, and the weeks since getting the message that he was taken by Nekuti, an African terror organization, have been the worst of my entire life. I just wish he’d have listened to me. “Don’t go,” I begged, looking into the eyes that are a mirror image of mine. “Brady, you can’t. It’s not worth the risk.” “I have to. I feel like it’s exactly what I need to do.” “Why Zimbabwe? Why go there? With Grant, of all people! Someone that you specifically told me to try to distance myself from!” “It’s different.” “How?” I stare at him over our mugs of steaming coffee. “You told me not to take him back. You’re the one that told me something was going on with him and that ending our relationship was the best solution. So why are you still friends with him? Even more, if what you say is true, why are you following him across the world? For once in your life, Brady Stewart Calloway, you make no sense.” “He’s not a threat to me, Brynne. I’ve been friends with him for almost ten years. He’s the same guy to me. But like I told you, something’s off with him. You’re my little sister and were his girlfriend. You were in a much different position to be hurt.” “Like how?” “Like if he was cheating on you, which he was.” His eyes darken. “If he was involved in something he shouldn’t be.” A chill tears through me. “Like what?” He shrugs. “I don’t know. It might just be that he’s seen things overseas that have changed him. You know as well as I do that he’s not the nice, easygoing guy he once was. He’s on edge constantly, calculating, broody. You can do better, and I say that from the position of being his friend.” “And you think it’s a good idea for you to go to a place that he’s been and you think may have changed him?” “I’m not going as a security contractor. I’m going as a doctor and it’s where my heart says to go. It’s my calling, Brynne.” I tried to understand. I openly supported his insane idea, even though I felt like it was a huge mistake. I helped him with his paperwork and even helped pack his gear before he left. The excitement in his voice, the sparkle in his eye when he talked about the difference he may make to the people of Zimbabwe in his six months overseas was undeniable. I frown as we pull into the busy parking lot of Angel’s Market and I don’t see anyone standing around with a phone in their hand. Presley throws the car in park and we climb out, heading towards the main entrance.

“What do we know about this mystery man besides the fact he sounds like cashmere?” I raise my brows and watch Pres slide her sunglasses over her eyes. “His name is Fenton and he’ll be waiting by the bananas.” I follow a few steps behind her, a sudden rush of memories skirting through my brain. “Bananas! That’s where I set it down,” I exclaim. “Now I remember! The pineapple poked a hole in my coffee right there and I had to get it to the trash! Yes! That’s where it is, I bet.” “No bets about it,” she says as the doors automatically open and we step inside the store. “That’s where he said it was.” “I’m so damn . . .” A soft gasp replaces the rest of my sentence. I know it’s him. Because whatever a cashmere voice sounds like, this man looks like he’s the one to own it. He’s tall, probably six-three, with jet black hair and rich olive-y skin. He’s dressed in black pants and a tight black t-shirt that hugs his muscled arms and wide chest. He stands at the bananas, working on a white cell phone and I’m instantly relieved it isn’t mine. “My Lord,” Pres mutters under her breath as we near him. He glances up, first looking at Presley and then instantly past her. To me. His gaze slams into mine, almost physically knocking me off my feet. I stumble, my steps faltering under the heaviness of his stare. It feels like his eyes should be blue, but as I peer into them, I realize they’re grey. A steely color that’s not warm or cool, just intense. I don’t know what to make of him and I certainly can’t process it because he’s too beautiful. Too male. Too intoxicating as we get close enough to smell the expensive musk of his cologne. And then he smiles, his full lips stretching to both sides of his slightly stubbled cheeks, and I’m sure my knees are going to wobble beneath me, leaving me one embarrassed pile of goop on the floor. Presley, ever on her game, flips her hair before extending a hand. “You’re the man I’m looking for.” If I could react, I’d roll my eyes at her innuendo. Instead, I just stare like a cartoon character. There are probably little hearts extending from my pupils, exploding right above his head. “I might be,” he says, looking at Presley. “Do you want my name or something to confirm it?” she hints. “Well,” he drawls, his voice as luxurious as Presley made it out to be, “I believe you said it was your friend’s phone. So if that’s the case, I think it’s her name I should get.” Presley’s jaw drops at the same time as mine. They both look at me. “If you just show it to me, I can tell you if it’s mine,” I half stutter. His smirk deepens. “I’m pretty certain it’s yours. Your pictures are on the camera roll.” “You looked at my pictures?” I gasp, my cheeks heating. “You had no right to do that!” “How else could I be sure the right person came to pick it up?” He has a point, but I still don’t agree. Yet I don’t want to argue. Not at least until I have my phone.

It feels like such an invasion of privacy and I should be offended, or at least, mock-offended, but I’m really not. Not even when I try to dig deep to find the feelings. “Thank you for finding it and tracking me down. Can I have it back now?” I ask. He digs a large hand into his pocket, too near his cock for my own good, and retrieves it. “Thank you,” I whisper. My fingertips brush his palm as I take it. The contact sends shivers down my spine. “It’s my pleasure.” “We’d love to thank you,” Presley says, batting her eyelashes in his direction. “Is there anything we can do?” He glances at her before resting his gaze on me again. “First, reset your password. It was entirely too easy to access your information and I don’t think I need to explain the consequences if it had fallen into someone else’s hands.” He raises his brows. “Make it something random,” he adds. I blush at his admonishment. “Second, I’d love to take you to dinner tonight.” I know Presley gasps but neither I nor the exotic stranger in front of me acknowledges it. We’re standing in the busy market, but it seems like it’s just the two of us. “That’s not necessary,” I whisper. “What time shall I pick you up?” “Oh, I, uh . . .” He grins like he’s just won a small victory. All coherent thoughts float away, replaced with lewd visions of him baring his lean body. He stands smugly and I wonder if he has some kind of telepathy and can read minds. Presley steps next to me and elbows me in the side. “Does six work for you?” he presses. My mouth won’t work. The words won’t come out. It’s not that I don’t want to go, because I do. But is it safe? We just met this guy. I don’t even know his name. Start there. “What’s your name?” I ask. “Fenton Abbott.” “She’ll be ready at six, Fenton,” Presley says, speaking for me. “And thank you for finding her phone.” “Can you text me your address?” “I’ll meet you somewhere,” I compromise. “I’d like to pick you up.” “Driving to a public spot is safer than being at your mercy, you know?” His smirk is delicious. So delicious, in fact, I almost want to just say fuck it and be at his mercy in the middle of the produce section. But I hold my ground. “Smart girl. I’m impressed. I’ll text you the address of the restaurant.”

“You don’t have my . . .” I start to say, but I realize he’s already taken my number. He smirks. “I need to get my shopping done, ladies. I’ll text you when I return home, Brynne.” “Okay.” The word falls from my lips before I can think about it. With a final glimpse, he turns and heads down the canned soup aisle. Presley and I watch his long legs and tight ass until he’s out of sight. Then we collapse into one another, breathing for what feels like the first time in ages. “My Lord! Did you see that man?” she asks, locking her arm through mine and leading me back out of the store. “Holy shit!” “See him? Did you smell him? Did you hear him?” “Cashmere,” she says, slipping her sunglasses back on. “My Hottie Radar is on point. I should charge a fee for scanning men for people. Have him call me, pay me a hundred bucks, and I’ll tell you whether he’s cute or not.” “That was impressive, Pres. Totally impressive.” “Right? And you have a date, my friend!” “Fuck.” The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I have no idea what to wear. I’m not properly shaved and groomed and— “You have me. Don’t panic. I’ll make sure you’re ready,” Presley promises. I watch her smile and I’m certain I’ve never appreciated having Presley Bradshaw as a friend more than I do right now.

I turn in front of the mirror, repeating Presley’s opinion over and over. You look like a total babe. That dress was meant for you. The bright yellow dress clings to my curves, a tiny vertical sliver cut out at my left shoulder. My blonde hair hangs in beachy curls, and Presley has highlighted, contoured, and bronzed my face like only someone that can spend hours on end playing with makeup and a trust fund can. I feel beautiful. I’ve primped and shaved and waxed and curled and taken care of myself in a way I haven’t in a long time. It feels good. I’d forgotten what it feels like to pamper myself on this sort of level. “Try these on,” Presley says, tossing me a pair of turquoise heels. I raise my brows and she hushes me with a twist of her head. “No. No arguing. I’m the designer here. Put them on.” I have no clue if they match, but I’m too nervous to argue. “He did text you where to meet him, right?” “Yes,” I reply, standing on one foot and slipping on the second heel. “He literally just sent the address and name of the restaurant. That’s it. Nothing else. No ‘excited to see you’ or anything.” I huff a breath and stand, not bothering to look in the mirror. Presley’s lit up face tells me I’ll be wearing these whether I like it or not. “Is this even safe?” I ask her. “We met him today. A handful of hours ago, to be exact. In a grocery store. And all we know is that he’s gorgeous and cyberspace gives us nothing other than he exists.” The realization hits me hard. “Oh my God, I’m gonna die tonight . . .” “Stop it. You’re being dramatic.” “It’s not dramatic. It’s self-preservation.” “It’s a date,” she laughs. She places a hand on my shoulder. “Can I just say that you have that sparkle in your eye that I used to see before we’d go out on a Friday night and dance until we had a line of boys ready to take us home?” “It’s the bronzer.” “No, it’s not, you jerk,” she laughs. She bumps my hip with hers. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” “Yeah,” I sigh. “I haven’t done this in so long . . . it does feel good, Pres. I feel like me.” “I know, and that makes me happy.”

We stand in the middle of Presley’s bathroom, my head on her shoulder, for a long time. The lights from the makeup table hit us like a spotlight and we look at ourselves in the reflection in the mirror. “When is the last time you had a date?” she asks. I shrug and stand straight. “I’ve had a couple since Grant. I don’t particularly remember who. Oh! One was a doctor. Connor something, I think. But he lives in Phoenix, so I’m not sure why I even agreed to that one.” “You went on that one because nothing could come out of it,” she huffs. “There’s no way that could’ve ended up in a real relationship.” “As always, you’re right.” “And that’s fine. But I think you need to open up to the prospect. I’m not saying jump back into something,” she says, talking fast so I can’t interject, “But at least start heading in that direction in case Mr. Right comes along.” “Maybe,” I say, looking for my purse. “But I feel so burned by Grant. He was literally the man of my dreams. Until he wasn’t, anyway. The thing is,” I say, wheeling around to face her, “I don’t know what happened to him. He just came home moody and needing all this time to himself. And that would’ve been fine. Even when Brady told me to back away from him, I would’ve given him the space to work through whatever it was. But to cheat on me? When, before he left, he was talking about getting engaged? If I can’t trust him, who can I trust?” Rolling my eyes, I face the mirror. The heels actually look good with the dress. “Something was definitely going on with him. There’s no denying that. I think he was on drugs or something.” “I think Mandla, the company he and Brady contracted for, did drug testing. So it can’t be that.” “Well, they obviously fail at other things, like bringing their employees home. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that they also failed to drug test.” “True. They just keep saying they don’t know more than they’ve said, but Dad thinks they’re lying. He thinks they paid off the unit that was with Brady to be quiet. Hush money, he calls it. Grant came by the house and talked to my parents when he got back and whatever was said made Dad believe Mandla dropped the ball. It’s such a mess.” “Grant’s not still going to see your parents, is he?” “He has a couple of times. They don’t know he cheated on me or Dad would probably castrate him. But I think it helps my mom because Grant’s been around so much of our lives and was with Brady when he was taken, so she kind of latches on to that sometimes, I think.” Presley groans and I understand the sentiment. The few times I’ve talked to Grant since he’s been back haven’t gone well. He tries everything from telling me he wants me back to needing to pass on information, which never amounts to anything, to saying he remembered something Brady said. But it’s all contrived and he’s still the new Grant and I just hold on to Brady’s recommendation to stay away.

“Fuck Grant,” Presley says, coming up behind me and squeezing my shoulders. “But not literally. Because tonight, you have a date with someone way hotter and classier than Grant Douchebag McDaniels.” “I do,” I grin, a bubble of excitement bursting in my belly. “And if I don’t get out of here, I’m not going to make it.” I swipe my nude clutch off of the vanity and give myself a final once-over in the mirror. My curves are on display and I can breathe since I went without the Spanx. “Where are you going?” Presley asks as I turn to the side. “Ruma.” Her eyes widen. “Seriously? Oh my God, Brynne. That’s the hottest restaurant right now! I was there two weekends ago when my parents were home from Rio and I saw Chris Hemsworth. Not even kidding.” “I know! I’m way out of my league here. It’s kind of terrifying.” “Only you would be scared of an invitation like this!” She rolls her eyes and dashes out of the room. She’s back in ten seconds. “Here,” she says, sliding a diamond bracelet on my wrist. “This gives you that extra pop.” “I’m not wearing this. It’s probably worth more than my car!” “That’s true. It is. And that’s also why you’ll just take my Mercedes.” “Pres . . .” “My best friend is not rolling up to Ruma in her rattle box. No offense.” “None taken,” I grin. “You’re the best, you know that?” “I do happen to know that.” She tosses me a wink and we make our way to the kitchen. She plops her keys in my hand. “When you pull up, there’ll be a valet in the front. Just drive up and get out and they’ll handle the rest.” “Seriously?” She laughs. “Seriously. Now scoot.” I head to the garage and unlock the car, the new car scent hitting my nostrils. I do a quick programming of the address into the navigation and back down the driveway and onto the street, following the British man’s robotic instructions. Presley insists it’s sexier to hear him say it with a foreign accent, but I think it’s just harder to understand. The night sky is a brilliant spectacle in pinks and oranges and traffic is uncharacteristically light. I try to focus on those things and not the fact that I’m driving off to meet Fenton, a man I barely know —if even that—for dinner. Thinking about him and his chiseled cheekbones and intense eyes will only increase my anxiety. I rock out to the radio for the hour drive, keeping the panic at bay until I take my final turn into the parking area for Ruma. The sun is setting behind a line of palm trees as I pull in. My heart races as Presley’s Mercedes slows, coasting into the valet.

Vehicles, all likely worth more than I may ever make in my life, zip through the valet. No one opens their own doors, no one is dressed in less than the best. It’s unnerving. A man dressed in a suit and tie opens my door. I grab my clutch out of the passenger seat and do a quick peek in the rearview mirror before climbing as gracefully as I can out of the car. Another man meets me with a clipboard, also dressed to the nines, and smiles. “Reservations, Madam?” “Yes.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Abbott.” He tries not to look surprised, but his quick perusal of me from head to toe is obvious. “Can you please clarify?” “Fenton Abbott.” I swear his posture straightens as he takes a step away from me. “Right this way, Madam.”

W e enter the restaurant through a side entrance. It’s covered with a heavy black awning, shielding us from view. The man in the suit opens the door for me and I step inside Ruma for the very first time. The lights are dim. Everything is a deep, dark wood with pops of cinnamon and cream and touches of a frosty blue in the decor. Somehow the mixture is exotic and inclusive at the same time. The entire back wall is lined with floor to ceiling windows that look out across the Pacific Ocean. I could pull up one of the cushioned settees that sit along the walls and watch the waves roll in . . . if Fenton wasn’t waiting on me. The thought of seeing him again makes me giddy. I scan the room but don’t spot him. “This way, please,” the maitre d’ says. I follow the man through a set of inlaid wooden doors and into a smaller room. I don’t see anyone, just a few pieces of furniture, a painting, and an expensive Oriental rug. My pulse beats wildly, strumming nearly out of control. I’m in way over my head here and I’m starting to feel like I’m in quicksand. I’ve never been to a private dining room before; not even with Presley. But to do it on a first date? With Fenton? Panic begins to swamp me, the magnitude of the moment hitting me full-on. My steps falter a bit as I step further inside the room. Fenton is standing in front of the windows that line this room too. One hand is pressed against the glass, the other holding a phone to his ear. He looks in complete control, dominating, and it makes my mouth water. His charcoal grey suit is stretched across his wide shoulders, his legs shoulder-width apart. It’s the sexiest thing I have ever seen. Lord help me when he turns around. The door closes softly behind me. As if in slow motion, Fenton turns. The setting sun is to his back, almost like the universe is showcasing his splendor in case there was any doubt of his perfection. He slips one hand in his pocket, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I’ll call you later,” he says into the phone and puts it in his pocket too. All I can do is take him in. He’s doing the same as his gaze caresses me from head to toe. Even

from the other side of the room, I can feel him skirting my curves, skimming my jawline. It’s visual intercourse, if that’s even a thing, and I’m ready to climax. The top button of his shirt is undone, his tie gone. A dark belt wraps his narrow waist, giving him a look of sophistication. His jaw has a spattering of stubble and I wonder what it would feel like beneath my fingers. The energy in the room crackles as he draws near. My breathing is rapid-firing and I take a deep breath to try to sort it out before he reaches me. I fumble with what to say and what to do. I’m not the smoothest on dates anyway, but with this Adonis? God almighty. I don’t know him well enough to know how to even address him. Come to think of it, I know three things: his name, he’s gorgeous, and he currently holds all the power. And I’m ready to remove all of my clothing. So I guess that makes it four. “How are you, Brynne?” I hear the words, but can’t help but feel that it’s his eyes that are really doing the talking. He’s focused solely on me. A circus could be performing on the rug across the room and I have a feeling he wouldn’t notice. And neither would I. “Did you have any problems finding the restaurant?” he asks. “No problems,” I all but whisper. I can’t find my voice. It’s probably off swooning somewhere right along with the rest of me. “I was getting worried. You had ten minutes and I was calling you,” he smiles. “Am I late?” “Just a little.” “Did you think I was standing you up?” A low chuckle rumbles through his chest. “I was more worried something had happened.” “Well, I’m here,” I blush at the sentiment. “And fine.” He takes me in again, head-to-toe, his smirk deepening. “And beautiful.” “Thank you,” I say, trying to look the part of a woman that should be here with him. A supermodel should be standing by him to complete the picture. He heads to a table that I didn’t notice before. It’s in the corner of the room near a bay window with an unprecedented view of the waterline below. I follow him across the large room and he pulls out my chair and I sit. The table is a small, dark wooden circle with numerous candles in varied sizes sitting in the center. It’s beautiful and romantic and so elegant that I have to pinch myself to believe it’s for me. He sits as a knock raps on the door. A few seconds later, two impeccably-dressed servers slip inside. With just a nod, they place heated trays in front of us and fill our glasses with a deep red wine. I watch with amazement at their efficiency. They are almost gone before Fenton calls out. “I’ll call if we need anything else,” he says. The one girl turns and looks at Fenton. She does a quick read of his features before nodding. “Yes, sir.” And then they’re gone. He lifts the lid in front of him and I follow suit. A small cut of steak, a lobster tail, and steamed

vegetables are artfully arranged on a plate. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a variety,” he says. “It looks fabulous.” I watch him slice his steak, the way his entire body moves captivating me. He’s so intentional with everything he does. And when he looks up at me, I feel the same intent. He doesn’t just glance at you, he sees you. You know it. You feel it. It’s impossible not to acknowledge it. I’m caught in the moment and am grateful when he breaks the silence. “Did you have a good rest of your day?” “I did,” I say, finding my footing. “Right after I made sure you didn’t tamper with anything in my phone.” His hands pause mid-air until he realizes I’m joking. “Funny.” “I wasn’t entirely kidding,” I laugh. “Brynne, I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Unless, of course, you wanted me to.” I gasp. My jaw hangs open for a split second before I can recover. Fenton grins, a twinkle in his eye. “I’m only teasing. But I will admit to looking at a few of your photographs. It was only so I could identify you. Well, that was the reason at first. And then I realized how beautiful you are.” “Thank you,” I say, still getting my wits about me. He’s throwing so much my way—compliments, overtones, insinuations—that it’s hard to stay focused. Even in the chaos, I feel a smile stretching across my cheeks. “I suppose I can live with that.” “You did change your password, right?” I bite my lip. “For the love of God, change it. Or just hand it here and I’ll change it for you.” He quirks a brow and I can’t help but giggle. “I bet you’d love that.” “I can’t say I’d hate it,” he laughs. “But in all seriousness, do it. You don’t want some random person breaking into your information.” “Someone random like . . . you?” “I’m not a random person.” He watches my brows shoot to the ceiling and sighs. “Okay, I am kind of random in this situation. But I’m a responsible, trustworthy man. The world smiled at you when I found it and not some undersexed teenager.” My cheeks flush and I take a sip of my wine to try to bide myself some time. He watches the glass lift to my lips, my tongue licking the moisture off them as I place the crystal back on the table. “So,” I say, feeling brave, “It’s safe to assume you aren’t undersexed?” His lips twitch and I wonder if he’s fighting a smile or a smirk. Either way, I struggle with my own to prevent them from lurching across the table and planting them on his. “At this moment,” he grins, “I feel a little . . . needy.”

“No one likes a needy man.” “Is that so?” I nod, watching him feel me out. “What do people like?” “People in the biblical sense? Or people like . . . me?” My heartbeat pounds so hard that I feel a touch lightheaded. I’m usually not so forward, especially on a first date. But he makes it so easy, so natural, that I fall into step with his banter without even thinking about it. His features light up, his head cocking to the side. “Let’s go with you.” “Okay, then,” I say, surprising myself with the confidence in my voice. “What do I like in a man? I’d have to say I’m partial to alpha males that make me laugh. And confidence and intelligence are always, always hot.” “I’m four for four.” I laugh. “I’ll agree that you don’t seem to be lacking in confidence.” His laughter mixes with mine and I love the way it sounds melting together. He notices it, too, because our voices ring out longer than necessary, and when they die out, we both seem to miss it immediately. “So,” he says, sitting back in his chair and taking a sip of his wine, “what did you do today after you cleared me of wrongdoing?” “Presley and I looked at some getaways. We’re thinking of going away for a weekend before I go back to school. Someplace fun and relaxed.” “Those are my favorite places. When I go away, I want to shut down and zone out.” “Don’t we all,” I sigh. “That’s exactly what I need right now. Just to get away from the craziness in my life and have some fun.” “Traveling is one of life’s simplest pleasures. I do it as often as I can. It’s in my blood, a nomad’s heart.” As apprehensive as I was to be alone with him, I’m surprised at how easy things are. He seems to feel it too, because his shoulders aren’t rigid anymore. It’s nice. “What do you do for work?” I ask, glancing at my food but not yet settled enough to eat. “I’m in business.” “I saw that.” He laughs and shakes his head. “You cyber-stalked me?” “Of course I did! You really didn’t think I was just going to meet you here, did you?” “Yeah,” he says in disbelief. “I kind of did. Do you research all your dates?” I shrug. “If I went on a lot of dates I would.” Peering at me over the rim of his glass, he decides to press the issue. I fire a warning glance, a look that says that topic is off limits for the moment, and he relents. “The web didn’t give me much,” I comment, “other than you seem to work a lot in Vegas. Just so

you know.” “I do a lot of different things and much of that is based in Las Vegas. The web told the truth.” He takes another sip of his wine before continuing. “My parents owned companies that I’ve taken over since their passing and consolidated under one big umbrella. They were very different people, so we do a lot of different things.” “How do you keep it all straight?” I ask, steering away from giving him my condolences on his parents. Something tells me it isn’t a topic he wants to discuss. “I have people that run the different sectors. And they have managers that run each individual brand beneath them, so I’m not dealing with them on a day-to-day basis. I just look at the reports and make sure we’re hitting benchmarks, working towards our end goals. That kind of thing.” “I see. You’re everyone’s boss.” He laughs, the sound stoking the desire growing in my core. The way his Adam’s apple bobs, the animation on his dazzling face, the sound of his smooth voice dancing across the table causes the rest of his words to evaporate into thin air. I can’t concentrate, as much as I want to. All I can do is try not to combust right here in the middle of dinner. Lord, help me. “Yes, I’m everyone’s boss,” he says as my ability to pay attention comes back. “I might get that on a plaque for my wall.” “You should really think about it before you do it. I don’t know how well received it would be by your employees.” “True,” he grins. “So, enough about me. What do you do? You mentioned you go to school?” “Yeah,” I say, loving that he paid attention to that little detail. “I want to be a teacher. My grandparents were ministers and it really gave me a desire to help people and kids are my weakness.” “That’s honorable.” “It’s where my heart is. My parents wish I’d do something that made more money. And maybe I won’t have a Ferrari in my life, but I’m okay with that, you know?” His features are soft, the smugness that usually hovers around him is gone. Something about the way he’s looking at me is so intimate, so pure, it makes my skin break out in shivers. “I do know,” he confesses. “And I love that you know that. So many people get caught up in the materialism of life.” “But you probably have a Ferrari,” I note, looking at him through my lashes. “I don’t have a Ferrari. But I could if I wanted one.” He leans back in his chair and watches me. “I have a lot of nice things and I’m grateful for that. I work hard for them. My parents busted their ass for them too.” He taps his chin and searches for words. “Sometimes the things that are the hardest to get aren’t material. They aren’t things you can bust your ass for.” It’s as if a thick blanket is snuggled around the table, blocking out everything else. Even the waves that I’ve been watching out of the corner of my eye are now forgotten. Something passes between us, some level of understanding that I can’t place but is assuredly there. We sit at the table, watching each

other, until he finally breaks the silence. “You surprise me,” he says, picking up his glass again. “How’s that?” “When I first saw your pictures, I expected . . . let’s say I didn’t expect you.” When I went to pick it up, I certainly didn’t expect you either. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I flush. “It is most definitely a compliment. You’re quite a woman—smart, gorgeous, witty.” My cheeks heat at his confession. I’ve been told all of those things before, but never with that sincerity and never from a man like him. I’m not sure there is another man like him. He makes my clothing want to combust without a word, yet when he adds language to the mix, it only makes it better. “What’s on your finger?” he asks. I glance at my hand. On the inside of my pointer finger on my right hand is an open heart. Presley has one, too. It’s our ode to the best friend heart necklaces we used to give our friends when we were little girls. One night after a bottle or two of wine, we hired an Uber driver to take us to the tattoo parlor and got them. “This?” I ask, holding it up for him to see. “It’s a heart.” “What’s it for?” “Presley has one, too. It was a random decision late one night. When I look at it, I smile. I think of her and her loyalty and the laughs we share. It’s our thing, you know?” A dark shadow flitters across his face. I’m intrigued, but don’t ask. “Presley—she’s your best friend?” “Yeah, strangely. We don’t really have that much in common, other than we like each other,” I laugh. “Do you have friends like that?” He shakes his head and sits back in his chair. “No, I don’t. But I like what you just said.” “What’s that?” “That all you have in common is that you like each other. I like that.” “It more poetic than true, really. We both like the beach and we both like vodka,” I laugh. “All the makings of a true friendship.” “Definitely. But some days, I really think that’s all we have. She’s never worked a day in her life and never will. Her father owns some big corporation of some sort and they are loaded beyond comprehension. My family isn’t poor by any means, but my parents have always made me have a job. They said it’s character building.” “I agree. Hard work purifies the soul.” I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but I’d rather be purifying my soul teaching and not working for minimum wage at a bookstore.” “Ah, don’t knock books,” he says, pretending to grimace. “I’m not knocking books. Just the pay scale.”

He laughs and begins to slice his steak again. “I love to read. Always have. I remember reading The Iliad in fifth grade and never looked back.” I file that snippet away for later. If there is a later. I look at him and grin. Please be a later. He nods before pulling in his brows. He leans back and pulls his phone out of his pocket. His features tighten and he glances up at me. “I realize how rude this is, but this is a call that I’ve been waiting on for a week. I really need to answer.” “Go, please . . .” He stands and jets off to the other side of the room. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I can tell it isn’t a pleasant conversation. His hand runs through his hair, his shoulders stiffening more and more as the conversation goes on. Despite being obviously angry, he’s still hot as hell. Maybe hotter, actually. His body moves so powerfully, so confidently, the suit flexing and moving around his body like it was made for it. Maybe it was. He slips the phone into his pocket and turns his back to me, pausing for a few long seconds before facing me again. He comes towards the table, the frustration melting into a grin that, in turn, melts me. “I hate to say this, trust me when I say that, but I have to get to the office. I—” “It’s okay,” I say, rushing to stand. I smooth my dress down and try to play off my piercing disappointment. I can’t look him in the face for fear he’ll see just how much. I inhale a deep breath of his musky scent and commit it to memory. There will not be a later. “It’s not okay,” he groans. “I’m not happy about this and if there was any way at all I could get around it, I would. But it’s something that requires my immediate attention.” He tilts his head to study my face. I don’t look away. I just let him see what he wants. “One of the pleasures of being everyone’s boss?” I ask. “Something like that.” He bites his lip before releasing it with a flourish. “Are you going away with Presley this week?” “Not this week. I have to work.” He takes a deep breath and holds it. “I have a proposition for you.” “Oh really?” My stomach twirls with anticipation. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but the glimmer in his eye tells me to hold on tight. “I have a business trip this week. I’d like you to go with me.” What? I furrow my brows, sure I’ve misunderstood him. Yet when I look up, I can see a twinge of uncertainty hidden just beneath the surface. “Excuse me?” I ask. His face darkens, the uncertainty gone. “I’d like you to accompany me this week. It would be a few

days out of town. I’ll take care of everything. Just join me.” “I . . . I can’t.” “Why not?” I take a large gulp of air and it does nothing to calm my thundering heartbeat. I have no idea why he thinks this is a good idea, but even after spending the last hour or so with him, I still barely know him. Do I like him? Yes. Absolutely. Would I have gone home with him? Again—without a doubt. But out of town? That’s entirely different. “I really can’t. I have to work,” I say, keeping it simple. “I’ll double your pay.” “Fenton—” “Triple it. Quadruple it.” He steps closer to me, pulling me even more into his realm. “When I saw your picture this morning, there was something in your eyes that reeled me in. Yes, you’re insanely beautiful. And now I know you’re intelligent and funny. But there’s still something behind those blue —or is it green?—eyes that I want to discover.” He takes another step to me until our bodies are nearly touching. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m being obliterated by everything about this man and his proximity. He knows it. He’s using it to his advantage. “Just come, Brynne,” he says huskily. “I have to work.” “I’ll pay you more than you’d make all month to call in sick and go with me.” His words shock me back to the present. It sounds so cheap. So immoral. So hot, yes, but still. “Listen, if I didn’t just get that call, you and I both know what would’ve happened after dinner.” His eyelids hood, his lips pressing together in an undeniable smirk. He leans in, his breath glancing my skin. “And you’d’ve loved every fucking second of it. I promise.” I gasp, more from his bluntness than it being some revelation. Because what he said is true. Or I hope it would’ve been true. I think. Maybe. Shit. Heat pools between my legs. I clench my thighs together to try to ease the ache that’s growing out of control. The way he’s looking at me only intensifies the throb—like he’s going to devour me. Please. Do. “Am I wrong?” His question is more of a taunt than an actual inquiry. And one that I don’t feel needs answered because it’s pretty self-explanatory by the energy between us right now. I know his cock is hard for me; I saw him adjust it. So of course he isn’t freaking wrong. “Are you serious right now?” I ask. “Serious as a heart attack, rudo.” His fingertips find the side of my face. They lazily draw from my temple down my cheek, across my jaw, and down my neck. My skin feels like it’s on fire, my entire body heated to the point of explosion. He pins me in place with his grey eyes.

“Are you denying it? You think you wouldn’t go home with me tonight? Do you want to pretend you’re not wondering what I’d feel like slipping inside you? Because I know you are. You want me so badly you can’t think of anything else. And right now, my cock is so fucking hard for you I’m tempted to toss you across that chair over there and indulge.” I gasp. He snickers. “Go with me,” he whispers. “As what? A fuck buddy?” He watches me carefully, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t think of it like that.” “But that’s what it is, isn’t it?” “I despise that term.” He leans back and changes tactics. “Our timing tonight is terrible and I have a trip this week anyway. So why not use it to spend time together.” If his phone hadn’t rung and the night had played out, I would’ve gone home with him, for free, if he offered. Hell, I’d probably have skipped all the way there. And as I look him in the face, see the desire laced wickedly through the grey specks of his irises, I feel my resolve wane. “Think of it this way,” he says, taking a different approach. “I’m simply acknowledging your time is valuable and that you’ll be missing work. Your presence is worth it, a commodity, of sorts.” “So I’m your secretary, for lack of a better word?” “Sure,” he shrugs. “You’re my employee for the week. Your job is to entertain yourself while I’m working during the day and entertain me when I’m not.” Every synapse in my brain misfires, wetness pooling between my legs. He watches me try to rein it in, his lips pursed together in a “job well done” sort of way. I can’t even smart something off because I can’t think about anything other than him touching me, kissing me, his cock driving inside me. “So that’s a yes?” I want to agree. I desperately want to agree. But as I shake my head, the fog lifts just enough for me to realize the potential problems with this situation . . . and the possibility that I may not be as willing to go away with a stranger when I’m not standing in front of him so keyed up. I have to be smart. As impossible, and stupid, as it seems, I have to say no. “No, Fenton. That’s a no.” He steps back, a look of disbelief on his face. “What?” “I can’t go with you. I’m sorry.” Turning on my heel, I head to the door. I have to get away, get some air, before I succumb to him. I’m just a hairbreadth away now. One touch from him and I’ll be a goner, agreeing to everything he says, complying with everything he asks. My hand is on the door when his voice rings through the air. “Brynne?” “Yeah?” “When you change your mind, call me.”

“A re you nuts?” Presley stands in the doorway to my room, her hands on her hips. “Seriously, Brynne. You told him no?” “Yes, I told him no,” I hiss, my unrelieved sexual tension starting to get the best of me. “What was I supposed to do? Agree to basically be a prostitute? Yeah—no, thanks.” I take off the heels and toss them in Presley’s direction. They land with an unceremonious thud. “While I respect your sudden bout of ethics,” Presley exaggerates, “I really think you’re overthinking this.” Catching her eye in the mirror over my bureau, I scoff. “I’m sure you do.” She flounces across the room and plops on my bed. The backboard hits the wall as she rearranges the pillows and makes herself comfortable. “I’m going to get out of this dress.” I disappear into my closet and slip out of the dress and into a robe that I use when I’m not feeling well. I have a feeling after I process all of this, I may not be the best I’ve ever been. My head is still in a fog, still reeling over the way Fenton looked at me. It’s as if my brain has a timer and every four-point-six seconds a recollection of his smirk or his laugh will fire through my mind. And then reality hits that I was there with him and he asked me to go away and I said no. Pure. Frustration. When I return to my room, Presley’s tucked under my yellow comforter. “Comfy?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed. She doesn’t answer me, so I glance over my shoulder. She’s watching the lights below us twinkle through the window. It’s a perk of living on a hill overlooking a valley. “How did you end up with the better room? The feng shui is so much better in here.” “Because you had a mini-meltdown about the sun coming in and waking you in the mornings, remember? So because I have to get up and go to work every day, I took this room.” “Oh. Yeah. Good point,” she grimaces. “Mornings aren’t my thing.” “We know.” I climb up the mattress and lie beside my best friend. She seems completely at ease, but I recognize the glimmer in her eyes. I could just bring it up, say Fenton’s name, and she’d pick up the

topic and run with it. But I don’t because I’m not even sure how I feel about it. I know how I should feel about it. After a long while, Presley can’t take it anymore. “So . . .” “So . . .” “Damn it, Brynne. Talk to me.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “Oh, my friend, there is. There most certainly is.” I sag against the mountainous stack of pillows behind my head. A deep tear of uncertainty sits squarely on my shoulders. I expected as the night wore on that I would either feel good about my decision or would regret it on an epic level. I don’t feel either way. “Why couldn’t I have lost my phone in the bananas?” She squirms around until she’s sitting up. “If I did, some old man with a receding hairline would’ve found it! Not a freaking cover model.” Her long hair swishes side to side as she shakes her head. “But no, you have to lose it and have Mr. Orgasm find it. You, of all people. You, the one that won’t reap the benefits of your luck!” “Pres . . .” “This is the universe trying to repay you for all the shit it’s thrown at you. Think about it. Karma just tossed the sexiest man I’ve ever feasted my eyes on, and I’ve seen some cute guys in my time, your way. He. Wants. You. If karma had fingers, she’d have put a bow on it.” A depressed sigh escapes my lips. “I really do have to work, for one thing. And for two, it’s the way he propositioned me. It’s not that I don’t want him,” I groan. “It’s . . . he offered me money, Presley.” “Can’t you just look at it like he knows you’ll be missing work and he’s just trying to be a nice guy? I mean, was he a dick during dinner? Was he ever rude or condescending?” “No.” “See?” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up. “You probably just mentioned that you were saving for school or something, so he feels bad about taking you away from work. And money isn’t an issue for him . . .” My head whips to the side. Guilt is heavy on her face. “What did you do?” “I just called Nick, my daddy’s security guy, and had him run a check on Fenton.” “Are you kidding me?” “Do you really think I was going to let you scamper off not knowing anything about him at all? Come on, Brynne.” I don’t want to ask what Nick found, but I’m way too curious not to. “Well?” “He just did a quick check because I caught him in the middle of something . . . and it wasn’t me going on the date, no offense,” she cringes, “But Fenton owns Ruma—” “He owns the restaurant?” I gulp. I knew he was loaded, or I assumed that, anyway, but Ruma is the hottest place in the city. That’s big. “Yup. I didn’t know that either. Apparently he’s a silent partner or something. But he owns that, is a

shareholder in a Vegas casino, and something else. Maybe a fishing boat?” “A fishing boat?” I laugh. She giggles. “I may not have been paying a lot of attention after Nick said he was clear. But the point of the matter is that he has a completely clean record. There’s nothing but good marks or whatever on his record, so he’s safe.” “Safe. Right.” Presley wrestles around in the sheets until she’s on her side and facing me. She presses her lips together. “You can feel good about this. He’s . . . your rebound.” “I don’t want a rebound, P.” “Everyone needs a rebound. And you haven’t really done much of anything since Grant. You need a good fling to ease you back into the dating world again. And what better way to do that than to get bent with Fent?” My jaw drops and I shoot her a look of disbelief. “Did you really just say that?” “I did,” she laughs. “Do you see what I’m saying though? It’s just a mini-vacation with a super hot guy.” I squeeze my eyes shut and let my memory settle on the way the corner of his lip quirked as he watched me talk. The intensity of his gaze and the way it made my body heat from the inside out washes over me. My skin nearly burns with the memory. “It’s a rebound,” I hesitate, tasting the words. “Just a rebound . . .” she echoes. A rebound I can handle. A rebound I’ve done before. It’s just a segue from one guy to the next. I have had a hard time moving on from Grant’s trashing of my self-esteem. If I’m being truthful, there’s not a better way to forget Grant than with Fenton. When I look at Pres, she’s grinning ear-to-ear. “It’s just a way to boomerang from before,” she motions with her hand, “to after.” “It’s not a bad idea . . .” “Not a bad idea?” She collapses onto her back and sighs dramatically. “It’s the best idea I’ve ever heard! Every girl needs a rebound, and you, naturally, are rebounding better than anyone I know. Most people pick a decent looking guy in a bar covered in tattoos that’s the antithesis of the guy she had. You go all out and get the smokin’ businessman. I have to say,” she laughs, “I’m proud. Jealous as feck, but proud.” “So what do I tell him? Do I just call him and say, ‘Hey, take me with you this weekend but don’t pay me to go so I don’t feel like a whore’?” “Or just go.” “Nope. Deal breaker.” “Okay . . .” She chews on her bottom lip. “Tell him you used vacation days. So you’re getting paid the shifts you’ll miss. It works.” “Then I just have to figure out what to do if they fire me . . .” I fight a grin as a course of

excitement takes flight. Even though this feels right, I don’t want to jump the gun just in case I wake up in the morning with a different feeling about it. “Okay. I’ll call him in the morning.” “Why not now?” “Just in case I have second thoughts.” The blankets rip away and she jumps off the side of the bed. “You need to be more instinctive. Fenton is not going to give you swoon regret.” “Swoon regret? Seriously?” “It happens,” she sighs. “I swooned over this rocker guy once, let me tell you. Hot and sexy and a voice—not cashmere, more whiskey—and in the morning, I regretted my swoon. He wasn’t that cute in the daylight and he had a smoker ’s cough, two things I didn’t see in the strobe lights of the bar.” Laughing, I climb out of bed too. “Want to watch a movie?” “Let’s order Italian and watch Netflix.” “I’m not hungry, but go ahead and order. Just get me some breadsticks.” “Is that some Freudian slip?” Presley laughs. “Probably,” I say, shaking my head and realizing I might be a little more affected than I even realize.

The sun trickles through the curtains, casting a cheery glow through the kitchen. Perched on a barstool at the island, my third cup of coffee at my side, I easily check off the crossword puzzle in front of me. After talking through what to do about Fenton with Presley last night and vegging out in front of the television, I slept like a baby. The fresh air on my walk this morning helped too. Although everything Pres said was right and all her points legit ones, my final decision to go with Fenton came after I remembered something Brady said about making decisions. “When you aren’t sure, imagine you’ve already said yes and then pretend you’ve already said no. Choose accordingly.” Thinking that I’d said yes made me feel excited on a level I haven’t felt since I was accepted into the college of my choice. Pretending I’d said no makes my spirits sink, a continuation of the doldrums that have hovered over me for months. Looking at it like that, the choice was easy—I go. I enjoy myself. Rebounding at its finest. I check off another answer to the puzzle when my phone rings. Lifting it up, I don’t recognize the number, but a flutter of worry ripples through me. I was the one to answer the unknown call when we were notified that Brady was first missing. It was me that answered the door when the uniformed man came to tell us about the “proof of life” video posted on the internet. The roll of bile will always find its way up my throat now when I get an unexpected call for the rest of my life. First hearing that he was at the mercy of some psychopaths, and then weeks later, seeing him bound and on his knees in front of two men with guns is something you can’t shake. It will haunt me forever. “Tell them your name,” a hooded man said in broken English, waving the barrel of a gun near my brother’s face. Brady shied away from it, like a dog that scoots away from a foot after it’s been kicked

too often. “Now.” “Brady Stewart Calloway.” He was clothed in light colored garb, his face half covered by facial hair. His voice was steady, strong, and when he looked in the camera, I could see the hope he was trying to give us. He was trying to tell us he’d be okay and not to break down. But that was impossible. I held my mother all night that night while my father slipped outside to drown his tears in the stiffest liquor he could find. My phone rings again, startling me. I pick it up. “Hello?” I ask, my voice wearing a slight tremble. “Ms. Calloway?” “Yes. This is Brynne.” “Hello, Brynne. I’m Edie Stark from Fred Segal and I was asked to get in touch with you about your needs for this week.” “My needs this week?” I place my pencil down on the counter. “I’m sorry, Edie. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Presley comes into the room and gives me a look, clearly seeing my confusion. I shrug and try to figure out what’s going on. A soft laugh drifts through the phone. “Mr. Abbott said you’d be needing a few things—dresses, swimsuits, some leisure clothes. I just wanted to get a time you were available to swing by the store and—” “Whoa,” I interject, hopping off my stool. “Let’s back up a second. Fenton told you to call me about things I’d need to go away with him?” “Well, Ms. Calloway, I’m not sure what you need these things for. That’s between the two of you. He just asked me to arrange for it to be taken care of . . .” “That cheeky fucker.” I glance at Presley. Her jaw is grazing the tile on the floor. Edie maintains her professionalism and if she’s thrown by my comment, she doesn’t let it show. “I can have a car come pick you up at any time. Just let me know what works for you.” I’m at a loss for words. Even though I was going to say yes, I haven’t yet. He just assumes I’m going to. That rich, good-looking bastard. “Edie,” I say, clearing my throat, “Can I reach you at the number on my caller ID?” “You sure can. Just give me an hour ’s notice, please, to arrange for transportation.” “If it comes to that, I will. Thank you.” “Talk soon.” I click the phone off and spin to see Presley’s startled face. “What the hell did he do?” “Apparently, I have an appointment to go shopping for the week at Fred Segal?” She yawns, stretching her arms over her head. “I knew I’d like him. That Guy Radar was lasered in on this one. What can I say?” “I haven’t even told him I’d go!”

“You must have come across as a given. Or he isn’t used to being told no. Either way, it’s really hot, Brynne.” It is really hot. Presley pours herself a cup of coffee and takes my place at the bar. “I think you need to call him.” “Probably,” I murmur. I thought I had it all figured out. The ball was in my court and I was in control. I was happy with that situation. And now he’s twisted it all up and somehow wrested the control back again. “I don’t want to seem like a shoe-in though.” “I agree. Toss him some conditions. Let him know you aren’t just rolling over . . . yet.” The look on her face makes me giggle. “Good idea. But if he acts like an asshole, I’m bailing. I don’t care how hot he is.” She sips her drink and watches me over the cup, not saying a word. Taking a deep breath, I find his number in my contacts and head into my room, closing the door behind me. I can hear my pulse beating in my ears as I press the call through. It rings twice before he picks up. “Abbott.” “Hi, Fenton. It’s Brynne.” A chair squeaks in the background. I imagine him leaning back in some oversized leather chair, wearing that smirk of his that I’ve thought about for the last fourteen hours. “Well, good afternoon, Brynne. How are you?” “Good. I just had a very interesting phone call.” “Is that so?” “It is,” I quip. “A lady named Edie called. We had a very enthralling conversation.” “Those conversations are my favorites. You never know what you can glean from good dialogue.” Smartass. “What did she say?” he teases. “She said you asked her to make arrangements for me to pick up things for this coming week.” His chuckle resonates through me, bringing my body to life. “Well, I just got off the phone with her a few minutes ago, so that’s a point for efficiency,” he replies. “Fenton, I haven’t agreed to go with you.” “Brynne, you know you’re not going to say no.” My chest tightens. This is the moment of truth. “If I go with you,” I say, my voice as stern as I can manage, “I’m not going as an employee.” “Is that what’s holding you back?” “Yes.” The chair squeaks again. “Brynne, I only offered to pay you to accompany me as a means to an end. You said you had to work, so I assumed you needed the paycheck. It was never my intention to

disrespect you.” My throat goes dry. The tone of his voice, so much rawer than I’ve heard it, blindsides me. “You needed a vacation and I’m going away anyway. Why not go with me?” he asks. “I barely know you.” “But do you like me?” “I think so.” “Didn’t you say last night that sometimes that’s all that matters?” I’m not sure if that is what I said. I can’t focus. I’m lost in his voice, in the way he seems completely unrushed to convince me to take this trip with him. All I know at this minute is that I want to be across from him, looking into those steely eyes, and feeling like this. “Brynne?” “I’m not taking your money.” His laugh reverberates through the phone. “Fine. But if you can’t afford to miss work, I’m happy to compensate you. Money is no worry for me.” I nod, then realize he can’t see me and laugh. “I’m not happy about you thinking I need to go shopping either.” “I might need you to attend a dinner with me and some of my associates. I would expect you to dress a certain way and won’t allow you to come out of pocket to purchase those items, Brynne.” “I have nice things and Presley’s closet at my disposal. I don’t want you buying me clothes.” “I’m not compromising.” What do I say to that? “Fenton . . .” “Edie will have someone pick you up later today. Get with her on a time that works for you.” “How do I even know what to buy? I don’t even know where we’re going.” I’m kind of giving in by asking that, but it seems like a moot point to argue at this juncture. I can almost hear his grin through the phone. “We’re going to Las Vegas. Edie has a list of things you will need. Just leave it up to her.” “You are overwhelming.” “Just wait,” he teases and my hesitation dissolves. “And Brynne?” “Yeah.” “I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. If you need anything at all, please let me know. But right now, I have a meeting I have to get to.” My cheeks flush. “I’m sorry. Go. I didn’t mean to interrupt your day.” “You’re the best interruption I’ve had in a long time.” The smoothness is back, wrapping itself easily around me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Tomorrow . . .” The line clicks and I sit and stare at the phone. What have I gotten myself into?

“Is that everything?” Glancing around my room, it looks like I’ve been burglarized. Clothes, shoes, and jewelry are strung everywhere. My attempt at being prepared for this trip has resulted in a mess of epic proportions, and truth be told, I don’t know if I have everything. It’s hard to know if you’ve packed all you’ll need for a trip with a man you barely know, to a place you’ve never been, and aren’t exactly sure why you’re going. Well, besides the obvious. I look back to my suitcase. It’s stuffed to the brim, overflowing with dresses and swimsuits, footwear and accessories. Most are brand new, tags still attached, sporting prices I don’t even want to look at if I want to keep my panini down. I gaze at the pile of items and the clock on the table beside my bed. A little less than twelve hours to go. I shuffle to the chair in the corner and drop into it. Presley, in turn, tosses me a puzzled look. “Don’t even,” she warns. “Don’t even what?” She wags a finger my direction. “Don’t get that look on your face. The one that says you’re overthinking this. Again.” “I’m not overthinking it,” I contend. “I’m just thinking that maybe this isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.” “Maybe it’s not,” she says, surprising me with her candor. “But it is the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever seen you do. You’ve been more fun today than you have in a long time, and I think you’re doing the right thing by going. Even if it’s not,” she says, sitting next to my luggage, “What’s the worst that can happen?” I take a deep breath and hold it, because I’m not sure how to answer that. “Exactly,” she points out, thinking her point was made. “You’ll get properly ravaged if you’re lucky and will come home on the other side of a plethora of orgasms at the hands of a man I’m quite sure is skilled enough in the sack to rebound you. It’s a wildly amazing plan if you ask me.” “Yeah. I agree.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it.” “It’s just . . . I don’t know what he expects. I don’t know what to expect myself. I think I’m in too deep here. I mean, yeah, I’m all about having some fun, but going away with a guy I don’t know for a few days seems . . . extreme?” “And amazing.” “And potentially a nightmare,” I sigh. I push off the chair and walk to my bureau and grab the bottle of water I set there earlier. I take a long, leisurely drink, pretending the clear liquid is vodka that will soothe my nerves as it goes down. But it doesn’t. When I place it back down, my anxiety level is still climbing. “If you get there and he’s an oddball, call me and I’ll send someone to get you. It’s not a big deal,” Presley notes. “He’s not an oddball.” “He doesn’t have that ‘quiet serial killer ’ look in his eyes when you’re alone?” “No,” I snort. “He has that ‘hypnotizing sex machine’ look.” Presley laughs and fiddles with the zipper on my brand new suitcase, also courtesy of Fenton. “Look, Brynne, if you really don’t want to go, then don’t. But I think you do. That’s why I’m pushing you. You just . . . you deserve some fun. You need a break from all the craziness and what better way to do it than with Fenton?” She puts the tip of her fingernail between her teeth and thinks. “This is like . . . imagine this trip as pushing a button. When you come back, you’ll be reinvigorated. You’ll have something, hopefully a whole lot of somethings,” she grins, “to think about and smile when you’re dealing with life. Right now, you don’t have a lot to go on in that department.” “Thanks for that, Dr. Phil.” “I’m serious.” I pad across the room and sit beside her. Ignoring the suitcase and all it entails, I look at my friend. “I’m not worried Fenton is a serial killer, Pres. I’m worried I’ll be awkward. What if I get there and have a panic attack? What if something happens with Brady and Mom calls and I can’t get to her fast enough? What if—” “Stop.” She places her hand on my shoulder and watches me until my breathing slows. “If something happens with Brady, I’ll make sure you make it to your mom as quickly as possible. I’ll have Daddy’s jet come get you if I have to. But, Brynne . . .” Her gaze drops to my lap before finding mine again. “You know there’s a chance you might not hear about him for months. Years. You can’t put off living because of that.” The words are a knife to my chest. A knife that’s serrated and stabs me repeatedly, creating a jagged, gushing wound. It’s a thought I’m just learning to live with, to accept as a realistic possibility, and to not want to hurl when it flashes through my mind. I miss Brady. To think what he could be going through . . . “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.” “It’s fine,” I half-laugh. “You’re right. Brady would say the same thing.”

“I’m not sure he’d like me pushing you to go with some guy though.” “Probably not,” I giggle. Her smile warms my heart, thawing the fear that threatened to grip me. “Grant said the day he was kidnapped, they were working in an area they normally didn’t frequent.” Presley watches cautiously because, while I talk to her about practically everything, I don’t talk about the intricacies of this much. I don’t know why I feel compelled to now, but I do. “He said they got a call to go over there—him, Brady, and another guy named Zore. And because Brady is a doctor and not former military, he’s supposed to stay with a security detail at all times. There was a little boy in the road with a soccer ball crying and Brady broke off and went to him while the other guys were talking to some locals . . .” Presley squeezes my shoulder. “Sounds like something your brother would do. Always the softie, even at the risk of his own safety.” “He risked everything for that little boy, yet Mandla won’t risk anything to get him back. They say the government won’t let them go in because it’s against international treaties to go in and basically start a war, and they can’t negotiate with terrorists. But that’s bullshit, Pres. You know they know who took him. They just stay silent. Our attorney says it’s because anything they say can be used against them if we sue them. Grant won’t even say much more about it. It’s all this big conspiracy, it feels like, and you know, as much as I don’t want to believe it because he and my brother were best friends, I feel like Grant’s been paid off to keep quiet. I really do.” Presley gasps. “Are you serious?” I nod. “I am. My dad suspects it too, but I don’t think Mom realizes it. And Dad doesn’t tell her so she doesn’t get even more upset. She can’t handle much more.” “I wish I could help you,” she says. “Just watching you go through this about rips me in two.” “You do help me. You’re here every day. You let me cry and mope and pick me up and shake me when I need it but don’t want it.” I think back to all the ways she’s been there for me. “I’m pretty sure that, without you, I’d have lost it this year.” “Not true. You would’ve been fine because you’re the strongest person I know.” I snort. “You are! You’ve handled all this crap like a champ. I would’ve just drowned myself in expensive champagne and waited for someone to fix it all. I couldn’t have kept going like you have. You’re kinda my hero.” I toss a pillow at her and it hits her square in the face. “Shut it,” I laugh. “If I ever see Grant again, I’ll take my heel off and stab him through the heart. Best friend’s honor.” She presses her lips against two fingers and holds them up in the air in some sign of solidarity. I laugh. “Twist it while it’s in there.” “Done.” “I just wish I could go back and not let him go to Africa the first time. Whatever happened to him

over there just changed his life and mine. Things would be so different if he hadn’t gone, you know?” This deep desire has rolled around in my head too many times to count, but those times are when I’m alone and often late at night, when the only thing around to judge your thoughts is the darkness. But I’ve never actually said this out loud, in the open, and something about releasing it into the world is cathartic. Presley rests her head on my shoulder. “I think you’ll always miss what could’ve been. That’s pretty normal for a first love. I mean, I haven’t been with Shane for two years and I still miss him.” “But would you jump back at the chance if he came back now? If he showed up at the door today, would you just run off into the sunset with him?” “I don’t know. Honestly, probably not. I think I’ve changed from the person I used to be. I was so needy then, you know? And that’s probably why he took off. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him or think about what our life would’ve been like if we hadn’t split up.” “I don’t want Grant back. He cheated on me and I really think he had something to do with Brady. But he was the love of my life. I had our entire future planned out. We talked about it—the things we would do together. The places we’d go, the house we would build somewhere. I need to bleach my mind of those things.” “No, you need to replace them with new ideas and visions. And I’m not saying you’re going to do that this week with Fenton, but I’d try bleach in the form of him.” My mind wanders to Fenton and his hands on me, his mouth on me elsewhere. I’m pretty sure those images could dampen, if not black out, a lot of old memories. When I look at Presley again, she bursts out in laughter. “That smile says it all,” she quips, putting her arm around my shoulder. “I have a feeling you’re going to be smiling a lot in the coming days, my little Brynnie.” A niggle of excitement flutters through me, replacing the melancholy from before. “I hope so, Pres. I hope so.”

“I’m gonna be sick.” “It’s just your new birth control shot,” Presley contends. “Those things always make me nauseous. Just relax.” “No, I’m really going to be sick and it’s all nerves.” I grip the handles to my luggage and try to quell my anxiety as the airplane comes into view. “You are not. Breathe,” Presley says, taking a deep inhale of her own and blowing it out. “Just like that. Follow my lead.” “I don’t need Lamaze, you idiot,” I laugh. “No, but you laughed, so it worked.” She slows to a stop. “I can’t go any farther. Go have fun, enjoy yourself, and call me at least five times a day.” I giggle, setting my bags on the ground and pulling her into a hug. “I put all the hotel information on the bulletin board in the kitchen. If anything changes, I’ll text you.” “I love ya.” She pulls away and takes a step back. “And you look like a boss.” My skin is kissed with a fresh spray tan, my golden legs set off by a pair of white shorts. My top is a dark golden color, the fabric thin and cool despite the three-quarter sleeves. The heels on my feet match the color of my top. It’s an outfit Edie and Presley put together for me, and although I thought it was an odd match at first, I’m totally in love with it now. Brushing a strand of my stick-straight strands out of my face, I can’t help but grin. “I do, don’t I?” “You so do. Now go show the man what you got.” “I love ya, Pres.” “I know.” She blows me a kiss and walks through the double doors towards her car. I roll my suitcase and pull my glasses over my eyes. The sun is bright as I make my way to the small jet in front of me. A man in a suit and tie is waiting for me at the ramp. “Can I take your bags, Ms. Calloway?” “Sure.” I take a satchel off my shoulder and set it beside my suitcase. “I’ll take this smaller one on with me, if that’s okay?” “Absolutely. Go on inside,” he says. “Mr. Abbott is waiting for you. We’ll be taking off shortly.” Nodding, I head up the stairs. My legs feel like jelly as I get closer to the entrance, the dark

opening awaiting me with all of the answers to my anxieties. I pause midway up and look behind me and nearly march right back down. I know what’s behind me: safety, security, predictability. Everything ahead of me is the exact opposite, and the thought terrifies me. “Miss?” I spin around to see a woman with ruby red lips hovering in the door way. Taking a gulp of smoggy air, nearly choking to death, I make it up the remaining steps and into the chilly cabin. “Ms. Calloway, welcome aboard,” she says. “Thank you.” My hand trembles as I extend it. She shakes it warmly. “Mr. Abbott is in there,” she nods to my right. “My name is Suzie. Please let me know if you need anything at all.” She goes through an opening to the cockpit and I’m left standing. A part of me wants to flee, to run back to Presley’s car and just go to the safety of home. Before I can, Fenton comes into sight. Our eyes lock and he stops in his tracks. “Welcome aboard.” He takes a few steps until he’s standing directly in front of me. His cologne washes over me, tempting me with its mixture of soap and a hint of spiciness. It’s the human equivalent of crystal meth, completely addictive. The scent alone would make me wet, but combined with the sound of his voice, the look on his face—the promise of what’s to come—I’m nearly combusting standing in front of him. “Are you okay?” he asks. He takes my bag, his fingertips brushing my skin, setting it on fire. A gasp parts my lips at the contact, a shaky intake of breath that I know he hears because he allows his fingers to linger a touch longer than necessary. When I look at his face, he’s smirking. “I’ll take that as a yes.” “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Thank you,” I blush. Fenton takes a step away, turning his back to me, and I can gawk unabashedly for the first time. He’s wearing a pair of ultra-dark denim jeans with pristine white Adidas. A heather grey Polo shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. His dark hair appears to have been styled in some semblance at one point but now looks messy. And delicious. He motions towards a set of large leather seats. “We’ll be taking off soon. Would you like a drink?” I need a heavy shot of whiskey and chastise myself for not taking one before I left the house. “No, I’m fine.” “Very well.” He takes a seat along the wall. I guess that he’d been sitting there before I came aboard because a briefcase and a tumbler of a honey-colored liquid sit beside it. I wonder vaguely if he’s nervous, too. “Would you like to sit?” I force a swallow and head towards him. This was the part I wanted to avoid. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Sit next to him? Sit a couple seats down? Sit on his cock? Flushing at the last option, I take the seat to his left. Trying hard not to fidget and seem the nervous ball of energy I really am, I fasten my belt with clumsy hands.

The smoothness of his voice catches me off-guard. “I know I’ve asked this already, but are you okay?” “Of course.” “Look at me, Brynne.” Pulling my gaze to his, I’m trapped as always. He pins me to my seat with only a look. I can’t breathe, the weight of his stare nearly unbearable. He searches my face for something—I’m not sure what—but he doesn’t seem to find it. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, a huskiness to his voice that goes right through me. “Me too.” “I want you to be.” “I am. I promise.” He opens his mouth to say something else when Suzie comes into the room. I jump at the sound of her voice. “Mr. Abbott, we will be taking off momentarily. Do you need anything before we depart?” “No. And if we need anything, I’ll call for you. Please don’t disturb us.” She nods and disappears through the doorway. The plane starts to move, the jets hissing as they fire to life. I don’t expect the calm that settles over me. There’s something about the decision being made, no option left but to ride out the next hour or so, that stills me. Taking a deep breath, I decide to make the best of it. I look at Fenton. He’s looking at me. “So . . .” “Thank you for coming,” he says, taking the pressure off of me. “And can I say, you look beautiful?” “That’s thanks to you. The clothes were entirely too much. I feel a little awkward about it, really.” “Don’t. It was my pleasure.” “Well, when you get the bill, you can blame it on Edie,” I laugh. “I would’ve gone to Target and been completely fine.” He shakes his head. “Target doesn’t allow me the opportunity to treat you like I wanted to.” “Thank you. It was very unnecessary, but I enjoyed it and I hope what I got is okay.” “If what you’re wearing today is any indication, it’s more than okay. It’s perfect.” Looking away, I try not to blush. The plane begins its ascent and the roar of the engines is loud. Fenton whips out a file from his briefcase and gives it a once-over. Again, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. He’s going to work on this trip, but do I just ride along until he wants to give me attention? I have no idea and it’s killing me. I can’t ask him yet, anyway. It’s too loud. So I pull my Kindle out of my bag and try to become invested in a second-chance romance about a rock star, but it’s nearly impossible sitting next to him. Each time I become engrossed in the words, he moves and my senses are assaulted by his proximity. The third time this happens, I search the ebook for “cock” and start reading a sex scene. The

anticipation, the build-up, of finally being alone with him is getting the best of me and I need some form of undoing. If that has to be done via fictional character, then so be it. The heroine is taking the hero’s cock in her mouth when a low rumble radiates beside me. Startled, I look up and see Fenton smirking. “What?” I push the power button on my e-reader and place it on my lap. I realize the jet has leveled off and it’s quiet in the cabin. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “Just wondering what you’re reading.” “Why?” “Because,” he says, his eyes darkening, “Your entire posture changed. Your lips parted, your breathing became labored. I’m intrigued.” “I don’t think you’d be interested in this.” “Trust me—if it gets that kind of reaction out of you, I’m definitely interested.” Dragging in a lungful of air, I remember Presley’s pep talk on the way here and decide I have nothing to lose. I switch on the tablet and find the page. “She drew his cock into her mouth, stroking his shaft as she licked a pool of semen from the tip.” I glance over my shoulder and his eyes are wide. I wink. “A growl escaped his throat as she stroked his velvety shaft, running her tongue—” “Enough.” He snatches the Kindle from my grasp and places it on his briefcase. “Fucking hell, Brynne. Do you want fucked right here?” “Maybe?” He shakes his head, his chest rising and falling in tempo with mine. A low growl sounds from his throat as his hands drag roughly down his face. He’s flustered, his knuckles turning white as he grips the arm rests. I did this to him. I worked this man into a frenzy. The longer it takes him to get himself together, the more heady the feeling becomes. It’s a powerful thing, knowing a man like him wants you. I want to keep reading, to force him to react, but I can’t because he’s taken the Kindle from me. Instead, I watch him turn to face me, his features wearing a determined look. “We aren’t doing that here.” It’s a simple statement, one I’m not sure he’s one-hundred percent behind. “Isn’t that what you brought me here for?” He watches me out of the corner of his eye and chuckles, a low, cautionary ripple. “You have no idea. But I don’t want to do that in front of an audience, and believe it or not, there are a handful of people on board at the moment.” I didn’t think of that. Or maybe I did and didn’t care. But after his admonishment, I realize how silly it would’ve been. I rest back in my seat and try to get a grip. “And, for the record, that’s not the only reason I asked you to come.” “Oh, really?”

“Really. Maybe we should talk about the next few days?” he asks. “Yes,” I exhale. “That would be great, actually. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, or well, anything. It’s nerve-wracking.” “I don’t want you feeling that way.” His eyes search mine. “I don’t want you to be nervous, Brynne. I want you to enjoy this trip and relax and have fun. So if anything bothers you or you feel awkward, please tell me. Promise you’ll tell me?” I nod. “All right. I have a lot of work to pack in to the next few days. I’ll be gone a lot and I might ask you to accompany me to a dinner or two. But I’ll give you notice if that’s the case. These trips just fluctuate and are hard to predict. When I’m gone, feel free to enjoy yourself. Whatever you need, any expenses you encounter, just charge them to our room and I’ll handle it.” “I—” “That wasn’t a question,” he grins. “It’s cut and dry. When I’m not working, I want you to be with me. If there’s a show you want to see or somewhere you want to eat, we can do that. But I do want you available to me completely at those times. Okay?” “Okay,” I whisper. It shouldn’t seem as hot as it does to be at someone’s beck and call, but I can’t deny the heat singeing my veins. The look he’s flashing me is doing everything but actually penetrating me, and I need the release. Desperately. He nods and stands. Having him out of reach frees up a roomful of oxygen and I fill my lungs with the precious air. I need to get us on a different topic, something with less of a direct line to my libido. “What are you doing for work in Vegas?” I ask. He eyes me warily. “A few different things.” “Such as?” “Why?” “Because I’m spending a few days with you alone. What if your job is a mafia hitman?” He grins. “Then you’re in more danger than you thought.” I gulp. “I’m going to need you to deny that you aren’t one. Now. Thank you.” His laughter fills the cabin, the cashmere back in full force. “I’m not a hitman. I’d venture to say you’re safer with me than with anyone you know.” “That makes me feel better.” “Glad to hear it.” His cheeks are split in an easy, wide grin. There’s a softness to him that I haven’t seen before and it sets me at ease in an instant. I just hope that safety pertains also to my heart.

I’ve died and gone to heaven. Twirling slowly in the center of the living room of our suite, I take in as much of the grandeur as I can. Even though we’ve been in the hotel for almost an hour already, I can’t get enough of this place. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen what I think are some pretty magnificent places with Presley. The suite is classic and beautiful, with crystal chandeliers looming everywhere, marble on the counters and floors, and attention to detail on everything from the throw pillows to the vases filled with fresh flowers. The echo from the door closing in the foyer rings through the room. I hear Fenton’s shoes squeak against the tile and nearly lose my breath when he rounds the corner. He’s wearing a dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, his hair damp from the shower. Seeing him never fails to make me weak, but in a suit—I’m a puddle. He’s so divine, so perfect, I can’t believe my eyes. And when he flashes me the grin like he does just now, I nearly drop to my knees. “Everything look all right?” he asks. I want to let him know exactly how all right things look from my perspective and that it has nothing to do with the room, but rather the man standing in front of me. His jaw tenses as he waits for my reply. “This is just spectacular, Fenton,” I coo, deciding to keep it about the more permanent features. “Honestly. I don’t even know what to say.” He saunters towards me in what would appear a relaxed manner, but it’s not. I can see the truth in his steely eyes. He’s on a mission—for what, I’m not sure. But I’m hoping to know soon. I nibble my bottom lip and watch him near. His features have darkened, the playfulness of only moments ago now long gone. He stands so close we nearly touch, but the bastard doesn’t allow that to happen. That would be too easy. I’m learning that he likes to torture me with his self-restraint, something I thought I had in spades but he swipes away with his deft skill. “This is my favorite room in this hotel,” he says, looking down at me. “But I have a feeling after this week, it’s never going to look the same.” “Is that so?” I gulp. He grins. “It is. Or I hope so, anyway.”

I start to respond when he reaches out and touches the side of my face. His skin is smooth and warm as he caresses my cheek, his thumb stroking my jaw deliberately. My breath hitches in my throat and I fight not to lean into his touch. It would be too easy. Way too easy, and I want to show him I too have some restraint. Maybe. Barely. “I have to work for a couple of hours,” he says. “What?” His words are like cold water being dumped on my head. I guess the suit should’ve been a giveaway, but it still shocks me that he’s leaving me already. He drops his hand and chuckles. “I do. Just for a little bit. I did come here to work, remember?” “Oh, of course. I just . . . I . . .” “Did you have something else in mind?” he teases. My cheeks heat. I shake my head, my long locks swishing against my shoulders. “I think you did, Brynne.” He tips my chin with the touch of his finger so I’m looking at him again. “I’ll tell you a secret. I had something else in mind as well. But something has come up and I have to go. But what you had in mind? We’ll get to it, I promise. Whatever you envisioned, I’ll make happen.” His head bows slightly, leaving a shadowy look to his features. “And I’ll make it happen in a way you’ll never forget.” He removes his touch and I instantly miss it. Crave it. Need it. “When the time comes, I don’t want to be rushed. I want to take my time with you. That’s the reason I’m not touching you right now, okay? I want that to be very clear.” He leans in, his breath dancing across my cheek. “When I finally touch you, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He steps back, putting much more space between us. The energy in the room swirls, so charged that I get a little light-headed. Fenton watches me for a long minute before turning toward the door. He stops in the entryway and faces me. “If you need anything, you have my number. Or call the front desk and they’ll arrange for whatever it is.” “How long will you be gone?” “A couple of hours. Three at most. But trust that I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He leans against the wall, one hand stuck in his pocket. He looks calm and collected. And he’s leaving me like this—a wound up ball of sexual energy. That’s not fair. He sweeps my body with his eyes. I can feel them roaming over my shoulders, down my breasts, over my hips, and pushing slowly down my legs. He licks his bottom lip and I’m done. Screw restraint. “Hey, Fenton,” I say, moseying unhurriedly towards him. My heels click against the floor, each step a douse of gasoline on an already burning flame. He shoves off the wall, his eyes flickering until I stop a couple of inches away from him. “Hurry back, will ya?” Before I can talk myself out of it, I rise up and press my lips against his. I’m not sure what his reaction will be, but I won’t be the only one waiting around flustered for him to come back. As soon as contact is made, his arms are wrapped around my back, pulling me deliciously into his

rock-hard body. Our mouths move against one another, a frenzied, yet luxurious pace. The rhythm is immediate, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. His lips are soft against mine, his breath hot with a touch of sweetness. My fingers find the back of his silky hair and I urge him on, relishing the contact with the hottest man I’ve ever seen. His large palms press against the thin fabric of my shirt, the friction and pressure searing. Way too soon, he pulls back, a huge smirk on his face. With raised brows, he shakes his head. “Keep that up and this entire trip will be futile.” “I’m not sure how bad that would be,” I breathe, my voice raspy. He glances at his watch and laughs. “I’m late and you’re making me want to blow off a meeting I’ve been after for six months.” Guilt swamps me. I take a few steps back and motion for him to go. “I’m sorry, Fenton. Go. Go work.” He laughs and comes to me, planting a sweet kiss on my lips. “Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize for that, Brynne. I’ll just have to talk to my associates with a raging hard-on.” Giggling, I shoo him off again. “Do whatever it is you have to do and get back here.” He tosses me a wink and is gone before I know it, leaving a trail of his cologne behind. I watch the door, hoping he comes back, but he doesn’t. Heading into the living room, I find our bags sitting next to the sofa. I have no idea how they got here or when, but I dig around until I find my cell phone. Flipping it on, I find three missed calls from Pres. I call her back and stretch out on a cream-colored sofa beside a wall of tinted, curtain-less windows. Vegas is stretched out below me, the mountains in the distance. It’s a gorgeous view. Not as good as the one that just left, but good nonetheless. “It’s about damn time!” Presley screeches into the phone, making me laugh. “I was about ready to call Nick and have him send people to go get you.” “And to think—you’re the one that told me I’d be fine.” She sighs dramatically into the phone and I laugh again. My head rests on a red pillow with navy blue swirls as I listen to her go on and on asking why I didn’t text her when we landed. “I’m fine, Pres. He just left to go to a meeting, so I found my phone.” “He left you? Already?” “Well, he did come here to work.” “True.” She blows a bubble and it pops loudly. “So, what’s the plan? You just hang out while he’s gone?” “Yeah,” I shrug, watching the lights blink below. “I might go down to the pool or something. He said to do whatever I want while he worked. But I need to explore this suite first. You should see this place. It’s incredible.” “The suites are nice in Vegas. And the hotel you’re in is really known for its elegance.” I roll my eyes. “You would know. Sometimes I forget who you are.”

She laughs. “Call me when you can. I have a date tonight, actually, so I need to go get spiffied up.” “Oooh! A date? With who?” “Just some guy I met at a cocktail party last week. He’s pretty cute and has a band. I’m going to be careful though. Swoon regret with rockers happens a lot.” “Your ’e so dumb,” I laugh. “All right, I’ll call you when I can. Have fun!” “Hey, Brynnie?” “Yeah?” She pauses before she continues. “I like hearing you like this. Excited. Happy.” “What’s not to be happy about?” I ask, raising up on the sofa. “I’m rebounding.” “That you are.” Resetting the button. That’s all I’m doing. That’s all this is.

Stepping inside Funda, the upscale restaurant tucked inside the hotel, is like walking into a different planet. The hotel is loud and glittery, everything buzzing and pulsing with energy as casinos typically do. But inside the restaurant, nestled into a back corner, it’s the exact opposite. I smooth my hands down my dress, a sheer, nude sheath dress with a turquoise embellished overlay. It has beautiful ribbons that wrap around my waist, making me look curvier than I really am. A dapper-looking man in a suit smiles as I walk into the restaurant and I nod politely, but don’t make eye contact. I’m nervous enough as it is—too nervous to risk opening my mouth. Besides, I’m here to see one man. The man that left the suite nearly five hours ago. I didn’t hear from him all day. I headed to the pool after talking to Presley and read a little on a chair until my skin started feeling like it was going to melt off in the Nevada sun. There’s a little ice cream shop on the way to the room that I stopped in for lunch and then napped a little in the room. I was surprised that it had been two more hours and still there wasn’t a missed call or text. After showering and trying to read again, the text came to meet him at Funda. People sit on oversized, backless sofas in the entryway as I make my way to the hostess desk. Once I identify myself as a guest of Fenton, I’m whisked through and pass other impeccably dressed diners through an archway to a more private dining room. There are five or six tables, but I don’t check them out. I’m focused on the man sitting at the table in the far corner. Fenton’s running his finger around the brim of a tumbler, looking off into the distance. His forehead is marred, his mouth forming a thin line. The waiter clears his throat as we approach and Fenton jostles back to the present. Once again, his gaze roams slowly over my body. When it lands on my face, the stress melts from his. He stands and whips around the table, pulling out my seat. “You look gorgeous, Brynne.” “Thank you,” I tell him, sitting. “You look more stressed than I’d like to see you.” He moves back around the table and takes his seat once again. He pours me a glass of wine. “I apologize for being gone so long today. Things took longer than I expected.” “It’s fine. Like you said, you came here to work, after all.” “True. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about being gone all afternoon.” A stormy look passes over his features and I wonder what happened today, but I don’t ask. It’s not my place. So I go for the

more general inquiry. “How was your meeting?” I ask. “Good. Tense. Frustrating.” “I’m sorry.” “Yeah, me too. Some people are just really hard to deal with. I wonder sometimes if they get off on just being complete jackasses.” I laugh, having had those same thoughts before myself. “I think they do. You can completely bend over backwards for some people and it’s just not enough. They’ll press you for more and more. Or they’ll turn you around and bend you over again and stick it to you from behind.” A waiter slips in and places a covered dish in front of each of us and is gone within seconds. “I ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind.” “Not at all,” I say, lifting the lid. “This looks great.” “I hope so. I didn’t want to spend any more time here than we need to.” “Good idea.” His eyes sparkle with promise, making my mouth water. He’s so different than any guy I’ve been with before in every way. He puts them all to shame. We begin to eat, a comfortable silence descending on the table. Every move he makes is done in a way I’m realizing is the way he does everything—exquisitely. Each motion is purposeful, every movement executed in a precise way. He may be incredibly good-looking, but that aside, just being around him is intoxicating. I catch myself wanting to know more about him, what makes him tick. This is a rebound, not a date. “What did you do today?” he asks, taking a bite of his food. “I called Presley and took a nap. I laid out for awhile today at the pool.” His jaw drops an inch. “You were in a bikini without me?” My insides do a flipflop, tumbling head over heels. The idea of him being annoyed by that little fact never occurred to me, but the stormy look on his face makes me deliriously happy. “What else am I supposed to lay out in?” I taunt, watching the storm darken. “Without me? A trash bag.” “Fenton!” He shakes his head and suppresses a growl. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. Ever. “Look, Brynne, I know I told you to do whatever you wanted while I was gone. And I want you to enjoy yourself—I do. But I need you to do those things clothed.” “So the fact that a guy bought me a drink is probably a no too?” His jaw drops wide open, but I start giggling before he can comment. “Fenton, I was kidding. About the drink anyway. I was in a bikini, a very little red one that Edie said you’d love . . .” “I’d love. Me. That’s the part you seem to have missed.” Everything about the way he looks at me tells me he’s serious. But the tug at the corner of his mouth makes it feel playful and I run with that. I shrug casually. “It’s a good thing I’m not sure if there were guys at the pool today or not, since I

spent the whole time imagining what you would look like shirtless.” A faint rumble drifts to my ears and the smirk that melts me trickles over his lips. “Good girl.” He composes himself before continuing. “You do look like you caught some sun. You’re golden.” “I didn’t stay long,” I report. “The sun is so hot. And there were so many people.” “You aren’t a fan of large crowds?” “Not really. I’d prefer watching a movie at home over going to the theater any day.” “And I bring you to Las Vegas.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “But for the record, I’m the same way. I always feel like I’m strange because I don’t like going out in public. But maybe I’m more normal than I thought . . . or you’re just weird too.” The waiter comes by and checks on our table. Fenton has a quick conversation with the man and I wonder if they know each other. They have a much more natural rapport than anyone I’ve seen him with yet. I don’t have time to think about it much because before I know it, he’s gone. Fenton takes a sip of his wine, watching me over the brim. He places it back on the table and relaxes back in his chair. “So what do you normally do when you date?” “I don’t know. Dinner. A movie, if the guy is uncreative,” I confess. “I’d rather go to the beach with a picnic or to a play or ballet though, really.” “I haven’t been to something like that in years.” “I make sure I see The Nutcracker every December. There’s nothing like it. And if I can sneak another one in, I try to.” He drops his napkin on the table, his eyes wistful. “My mother loved ballets and plays and operas. We would see something on Broadway every year for her birthday.” “She sounds fantastic,” I whisper. “She was.” He nods his head solemnly. “My father was a successful businessman. When they married, I think he expected her to stay home and just enjoy being taken care of. But not my mother,” he laughs. “She started her own endeavors, built her own empire in a way. But where my father ’s was purely aimed at making coin, my mother ’s was aimed to make a difference in the world. She was fearless.” I watch him gaze across the room, deal with the memories he’s feeling. A small grin touches his lips before he looks at me again. “So who are you more like? Your father or your mother?” I ask. “I’m a mix, I think. Somewhere in the middle,” he shrugs. “I’m like my dad in that work comes first. It came before anything besides my mother, and I think she was an anomaly. If he hadn’t found that exact woman, I think he’d have been a bachelor his whole life.” I nod, letting that sink in. “But I’m like her, too. She had a hard time connecting to people on a personal level. She could do these big things and her heart was always in the right place, but she never had close friends or acquaintances. Just my father and I for the most part.” “You don’t have friends?” I find that hard to believe. The pull to him is a force to be reckoned

with. “Not really. I just don’t connect well to most people. I grew up with a bunch of clowns with inheritances, but like you, my parents made me work. I helped them, had chores, didn’t get spoiled to the level of the kids I went to school with. My mother came from a poor background and she didn’t believe in making me ‘rotten,’ as she’d say,” he grins. “Why? You seem surprised.” “I am. It’s just not what I was expecting you to say. That’s all.” He shrugs again. “What about you? Are you like your parents?” “Nope. Not at all. They’re both detailed and organized and I’m more of . . . a mess.” He laughs at the look on my face. “I hardly would call you a mess.” “You haven’t seen my house.” “True,” he grins. “You live with Presley, right?” “I do. We’ve lived together for a couple of years now. I think she’s the only person I could ever live with.” “You’ve never lived with anyone else?” I shake my head. “Nope. Besides my parents, of course. I haven’t trusted anyone else enough to live with them. What if they don’t pay the bills or steal from me or something?” He seems baffled, his forehead crinkling at my statement. “You’ve never lived with a boyfriend?” “No.” I look at the table and take a deep breath. “I’ve had various boyfriends, of course, but only one I dated for an extended period of time. He was never . . . responsible enough . . . for us to comingle our things, our lives. So I’ve always lived at home or by myself . . . or with Presley now.” “Sounds like a smart thing. But you know,” he chides, “men are generally irresponsible. You may have to make concessions as you go through life on that.” Laughing, I place my fork on the table. “True. But I can take your typical irresponsibility— leaving the toilet seat up and shoes all over the place. But when I have to pay a guy’s bills because they can’t manage their money, that’s a different thing, you know?” “It absolutely should be. If you’re paying for his things when you’re dating, there’s no hope of him ever stepping up in the future. A man should want to spoil their woman, give her things, make her life easier. Not the other way around. That’s a sign of a lack of character that you’ll never get around.” I snort. “No joke. That’s obvious now.” “You are better off without him. Trust me.” “Probably so.” Watching the candle flicker on the table, I wonder where Grant is and what he’s doing. For the first time since we broke up, my immediate reaction isn’t to hate him or to think back to what we used to have before Africa. I just feel ambivalent. I don’t know if it’s because I’m here with Fenton or because of this reset button I’m pushing, but the unfeeling about Grant is like a gush of fresh air. “Did you love him?” I’m startled by Fenton’s question. He asks it cautiously, leaning back in his chair again. I wonder if

it’s intentional, to put some actual space between us, or just a coincidence. “Yes,” I say honestly. “I did. He was the first guy I ever thought I loved. We were together for a long time and I thought we’d be married.” “How long have you been apart?” “Almost a year now.” Fenton leans forward, looking me straight in the eye. “Do you still love him?” “I don’t know.” He doesn’t respond, just sits there and waits for me to expound. “I did love him. And I definitely don’t feel like that now.” I think to the cloud hanging over him being involved with Brady’s disappearance, and I know I could never love him like that again. “But maybe once you love someone, you always do in a way. I don’t know. But would I go back to him? Would I want to be with him again? No. There’s just too much that’s happened.” “Like what?” “He had issues with money. He’d tell lots of little white lies and that drove me crazy. It got to the point where I second guessed everything he said, no matter how stupid. He cheated on me,” I say, rushing over the topic. “My brother is messed up in some things and Grant might be involved somehow. I don’t know.” “And you thought you’d marry this guy?” he snorts. “Come on, Brynne. You seem smarter than that.” I shrug, feeling put on the spot. “Love blurs things. I’m sure you know that.” He laughs, patting his lips with his linen napkin. “So I’ve heard.” “What do you mean?” “I’ve never been in love.” “Come on, Fenton,” I roll my eyes, tossing his words back at him. “I’m smarter than that.” He runs his bottom lip between his teeth, his smile hidden in his eyes. He’s amused at my retort, but I’m not sure it’s going to make him tell me anything. “I’m not sure I believe in love at all,” he says finally. “What? How can you not believe in love? It’s as real as the air we breathe or the water we drink!” “No, those things are quantifiable. Love is . . .” he sighs. “If love is real, it’s simply a comfort level in a relationship built on a network of dually respected qualities and preferences. It’s two people that both acknowledge they like most of the same things and enjoy being with the other person and, eventually, they agree to just do those things together. They have a different capacity for feelings for that person over most others. Maybe that’s what everyone calls love.” “No,” I protest. “It’s more than that. It’s chemistry. Someone making you want to be a better person. A willingness to put someone else before you. A feeling of not being able to breathe without the other person at your side. A feeling of . . . completion.” He presses his lips together in amusement. “And this ex-boyfriend of yours did those things for you? How is that? How did his lies make you feel complete? How did his needing to borrow money from you make you feel like he put you above himself?”

“What?” I hiss. I’m appalled and affronted and embarrassed in the same moment. How does this man think he knows who I love or how I love? I’m not going to defend the way I love to anyone. “If love exists,” he quips, his voice gruff, “Then it should be something that’s given out after thoughtful consideration.” “Love exists,” I insist, “And it’s given out because you can’t not.” “Let me tell you something,” he says, narrowing his eyes, “I’ve had women say they love me before. And those same women confessed their undying devotion to me based on a façade I present them. They know what it feels like to have an orgasm at my hands. They know what it’s like to go to a fancy dinner on my arm or spend a weekend in a city while I work. But those women, those same women that ‘love’ me, know nothing about me. And do they care?” he shrugs, amped up by his little speech. “No. They don’t. Because while they profess their love for me, they’re really in love with what I offer them and that has nothing to do with me.” Narrowing my eyes, I smirk. “I guess it’s good for you that I’m not looking for love. Just a good time.” “No, that’s good for you because a great time is all I’m giving you.” We’re both breathing hard, impassioned by our debate. When the waiter clears his throat, we both jump. “Can I get you anything else?” he asks, looking from Fenton, to me, back to Fenton. “No, I think we’re done here.” Fenton looks at me with raised eyebrows and I nod. I’m too worked up to eat. The last couple of days have had me on edge, and this little exchange has me riled up yet again. The only thing I need is a break from the anxiety, a way to settle down. And the key to that sits with the gorgeous, frustrating man staring at me from across the table. The server scurries away. “Are you ready?” he asks, scooting his seat back and coming around the table. He takes my hand and brings me to my feet. The corners of his lips turn and there’s no denying that question is filled with innuendo. “Maybe.” He chuckles, pressing a palm in the small of my back, urging me towards the entrance. “You better be,” he rasps. “You better be ready for what I’m going to do to you. And if you aren’t, you shouldn’t have worn this dress.” “Don’t worry,” I say, smiling politely at a man holding a door open for us. When we walk through, I lower my voice so only he can hear. “I won’t fall in love with you.”

My heels click against the tile and echo off the walls. The only other sounds are my labored breathing and the door shutting behind me. The serenity of the suite has been replaced with a feeling of uncontained lust. I can smell it, taste it, and above all else, I can feel it. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, my hands trembling in anticipation, I listen in the darkness for Fenton. When his hand finds the small of my back, I startle. He guided me in the same way all the way to the room, but now, alone, in the darkness, it feels completely different. His touch now, as he presses me forward into the living area of the suite, is intimate, yet needy. I feel Fenton’s hot breath on my neck right below my ear. He doesn’t touch me, just brings his lips close enough so that if I leaned in, they’d touch. But I don’t. There’s something entirely sexy about feeling him this close that I close my eyes and anticipate the moment when he starts something he’s going to have to finish. I need that. I need a release from the build-up of this moment, a crescendo that started at the banana display days ago. Making it worse is that I haven’t quite lost the fire from the conversation in the restaurant and I’m about to spill over. His palm flattens against me and he takes a step closer until his hard body is up against my back. He slides his hands roughly over my sides, dragging them across my abdomen. They join at my navel and push down my middle, marking my body in some way I can’t fathom. I feel my breath catch as he glides over the apex of my thighs and then reverses, leisurely retracing his path like he has all the time in the world. His touch leaves me struggling for air. The heat from his mouth, lingering on my skin, drifts across my neck and my head falls back against his chest, taking in the masculine scent, adding it to the overstimulation. I’m going to lose it. Whirling me to face him, I’m caught off guard. We are face to face, his eyes burning into mine. I need him. Now. Rising on my tiptoes, I try to bring my mouth to his, but he backs away slowly, smirking, and it occurs to me what he’s doing. He’s teasing me, torturing me, just like I tried to do to him when he left this afternoon.

He’s turning the tables. Oh. Shit. He chuckles at my realization and winks, letting me know I’m right without me ever asking. “Don’t you dare,” I warn. He draws across my lips with the pad of his thumb. “Just know that it’s eating me that I’m not eating you.” My mouth drops open, a breathy moan toppling out. The sound makes his eyes widen and I see the struggle in the grey irises. I exhale again as I watch, with bated breath, as his control wanes. “Fuck me,” I whisper, desire dripping off each syllable. Before I can react further, his lips are on mine, his large hands coupling the sides of my head. His tongue finds mine, brushing against it, teasing it, tempting it. It’s not so much a kiss but an intricate dance—one I’m clearly not leading. He takes my hand and leads me to the sofa near the window. He drags me through the space, nearly knocking me off my heels, but I don’t complain. This is what I wanted. The faster the better. He sits on a plush sofa by the windows. Taking both of my hands in his, he positions me in front of him. The light coming through the glass is muted. He’s features are half-hidden in the shadows, but I can still make out the broodiness of his eyes, the ticking of his jaw. His chest is rising and falling as quickly as mine. He drops my hands, resting his elbows on his knees as a wicked smirk plays on his lips. My core burns with a desire that’s been allowed to burn for far too long. And the way he looks at me only adds more fuel to the fire. He, on the other hand, looks like there is no hurry at all. He sweeps across my body. From head-to-toe, he takes in every inch of me. “Take your dress off.” I flush at the huskiness of his voice, the deep timbre that’s still smooth, yet now has a touch of grit. “You’ve teased me all day. You’ve allowed other men to see your tight little body while I had to sit in a boardroom. It’s my turn.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he forces a swallow, keeping himself contained. “Take it off now, Brynne.” Holding his gaze as my hands travel to the back of my neck, I feel for the zipper, the coolness a contrast to the red-hot look Fenton is giving me. Drawing the zipper down my back, I feel it hit the end. As I tip my shoulders forward, the dress drapes off my frame and bunches at my hips. I let my hands skirt my body from my breasts, roaming my curves until they hit the fabric. I push it down until it pools at my feet. His eyes widen, but never leave mine. “Step out of it,” he commands. I do as asked. Dressed only in matching yellow panties and bra and a pair of nude heels, I step to the side and into a pool of light from the window. I’m inches away from him. I could reach out and touch him if I dared. “I’m going to need your assurance that you won’t be parading around in a bikini without me again.” It’s not so much a command, although it most definitely is. But the feel of it is more of an

accolade to my body and I can’t help but smile. A giggle escapes my lips. Sashaying my hips, the action catching his attention, I move until I’m standing directly in front of him. Energy radiates off him, the sliver of space between us boiling over. “Brynne?” His chin tilts so that he’s looking up at me. He doesn’t move to touch me, just waits on my response to his ridiculous request. “Fenton,” I tease. A growl is his response. “Are you jealous?” I purr. “You haven’t even had me yet and you’re already thinking no one else should see me? How silly.” “How do you not want me to be jealous? You’re beautiful and sexy and I have. To. Work. If I think someone else is getting to enjoy you, even just visually, when I can’t, it’s going to drive me insane.” I take a deep breath, the air infused with testosterone and his cologne, a heady, complicated mixture that causes synapses to misfire. With a slight hesitation, knowing this is the point of no return, I reach out. My hands find the back of his head, my fingers winding in his thick, inky locks. His shoulders rise and fall as his breathing picks up pace. Encouraged, I straddle one of his legs. “I can feel the heat off you,” he rasps. “You are so fucking hot.” “Am I?” Ever so slowly, I bend until our faces are level and my lips find his. He tastes of heat and wine, a delicate blend of flavors that will always be my favorite. Our mouths move together, a soft kiss quickly turning ravenous. I squat just enough so my pussy brushes against his leg and that’s all it takes. He starts to stand, but I’m not done. I’m not ready for the moment he takes control—and I know it’s going to happen. It’s inevitable. He’s dying to flip me over; I feel the need rolling off him. Fingers clenched at his sides, he struggles to maintain his composure. I press my hands on his shoulders, my lips still working against his, but he powers through my objection and is quickly looming over me. I hiccup a breath, the exhale coming out in short, sputtered wisps. An unapologetic smirk stretches across his swollen lips. “I think it’s time you get to know the real me.” “What’s that mean?” “That means you get to see the things I’ve wanted to do to you since I saw your picture on your phone. You get to see the me that’s not watered down for public consumption. Are you ready for that?” Straightening my shoulders, I smile. “It’s about time.” A knowing look crosses his face. “Turn around.” When I fail to move, his large hands find my hips, rougher than before. He guides me into a halfcircle until I’m facing the wall of windows. “Don’t move,” he whispers against my ear. I feel him walk away. The energy that surrounds him is gone, the air around me cooling

immediately. I’m afraid to turn around, so I stand in my lingerie and heels and watch the lights blink outside. A few minutes later, I hear him moving about the room and then sense him behind me again. I listen closely, but hear nothing, and then, in a move that causes me to jump, I feel his hot breath on my shoulder. He places a trail of kisses up the ridge of my shoulder to my neck and up to my ear. I toss my head to the side, giving him unbridled access. I need this contact. I need his touch. My entire body hums with desire, a ball of pent-up energy is wound so tight I think I’ll lose control as soon as he touches me for real. “I want you to remember one thing,” he whispers. “Mmm . . .” “This is for you.” “What?” I start to turn to face him, but he’s behind me again. His arms stretch around me, his torso pressed against my back. A piece of silk dangles in his hands. “I’m going to put this over your eyes.” “Why?” I ask, trying to turn and see him. “Trust me.” I half-laugh. “I don’t trust you. I barely know you.” “Then consider this an exercise in trust.” I’m bewildered. This is not the carnal fucking I expected. This is not the bent-over-a-chair-andgetting-rammed that I had imagined. I don’t know what to think, how to process this. He lifts the fabric over my eyes. My hands reach for it immediately. “Trust me, Brynne. If something gets uncomfortable, all you have to do is say so. But I promise you, you’ll enjoy this.” His mouth is right against my skin. “Tonight is all about you.” Flustered, I drop my hands. He ties the fabric at the back of my head and I can’t see anything. I can sense the light from the windows that I know is in front of me, but I can’t actually make anything out. I fight to control my breathing, to fill my lungs and blow it out evenly to deter the panic that’s starting to bubble in my stomach. I feel his hands at the clasp of my bra and then the lacy fabric falling to my front. I shrug it off and it falls to the floor. Fenton’s fingertips stroke my bare back, the rough pads of his fingers blazing a trail of goosebumps in their wake as they move up and down my spine. I move against him without thought, arching my back, leaning into him. Not being able to see makes his touch that much more potent. I gasp when his path traces around my ribs and he cups my breasts in his hands. His thumbs massage my nipples as he lays kisses from one shoulder blade, across the back of my neck, to the other. I moan at the contact, my pussy throbbing. I need a release like I’ve never needed one before. My hand slips beneath the lace of my panties and he stops me immediately. “No, Brynne.”

“Fenton, please. I’m dying.” “You aren’t dying. You’re feeling.” His hand replaces mine at the hem of my panties. My breath hitches in my throat as one hand rolls a nipple and the other applies pressure on my clit. “Fenton,” I plead, my head falling to his chest. “Please.” “Do you feel that?” “Yes.” “Not the pressure. Not the pleasure. Do you feel how much I want you?” His hips roll against me, his cock, rock fucking hard, pressing against my ass. “Do you feel how desired you are? How beautiful, how sexy I think you are?” My brain scrambles, his husky voice invading every brain cell I managed to keep clear. I can’t respond, only moan as bursts of pleasure wind through me. In one swift movement, he steps away. We aren’t touching at all. I search for something to tell me he’s around, but I get nothing. Across the room, I hear something crackle. “Fenton?” I ask, looking towards the direction of the sound but not seeing through the silk. He doesn’t answer, but in a few seconds, he’s behind me again. He takes my hand and guides me forward until my knees hit something hard. I rack my brain and remember a table with a few books that sat off to the side of the sofa. “Climb up there on your hands and knees.” “I can’t see.” “You don’t need to see.” He tugs me gently forward and I amble on top of the heavy stone piece of furniture. “Get on your hands and knees.” I do as instructed, my face, I’m sure, is as red as the piece of silk over my eyes. I try to block out what I must look like in my panties and heels, spread out like this. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are.” “Fenton, I . . .” A buzzing sound rips through the room, startling me. “What are you doing?” “I’m going to enjoy watching you enjoy this.” I gasp as he rips my panties off in one tear before the vibrator touches my pussy, the sensation just what I’ve been needing. I rock back against it and he pulls it back, controlling the pressure. One hand presses against the small of my back, holding me still, and he swirls the wand against my opening. “My God,” I moan, letting my head fall forward. I focus on every touch, every sound, trying to process all the stimuli I can gather. Every push of the toy seems exaggerated, every sound louder than it should. It’s overwhelming. The vibrator dips barely into me. He then drags it up my slit, rubbing against my swollen bud. “I’m dying right now.” My voice is shaky, my body beginning to tremble. “Fenton, I can’t. Please.” “So beautiful.” I can barely hear him over the buzzing. I can barely hear myself over the rush of blood pounding by ears. All I can process is how good the vibrations feel against my overstimulated body.

Dragging it down my sex again, he lets it slip away. I immediately feel the loss. I suck in a breath as his mouth cups my clit. It’s warm, wet, the direct pressure of his tongue against me more than I can take. “Fuck,” I hiss, the feeling more intimate, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. My body starts to shake. I rock back against his face. One hand cups one of my breasts, the other palms me right above my ass. His thumb is right above my anus, the pressure only adding to the chaos rioting inside me. “Fenton!” I feel it build, feel my body ride the wave to the top. He licks, his tongue pressed hard against me. He drags it from my clit to my opening and lets it dip inside. A finger is working my clit, his tongue working my opening, and all I can do is rock against him and eat up every shred of pleasure he elicits from me. It builds and builds with every flick of his tongue. He assaults and massages me, works me into a frenzy, and before I know it, before I can brace for it, I hit the top and explode. “I’m coming!” I squeeze my eyes shut, even though I can’t see, and feel my entire body shudder with more force than I’ve ever felt. Every muscle clenches, my body shaking violently as he continues to strum me like an instrument. “Fenton! Oh my God!” “You feeling that, rudo?” he purrs from behind me. His fingers continue to rub against me, bringing me gently back to the present. My arms start to buckle. I can’t feel them or my legs. I reach for the blindfold, but feel too wobbly to risk it. Instead, Fenton wraps an arm around my middle and lifts me up and into his arms. A part of me wants to leave the blindfold on, to not look him in the face, but I have to. I have to see what he’s thinking. He’s watching me with a reverent look etched on his handsome features. The light shadows his face, but his eyes are crystal clear. He stands in the middle of the room, holding me in his arms as I try not to fall into a pit of pesky feelings. The air, still heated from the moment, crackles between us. His touch feels different now. He feels it too. His hands squeeze me gently, his eyes softening as I catch my breath. “Did that feel okay?” he asks. I think he’s kidding because of course it felt okay. It felt amazing. But, for once, there’s no smirk, no sign of his amusement. “You know damn good and well that was more than okay,” I laugh. “But I’m assuming it’s not over?” He narrows his eyes, like he’s searching mine. Eventually, after a long moment, the corners of his lips turn up. He doesn’t respond, just carries me through a doorway, through the master bedroom, and into the ensuite. He flicks the light on and places me on my feet. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he says. “If you need me, I’ll be in the guest bathroom.” And then he’s gone.

My cheeks are flushed and my lips swollen. Otherwise, I look pretty much normal after a quick shower. But internally? I am a hot freaking mess. On one hand, I’m in a state of bliss. To have a man’s attention, to be treated like some kind of goddess, is more than I ever imagined. But on the other hand, I have no idea why he stopped when he did. He got nothing out of that and that bothers me. Typically, guys are more interested in what they get out of it than anything, and I have no baseline to compare this against. Did I do something wrong? Did he lose interest? I don’t even want to go face him, but this room opens directly into the master. I don’t have another way around him. I give myself a final glance in the mirror. The pale pink gown hits just barely below my ass and dips dangerously low into a V in the front. Edie insisted I get it. Presley suggested wearing it with heels, but now’s not the time for that. I’d fall on my face for sure considering my legs still feel like gelatin. With a deep breath, I swing open the door. A soft light glows from the top of a bureau on the far side of the room. This bedroom is expansive, bigger than the living room in my house. The furnishings are a dark wood, offset by white walls and linens. A king-sized bed faces me. Crimson sheets and blankets drape the mattress and Fenton is stretched out, looking at his phone. His strong arms, the ones that were wrapped around me only minutes before, flex in the light as he moves one to grasp the headboard above his head. The sheets are draped around his waist, highlighting his rock solid abs. He looks casual and ridiculously hot, like it’s a Sunday evening and we’re going to cuddle and watch a movie before having mind-blowing sex. Dear Lord. Even having my world just rocked, my body still feeling the aftershocks of the work-over he gave me, I’m ready to go again. I feel the burn in my core, the tingling between my legs. I’ll never have enough. When he hears the ensuite door shut behind me, he looks up. His eyes glued to me, he places his phone on the bedside table. “Wow, Brynne.” He scoots up in bed to get a better look. “That’s my

favorite thing on you yet.” I stand, frozen to the spot. I don’t know if I’m supposed to climb in bed with him or find the guest room. He would never be rude, that much I’m sure. But I feel so awkward that I want to disappear. “What’s the matter?” His eyebrows pull together. “Everything is fine. Great, actually. I just . . . You know, I don’t know what I’m supposed to . . .” I try to pull my gaze from his, but he has it locked. Shaking his head, he pulls back the sheets. “Come. Get in bed with me.” “Are you sure?” His laugh dances through the room like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done. “Didn’t I tell you I was bringing you to Vegas to spend time with you?” “Yes, but—” “Then get your fine ass over here.” I pad across the room, my cheeks the color of the sheets, and climb in. I settle myself against the pillows, leaving a little room between us. My teeth work over my bottom lip. Fenton’s thumb catches my lip and pops it away. He drags his fingertips down my neck, across my clavicle, and gently strokes my arm as he withdraws. “Everything okay?” he asks. The timbre is back to cashmere, soft and caressing, and I instantly feel more at ease. “Yes.” He searches my face, looking for the truth. I hide it as best as I can, not wanting a silly conversation about how I feel inadequate. He just gave me the most erotic orgasm of my entire life. He just outdid every man I’ve ever been with and he didn’t even actually fuck me. And yet, somehow, I feel like I wasn’t enough for him. “You’re thinking and I want to know what about,” he says. Yawning, because even though I’m confused, I’m also utterly satisfied. My muscles ache, my mind feels heavy with a fog that only comes after being wound up and let loose. “Everything is fine, Fenton. I just want to go to sleep.” “If there’s one thing I dislike more than any other, it’s dishonesty. And you’re lying to me.” I watch his features, gauging his temperament. He doesn’t seem angry, not off-the-wall angry, anyway. Annoyed? Sure. “I’m not lying to you,” I protest. “It’s just late and I’m tired.” “I don’t give a shit what time it is. If something is troubling you, I want to know what it is.” “I—” “And something’s bothering you. Did I make you uncomfortable?” “Oh, no,” I insist, rolling onto my side so I’m looking straight at him. “Everything you did was amazing. Completely amazing.” “So what is it then?” He’s genuine, sincere, and it makes my walls crack. I guess if I’m going to be here for a few more

days with him anyway, we may as well get it out in the open. “I’m just worried that you didn’t enjoy that.” He roars with laughter, his hand finding the side of my face. “How could you ever think I didn’t enjoy that?” “You didn’t . . . you know . . .” “I didn’t get off?” I flush. “Exactly.” He nods, understanding. “Brynne, how many men have you been with?” “That’s none of your business.” “I’m not judging you.” He ponders a way around the question. “How old are you?” I consider arguing him on this point too, but the warning look in his eye makes me reconsider. “Twenty-four. How old are you?” Not that I care, but if I have to answer, so does he. “Twenty-nine.” We just watch each other. I’m not sure what our ages prove, but he seems to think he won a battle. “Let me tell you something,” he says, scooting a little closer to me. “What just happened tonight was exactly what I wanted to happen tonight for a number of reasons.” He looks to the ceiling for a second, sorting through what he wants to say. I feel a lump in my throat, but I listen anyway because I want to understand. I want to feel beautiful in front of him. I want to feel like I can be with him for the next few days and be confident and enjoy myself. “Being a good lover isn’t about how quickly you can get off. It’s about the interplay leading up to it, the anticipation of what’s to come. That’s why I let you fuck with me a little bit in the last day— there was no way you were going to be in charge tonight, but it let you work yourself up. It kept you thinking about it, thinking about me. Sex is as much a mental stimulation as a physical one. People forget that.” He’s right. I’ve never considered that, never had someone spend so much effort to work me up before. It definitely took it to the next level. I was dying at his hands, nearly begging for his touch. “Feeling you want me, watching you react to me was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t tell you what it gives me to know that I gave you those feelings.” I feel the grin stretch across my lips and I see it reflected on his face. I can’t help it. I don’t want to help it. His chest rises with a deep inhale. “And another thing—your tough little girl attitude is not lost on me. I saw it on your face the day at the supermarket. Your vulnerability is tucked away in your green eyes, a piece of innocence that you protect with your attitude. That drew me to you just as much as your banging body, and that’s something I want to protect. And that’s why I wanted you to see tonight that this wasn’t about me. I didn’t bring you here to use you for entertainment. I brought you here to . . .” My heart lurches, beating so hard I think it’s going to slam right out of my chest. “I wanted to get to know you too, you know?” He peers at me through his thick lashes. “And as

much as I wanted to press you against the wall and bury myself inside you, I wanted you to realize, to know without a doubt, it’s not just that. I don’t just want to fuck you.” “But you will fuck me, right?” I ask, my voice breaking on the last word as I fight a smile. “Definitely.” I suck in a breath, already anticipating it but knowing it’s probably not going to happen tonight. He seems determined to have barriers tonight. Fucker. He reaches across the sheets and wraps an arm around my waist. Rolling me over to face away from him, he slides me across the mattress and into his chest, my back to his front. He brushes my hair off my shoulder and waits until my breathing evens out. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asks. I nod. The stillness extends throughout the room, everything absolutely quiet. I can hear his heart beat, the rhythm steady and strong. If I listened closely enough, I’d fall into a deep sleep. “I know I probably seem insecure,” I say quietly. “I just haven’t had someone do that to me before.” “Do what before?” “You know? Just . . . put me before them.” I stifle a sad laugh. “Every man I’ve been with has made sure, regardless of anything else, they got off. And you were just so focused on me. I was just a little confused.” I feel his throat move as he swallows. “I don’t want to talk about you with other guys.” “Okay.” “I wanted to take care of you. I wanted you to feel how much you turned me on.” “I definitely felt that.” “Good. And I like that you’re a little insecure. It just means you’re real.” He tugs the blankets over our bodies. I don’t pull away. I’m too tired and it feels entirely too good being in his arms, my head tucked under his chin, his arm around my waist, to consider pulling away. “Hey, Fenton?” I whisper. “Yeah?” “For the record,” I yawn, “I didn’t fall in love with you tonight.” He chuckles, the sound rumbling through me. “Good to know.” My eyelids grow heavy and drop closed. I drift off to sleep wrapped in the arms of Fenton Abbott.

I curl my legs under me and take a sip of my coffee. The sun is shining bright, but the tint on the windows keeps most of the heat out. The city looks deader in the day than it does in the middle of the night, which is amusing. But it is Las Vegas. The clock on the far wall strikes eleven. Any normal weekday at this time, I’d be working at the bookstore. Today isn’t normal though. Nothing about any of this is normal. I woke up an hour ago, completely spent from the previous twenty-four hours. Between the traveling, the excitement, and the time with Fenton, I was wiped. Sleeping against Fenton was its own version of heaven, his arm clenching around me the entire night. It was oddly intimate and comfortably distant. Physically, we couldn’t be any closer, but emotionally—we still barely know each other. Still, I drifted off and didn’t even wake up when he left at some point between then and now. I searched the suite for a note or an indication of what to expect today but there was nothing. He was just gone, nothing left behind besides his scent all over me. Inhaling a deep breath, I can still catch notes of his musk and cologne on my skin. My fingers strum against the mug. I’m not sure whether to wait here for him or to go on about my day until I hear something. If I had some sort of timeline, that would help. But I don’t. I’m rolling around the idea of heading back down to the pool or to the little shops in the hotel when my phone buzzes on the table. Grinning, I lean forward and pick it up from the exact spot I occupied hours before. “Hello?” “Well, your father heard from Senator Hyland this morning,” my mother says immediately. I jolt up from the sofa and begin to pace the floor. “And?” “He’s trying to start a dialogue with the Nekuti group. The US won’t negotiate with them because it’s against the law, but Hyland is trying to get them to talk.” “That’s great!” “I think so. Hopefully we can get them to demand a ransom. We’ve been talking to some people to be able to come up with the money if that happens. It couldn’t come from a US bank, but apparently there are ways to get around that.” ”We just need something to go on,” I sigh.

“I have a really good feeling about Hyland on our side. He thinks Mandla has more information than they’re letting on and has really been pressuring them to turn it over. He’s exactly what we’ve been needing, someone on our side.” “It’s about time. We’ve gone this long with no one giving a shit. Someone needs to do something besides you and Dad.” “I agree, honey. But we’re finally on the right path, I think. Besides, Brady is fine. I feel it. When you’re a mother, you can sense when things aren’t right. I just . . . I never should’ve let him go.” Her voice breaks and it breaks me. “No, Mom. You can’t do that. We’ve been over this a million times. He’s a grown man. He knew exactly what he was doing.” “I know. And I know he knew the risks and did it anyway.” I hear her try to hide her sniffle from me. “He’s always been such a good boy. I just can’t imagine what he’s going through.” We both get lost in our own thoughts for a beat. I watch the steam shoot from my cup of coffee— it rises up in a single line and disappears slowly into the surrounding air. It reminds me of life—we are here one second and the next, we could be evaporated into a memory. “I need to go. I have a few things to do today. Call me if you need anything, sweetheart.” “Love you, Mom.” “Love you, Brynne.” I pad into the master bedroom and find an emerald green bikini in my suitcase. I slip out of my robe and gown and into the swimsuit. I need some sunshine and fresh air. A grin slips across my lips as I remember Fenton’s warning. I jostle through the suitcase until I find a white swimsuit coverup. And I better take this too.

“I don’t know, Presley,” I say into the phone, searching for an empty chaise. “There really are no words to explain it. It was just . . . it was the best thing I’ve ever had done to me.” “That’s it! I’m going to the grocery store today and dropping my phone into the avocados. Done.” Giggling, I spot an open lounge a few feet from the pool, beneath a looming palm tree. It has lots of shade and even more privacy. There are no chairs in the immediate vicinity and I’m fairly confident I can kick back and not be splashed or annoyed by the inebriated twenty-somethings. “Good luck with that,” I offer. “Because even if someone does find it, what are the odds he looks like Fenton?” “And what are the odds he looks like Fenton and he licks my pussy until I come in his mouth?” “My Lord, Pres!” I place my bag next to the chair and strip off my cover-up. I lean back on the chaise and get situated. “Can you be any more descriptive?” “I could. Wanna hear?” “No.”

She laughs. “So, was he better than, less than, or equal to that guy you banged on the boat? What was that guy’s name?” “The doctor?” “Yeah.” “Connor,” I giggle, thinking back to the cutie I met while he was on vacation. “Connor was great, as you know.” “Yes. I’m still pissed you didn’t give me his number.” “He went back to Arizona! You don’t date well when they live in Santa Monica, Pres, let alone Scottsdale.” “Whatever. Keep going with your story.” “Fenton is just . . . How do I explain it, Pres? It’s not about the actual act. It’s more like he builds you up, makes you think about it, and when he finally touches you, it’s like bombs dropping everywhere.” “I want bombed.” “You don’t even know,” I taunt. A long silence extends between us. It’s an awkward kind of lull in the conversation and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Something tells me this discussion is going to make a turn and I’m not going to like it. “Hey, Brynne. I have something to tell you . . .” And I was right. I brace myself. “What?” “So, today I went to Pilates and grabbed a bagel, which I know offset—” “Pres,” I warn. “When I got home, Grant was here.” “Why?” “He was just sitting on the steps.” She has to be kidding me right now. “I would’ve hit him in the chest with my stiletto, but I had on sandals.” “What did he want?” “He didn’t really say,” she sighs. “I didn’t know whether to tell you this now or later, but I felt guilty as hell not telling you. I’m such a bad secret keeper.” “No,” I croak. “Thank you for telling me.” I slip back against the cushion again and try to find my zen. “He didn’t say what he wanted?” “Uh-uh. He just said he wanted to see you. And that he wanted to see you face-to-face.” I stare at a passing cloud that looks like a mushroom. It floats through the sky and I try to use it to find some calm. I have nothing to say to him and we have nothing in common anymore, unless he wants to tell me what he knows about Brady.

“I told him you were out of town with a friend,” Presley explains. “I said you were getting a break and that he needed to give you some space.” I take a deep breath and watch a man and woman holding hands. They shove each other playfully before he pulls her in for a quick kiss. It looks so easy. Happy. Did I ever have that with Grant? Do I even know what that feels like? Something stirs inside me. “Okay,” I say, “I’m going to lay out in this hot as hell sun and forget all about this little deviation in our conversation.” “And wait to get ravaged by the man of both of our dreams.” “Exactly.” “I want details, Calloway!” “Maybe,” I laugh. “Call you later.” “And if Mr. Avocado is Fenton’s twin, I’ll call you! Bye!” “Bye,” I laugh, shaking my head. I plop my earbuds in and find a music app and select a playlist that I use when I’m studying— something calm and relaxing. Closing my eyes, the heat beats down on my tired muscles and fretful mind. I let the music wash over me and picture Fenton’s sexy grin and the feeling of my hands tugging on his thick mane. I must have fallen asleep because I’m shocked awake by my phone buzzing in my ears. Scrambling to sit up, I realize I’m still at the pool. I quickly gather my bearings and look at my screen. Fenton. Jerking out my earbuds, I swing my feet to the side and press the green button. “Hello?” I squint against the sun, trying to figure out how long I’ve been here. “Where are you?” “The pool,” I say as casually as possible. The phone chirps and I look at the screen. FaceTime. I glance down at my bikini-clad body. Oh. Shit. I tap the button. He’s looking right at me on the screen. His jaw is pulsing, a vein I hadn’t noticed before throbbing at his temple. He’s not happy. “Hey,” I say sweetly, hoping to distract him. “Take the phone,” he commands, “And show me your body.” “Fenton, wait—” “Now.” The grin he gives me is misleading. I grin back. His smile vanishes. “Now, Brynne.” I drop the screen to show my body and then pull it up to my face again. ”Relax. No one was getting to see me when you weren’t.” When the phone faces me again, he’s not relaxed. He may even be a little worked up. “I’m going

to be in the room in twelve minutes. I’m going to suggest you be there in eleven.” “Are you serious?” “Do I look serious?” Seriously hot. But I don’t tempt the beast. Not now. Not when he’s looking at me like that. “Okay. I’ll see you there,” I say, starting to end the call. “Are you hanging up on me?” “How do you want me to get appropriately clothed and make it to the room in ten and a half minutes and carry on a discussion with you in the process?” “It’s a little late to be concerned with being appropriately clothed, don’t you think?” “Will you seriously stop it?” I roll my eyes and it catches him off guard. His eyebrows shoot to the sky and he almost laughs. Almost. “I’m sitting back here by myself and relaxing. It’s not like I’m walking around, trying to pick up dick.” “It’s a good fucking thing.” “Fine.” I sit the phone down and grab my cover-up. I pull it on and grab my bag. He’s talking from the chair but I ignore him. He wants to be a baby, I’ll treat him like a baby. “Brynne!” “What?” I say, exasperated, jerking the phone to my face. I give him the look I give Presley when I’m trying to study and she won’t leave me alone. The look that says, You’re being stupid and I don’t even want to deal with you. Our eyes lock and a grin tugs at his lips. The lines on his face smooth out, his irritation melting before my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.” “Get your ass to the room and I’m going to show you just how ridiculous I can be.” “It’s about fucking time,” I say. “I was starting to think you were all talk and no action.” “What the . . .” he stumbles, making me laugh. “I’ll see you in nine.” “Bry—” “Eight and a half. Don’t be late,” I wink and end the call. The look on his face, the one of pure bewilderment, is worth whatever he says when we get up there.

A n elevator is open and waiting for me, like the heavens above know I need to beat Fenton back to the suite. My sandal-clad feet slap against the floor. Two women dressed like high-end hookers give me disgusted looks and I shoot them my sweetest smile just to piss them off. It works. I watch the floor numbers change in super slow motion. My mind is buzzing with possibilities. My room key card is ready in my hand when I get to the end of the hall and it shakes as I swipe it through the reader and hear the door unlatch. He’s here. I can sense him. I can smell the faint scent of his cologne, feel the heaviness of the air when he’s around. The door closes softly behind me, the sound, however faint, still making me jump. I have no idea what I’m walking into, but I know something’s off. Something has him more aggressive than I’ve seen him, and while it’s hotter than hell to see him all worked up, I still have enough sense to play it safe. Sucking in a deep breath, I tiptoe into the living room and halt as soon as I see him standing in front of the windows. His shoulders are stiff, one arm brings a tumbler to his lips. Dressed in a jetblack suit and tie, he looks like he’s straight out of Central Casting—the dapper, powerful businessman in his high-rise. I rest my bag on the floor. The towel tucked inside makes it lopsided and it falls to the side. My lip gloss goes tumbling across the tile. Fenton wheels around. “You’re late,” he says, taking another drink. “You’re early.” I throw him a shrug and try to downplay that I read his frustration. “I said twelve minutes.” “And I found running through the casino and shoving people out of my way to make some insane timeline a little embarrassing. So deal with it.” He wants to smile. I can tell. But he doesn’t. He takes another drink instead. Pulling the tumbler away from his lips, he narrows his eyes. “Come here.” It’s a command and one I can’t—and don’t want to—ignore. I sashay across the room and stop a few feet in front of him. He places the glass on the table, his eyes never leaving mine.

My chest rises and falls like crazy, the anticipation of the moment driving me insane. He’s doing what he does—drawing out the excitement. It’s a torturous, potent method and altogether successful. He takes my hand and instead of pulling me into his arms or into the bedroom, he walks to the windows. A black leather bench is placed in the center of the wall of windows. It hasn’t been there before. Before I can ponder that, he speaks. “Put your knees on the bench and face the glass.” “What?” I look at him and his eyes are as calm as I’ve ever seen them. Instead of answering me, he lifts me up and sits me on the bench. “Hold on.” My throat is scalding as I pass a swallow. My breathing is hitched as I do as instructed and grab the edge of the leather. The glass allows me to see his reflection if I look at it the right way. I hear his belt pull from around his waist, the crispness of his jacket as he slips from inside it. Each movement, every sound, heightens my senses, and I can barely take it. “Fenton . . .” I look at him over my shoulder. He’s naked, his body not just formed, but created. Sculpted. Chiseled to perfection. He’s not overly muscled, but defined in a way that makes me want to touch him, worship him. He stands behind me, his cock sitting against my ass. I exhale a breath that comes out in a heated gush, the feeling of his hardness against my body leveling me up about six notches. I arch my back, pressing myself against him. His hand wraps in my hair, tugging my head back. He captures my mouth with his, his tongue stroking mine in long, possessive marks. I moan into his mouth, soaking in every sensation as it comes. “Face the window,” he orders, his tone soft but unwavering. My thighs are gripped by a set of strong hands. He squeezes me just under the cheeks of my ass before drawing them up my back, letting the cover-up roll up to my shoulder blades. My skin shivers at the onslaught of cool air and his heavy hands, a contradiction that’s divine. He finds the sides of my bikini bottoms and hooks his fingers beneath them. Slowly, he drags them down my hips and legs. I lift my knees so he can remove them completely. Glancing over my shoulder again, he’s watching me, my bottoms pressed to his face. “I love the smell of you,” he rumbles before tossing them to the side and saddling up behind me again. He palms his cock and sets it against my opening, spreading my wetness around. “You’re so fucking wet.” “For you.” “For me,” he breathes. “Now look at the glass.” I watch his face in the reflection. His eyes find mine as his cock kisses my pussy. He presses deliciously slow, taking his precious time, and I moan as my body expands, letting him enter. “You’re so damn tight,” he groans, biting his bottom lip. I squeeze the leather, my knuckles beginning to turn white, as my body makes room for his size.

His cock inches in, my body wrapping around it like a glove. Each movement sends a new shock wave of sensation through my body, and it’s not long before I have to close my eyes and focus on the feeling. “Does that feel good?” he asks, his hands digging into my hips. “So good,” I mutter through clenched teeth as he hits the back of me. He draws his cock out again, as gradually as he entered. Before I expect it, he pushes into me with one quick thrust. “Ah!” He’s out and in again before I can comprehend it. My body squeezes his cock as he glides into me. “Is this what you wanted today when you were out parading yourself around the pool?” “Yes!” I nearly shout, arching my back so his cock hits the spot in the back of my vagina. “This is exactly what I wanted! Fuck!” His hands move from my hips to the tops of my cheeks and he rubs them while driving into me. “You are so beautiful. Do you know that? Seeing you like this—displayed for me like this—is every man’s dream.” Feeling like this is every woman’s dream, but I can’t find words. I can only find the ledge from which I’m about to jump. With each stroke, he hits the spot that drives me insane. Each thrust presses me closer to an orgasm that I’m desperate to experience. I rock back against him, our bodies in total sync. The sound of our skin, tacky with sweat, heated with desire, smacking each other echoes through the suite. My arms begin to shake, my legs feeling heavy. The pressure in my core starts to boil, the muscles in my pussy spasming. “I’m going to come, Fenton,” I warn, gripping the leather so I don’t fall face-first against the bench. His pace quickens, his cock swelling inside me. My pussy instinctively begins to milk it, clenching around his length. “Fuck, Brynne!” he shouts, his grip moving to my shoulders. I roll my head back, the orgasm uncoiling in my body and shooting through every cell. My moan ricochets off the glass, and as my head falls forward, I catch a glimpse of Fenton. His eyes are squeezed shut, his lips in a tight line as he, too, finds his release. He presses into me, a small smile slinking over his lips. The look sends another ripple of orgasmic bliss through me and I shake as the high begins to even out, and then, as he slides out and back in again, settles. As he pulls out, I nearly topple forward. He catches me around my middle and draws me back into him. I look up at his handsome face and he just grins. No words are said, but none need to be. Our smiles say it all.

One of Fenton’s t-shirts drapes my body as I come out of the master ensuite. Unlike last night, I’m not self-conscious or at all unsure about what to do. Maybe it’s that we finally had sex or maybe it’s that Fenton had to leave again as soon as we finished earlier and I got to spend some time soaking everything in. He makes me smile. I feel desired and protected and considered. I know he’d never hurt me; I see it in his eyes. He’s kind and compassionate, and I’ve enjoyed the start to our little getaway. I’ve enjoyed him. When I come around the corner to the living room, I stutter-step. He’s standing in the middle of the room, typing away on his phone. “I didn’t know you were back,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. “Just got here,” he says. He finishes whatever he’s doing and shuts his phone down before looking at me. “Did you just take a bath?” “Mm-hmm,” I breathe, “And it was fantastic. But it would’ve been better if you were in it with me.” “We can take another. Maybe the hot water would be good for my neck.” He cups the back of neck and winces. “I’m taking it you had a bad day?” “Well, you can say that. Or you can say today was a disaster. Whatever word you want to use would suffice.” “I’m sorry.” “I’ll accept your apology.” I toss him a baffled look. “I’m sorry you had a bad day. I’m not actually apologizing. What would I be apologizing for?” “For wearing that bikini again without me.” “Is that still bothering you?” “Yes, that’s still bothering me. It’s worse now, actually.” I grin. “And why is that?” “Because now I know what you feel like under that strip of fabric and I don’t want anyone else

thinking about it.” “Get over it, Fent,” I laugh. He shifts his weight. “I remember having a discussion that you wouldn’t go out like that without me. And then you go off and nullify our agreement.” “You told me not to wear it,” I say, smiling sweetly. “And that, Mr. Abbott, is not a discussion or an agreement. That’s you being an asshole and me choosing to ignore you.” That does it. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Is that what happened?” “I’m a grown woman. If I want to wear a bikini to a pool, I will. I don’t need your approval to do that. And if you want the truth, you telling me not to is probably going to guarantee I do it again just to prove a point. Although,” I tease, “I do kinda like you not wanting anyone else to see me. So I’ll take that under consideration next time.” “Next time?” “Yes. Next time.” “You’re frustrating.” “So it’s been said. Now,” I say, switching topics, “Let’s discuss why your day was so bad otherwise. What happened?” Only because I’m paying attention do I see his shoulders drop a touch forward. It’s a sign of defeat—or at least a battle he’s taking a hit in. I have no idea what to say because I have no idea why he’s even here in Vegas. Something about the way he stands, his posture, the distant look in his eye makes him seem lonely. I move across the room without saying a word and grab his hand. He watches me with uncertain eyes, but lets me usher him to the bedroom. My heart thumps wildly, his hand so warm and strong against mine. He holds it possessively and I vaguely wonder if this goes back to the bikini conversation—to him asserting his control—but I dismiss it. I’ll think about that later. Right now, I want to make him feel, just like he did to me last night. “Sit,” I breathe, pointing to the bed. He drops onto the edge, his weight causing the mattress to dip. He rests his hands on his knees and looks up at me through his thick lashes. Summoning every bit of self-confidence I can find, I lift the hem of my t-shirt and pull it slowly over my head. I toss it to the side, keeping my gaze glued to his. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react except for the swallow I see bobbing in his throat. I pull my hair into a messy bun at the top of my head and then turn in an unhurried circle. I can hear my heart beating in my ears, my confidence a little shaky. I’ve never done something so forward in front of a man before, least of all a man like Fenton that has probably seen women entirely more beautiful than me. Regardless, I want to do this for him. I want to distract him from his day, make him feel the way he made me feel. His eyes are wide when I face him again, his mouth hanging slightly open. Silently, I cheer that this is working. On the outside, I try to play it off like I do this all the time.

“Do you see this?” I ask, cocking my head to the side. “Oh, I fucking see it.” “Good. Because lots of men might have seen this today.” His jaw clenches, his eyes burning. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but you’re—” “Fenton? Shut. Up.” I saunter towards him with all the nonchalance I can find, and stop right in front of him. I pick up his hand again. His skin is hot, his palm sweaty. It’s dizzying how much this man can push the buttons to my libido without even trying. I lift his other hand and his brows lift too. He’s unsure what’s happening. Hell, I am too. I place each of his hands on my sides. His neck rolls around under his tie, his nostrils flaring. Any attempt at hiding my state of intoxication is futile. If his fingers would only drop a few inches lower, he’d feel how wet I am for him. I can’t let that happen because I know if it does, he’ll take over and I don’t want that. Not yet. “Do you feel this?” His fingers press harder into my body. “Yeah. I feel this,” he groans. I lay my hands over his, holding his palms against my sides. “Good. Because no man touched this today.” He jerks me forward until his chin is nearly touching my breasts. I can feel his hot breath brushing over my skin. My nipples harden, my pussy clenching as he overtakes all of my senses. “I cannot tell you how lucky that makes you.” He presses a kiss on my sternum. “And him.” “I didn’t mean to make you mad.” He rests his forehead against my chest, his hands sliding down my back, over my ass, and to the backs of my thighs. He holds me in place, virtually wrapping himself around me. I can’t breathe. Not because my air is somehow cut off, but because it’s impossible to breathe with him like this. Like he needs me. So I wrap my arms around his head and lace my fingers through his hair and wait for him to pull back. We stay that way for a long couple of minutes. I can feel his heart beating, feel him calming down from whatever was getting him frazzled. When he finally pulls back, his face is somber. “I’m sorry for . . .” he winces, unable to come up with the right term. “Being an asshole?” He nods, a sheepish grin on his face. “Yes. For that.” “Say it.” “What?” he laughs, pulling back further. “Say, ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole, Brynne.’“ “Now who’s being ridiculous?” “Say it.” I take his hand and press it between my legs. “If you want to touch that again tonight, you’ll apologize.” “Oh fuck,” he groans, trying to push into me. I take a giant step back. He squares his shoulders and pastes on a not-so-genuine smile. “I’m so, so sorry for being an asshole today, Brynne. Please

forgive me.” “You’re forgiven.” He rolls his eyes, making me giggle. “Anything else?” he asks. “Want to tell me about your day?” “Not really.” I shrug and climb on the bed behind him. Grabbing his lapels and tugging, he helps me shrug his jacket off. I toss it to the side and press my front against his back, reaching over his shoulders to his tie. He doesn’t resist. He leans his head to the other side and I work at the tie. His jawline is rough and stubbly, brushing against my arm and sending chills up my spine. I discreetly look at his face and take in every bend and nook, looking for some flaw, something that isn’t completely perfect. I come up with nothing. “My mom always says when she’s had a crazy day at work that it’s just work,” I say, hoping it helps. “So maybe you should just try to think like that. Whatever happened today is just work. Tomorrow is another day.” “It’s not that easy. Not with what I have going on.” I free his tie and toss it to the side. I begin working on the buttons. “There are few things,” he says, “That make me more frustrated than knowing I could solve a problem and being held back.” “Are you sure it’s your problem to solve?” He just nods, unbuttoning the bottom few buttons. “Maybe not technically, I guess, but it is. I feel like it’s mine to solve, and the assholes I’m working with are incorrigible.” “Um, you own restaurants, right?” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah.” “Okay. So, what? You need to install a new fire suppression system or something?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I wish it were that easy, Brynne.” I undo the last button and remove his shirt, nearly gasping. His back is on full display, and for a second, I forget about our conversation. I take in the ridges of his muscles, the dips and swells of each piece. His shoulders are broad, everything rippling like a work of art when he glances at me over his shoulder and catches me admiring his body. “Sorry,” I grin, my cheeks flushing. “Don’t be sorry. It’s nice thinking you like looking at me.” “Of course I do. Who wouldn’t?” “For the record,” I say, shifting so I’m right behind him, “It’s just one of the things I like about you.” I take his beefy shoulders in my hands and knead them back and forth. “Fuck,” he hisses, hanging his head. “That feels fucking good.” He doesn’t know how good it feels to have him under my hands, to feel his skin move beneath mine. He’s a layer of silky skin stretched over the hardest muscle fibers I’ve ever felt. I’m certain I

could get off just touching him. “Oh,” he groans as I move to the back of his neck. The timbre of his voice shoots straight through me. “Do you like that?” “Yes.” I let my breasts brush against his back. He rocks back against me, increasing the contact. “Well, I like this too,” I breathe. “I love feeling your body in my hands.” “You have no idea.” “I think I do.” Skirting to the side, letting my nails drag across his skin as I climb off the bed, I stand before him again. “Stand up.” He does as I ask, unfolding himself to his full height. I watch as his abs move and his V becomes apparent. I bite my lip and try not to grin. My fingers find his belt buckle and I deftly undo it. My knuckles brush against his cock, swollen and rock hard. I fumble with the button on his pants. He shoos my hands away and undoes it himself, dropping his pants and kicking them off with his shoes and boxers to the side. I suck in a breath as I take him in completely for the very first time. I do what he does to me: start at his face, at his deep grey eyes, and let my eyes feast on every inch of his lean, tight body. When I make it to his cock, I can’t go any farther. My mouth goes dry as I realize how big—and how hard—he is. I’ve always been bad at math, but he’s the biggest of any man I’ve ever been with. I force a swallow passed the dryness in my throat and let my gaze be pulled to his face again. “Sit,” I order. He complies. Bending, I place my hands on his shoulders. I lower my lips to his and he’s waiting. His lips move immediately against mine, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth. He bites gently, hard enough to nearly make me yelp. He releases it, licking the spot he bit and then kissing me with all he has. His hands are on the backs of my legs again, pulling me into his body. I tug his hair, angling his head back. “Brynne . . .” he groans through his assault. “For the love of God.” “Ah,” I moan in his mouth, straddling his leg. I grind my pussy against his leg, dropping my hand to his cock. His breathing is stuttered, his body moving with every breath he takes. He tilts his pelvis, my hand sliding down his cock. I can feel his body tense, as needy as mine. I drop to my knees and wrap my hand around his length. He’s huge, for sure, but it’s how hard he is that blows my mind. Glancing up at him, I lick my lips seductively. He chuckles in disbelief. “I’m not sure who I need to thank for you losing your phone,” he grins as I squeeze him from base to tip, “But I’d like to let them know I can never thank them enough.” I run my tongue along the head of his shaft before sucking the head into my mouth. He pushes more into my mouth, growling.

His hands find my hair as I suck him deeper. My tongue rolls around his cock, massaging it. I squeeze the base and pull up the length, the solidness making my pussy clench. I run my mouth down and back up him, swirling around the head at the top. Finding a rhythm, my breasts bouncing against his leg, he begins to swell. Before I know it, he pushes away. “Hey!” I say, looking up at his face. Fenton grabs me under my thighs, his biceps flexing under the lights, and lifts me so that I’m sitting on him, my legs extended behind him on either side. We’re face to face, chest to chest, pussy to cock. He’s pressed against my clit and I undulate my hips so that it rocks against his hardness. “I wanted to suck you off,” I say, my eyes fluttering closed. The feeling of him against my wetness is incredible, and I work myself against him relentlessly. “There is no way you’re ever going to make me come without you getting yours first.” “But—” He hushes me with a slow, sensual kiss. I feel his hand between my legs and I shift back. Before I can wrap my head around it, prepare for it, his cock slides into me in one long, hard thrust. “Shit,” I purr. A rush of blood slams into my brain, making everything oversensitive and fuzzy at the same time. He grabs my ass and glides in and out of me, his cock hitting the very back with every exquisite shot. “Do you like that?” he taunts, his cock coated with my wetness. “Does that feel good to you?” “Oh. My. Fuck.” I force my eyes open to see his face. His features are pulled together, a look of complete and utter lust written all over him. His shoulders move with each movement, his cock swells again inside me. I wrap my hands around the back of his neck, lacing them together, and holding on as he finds a tempo that is a state of nirvana. The slapping of our skin echoes around the room, the sound of my moans and his growls webbing together to push me over the edge. I can smell his testosterone. I can taste his desire when he brings his lips to mine again. It’s all too much. “Fenton,” I say, my voice riddled with urgency. “I’m . . .” I don’t even get it out. I fall over the edge into a state of unbridled bliss. My body goes off, dozens of lights bursting before my eyes, my legs shaking uncontrollably as my body crashes around him. My pussy pulses and when he groans, the shock waves start up again. I grind my body against him, digging my pelvic bone into his. The friction is tantamount to sensory overload and I collapse onto his shoulder, completely spent.

“W hy are you looking at me like that?” I roll onto my back in the giant bed. It’s the first time in a long time I feel completely content. My body hums, satisfied, my mind quiet despite the always-there stresses of life. It’s a feeling I could get used to. My hair, still wet from the shower I took with Fenton after our rendezvous, is wrapped in a soft white towel. My body is wrapped in another one just like it. The material is soft under my hands, but I prefer the hardness of Fenton’s muscles as I suds up his skin. Washing his body will forever be my happy place. “Looking at you like what?” he asks. “Like you are. Like you’re figuring me out or something.” “Oh, rudo. I’m not figuring you out. I figured you out a long time ago.” “What’s that mean?” I ask. “You‘ve called me that before.” “What’s what mean?” “Rudo?” He grins and pulls his gaze to the ceiling. “It’s just a word.” “It’s one I haven’t heard before. Did you, like, make it up one day and decide you want to use it?” I laugh. “Something like that.” I shake my head. “I’m going to need a little more than that, Fent.” “It fits you, I think. It’s seems to wrap up everything I know about you.” “You don’t know a lot about me.” “I know more than you think. Your eyes tell me everything.” “Is that so?” “Mm-hmm. Even from your picture, I could see what a naughty little girl you were behind that innocent little smile.” He taps my lips with the pad of his finger. I snap at it, capturing it between my teeth, and pull it into my mouth. I suck it gently before releasing it. His eyes darken. “If you want round three, keep it up.” “Give me a few minutes and it’s a go.”

He chuckles, rolling onto his back too. “So what do my eyes tell you?” I scoff, wondering how he has me pegged. “Well, they tell me that you’re very intelligent. They’re assessing, calculating. And you’re kind, but have a mean streak a mile wide at times.” “Wow. You’re better at this than I thought,” I laugh. “See?” He slips his arm behind my neck and jostles me closer to him. “Rudo. It fits you to a tee.” I love the comfortable feeling between us, no weird vibes or awkwardness at all. We’re lying side by side in towels after a thorough fucking, and it feels like I’ve known him my whole life. He wants nothing from me but my time. He doesn’t push me and doesn’t corner me or give me lines that I know are complete bullshit. Everything with him is transparent and organic and that, in itself, is worth its weight in gold. “You also have a great sense of humor. You like to think you’re the boss in your relationships.” “Correction—I am the boss.” “Not in this one.” “Um, Fent. We aren’t in a relationship.” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. I’m not sure what he’s thinking or what that look is supposed to mean. I tighten my towel around my chest. “True,” he admits. “So tell me about you,” I say, shifting focus. I’m enjoying the lazy Sunday feel, even though it’s not Sunday, and I don’t want that to end. Seeing him so relaxed and carefree, especially after how he was a few hours ago, makes my heart sing. “What’s there to know?” “Nothing, really. I’m pretty much a ‘what you see is what you get’ kind of guy.” “Well, I like what I see,” I whisper. A long pause stretches between us until, finally, he rolls back onto his side. He strums down the length of my arm with his fingers, watching the goose bumps pop up in response. “I like watching you react to me like that.” “How can I not? You know all the buttons to push. You make it impossible.” He shrugs, an unconvincing smile sliding across his cheeks. “I thought you weren’t going to fall in love with me?” I grab a pillow and smash him in the face. He catches it and throws it behind him, laughing. “I’m not in love with you,” I laugh. “Sure you’re not.” “I’m not! I’m just a woman that’s turned on by uber-sexy men. I mean, I’m sure women across the board react to you,” I giggle. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous. You’re smart. You’re charming.” I tap him on the end of his nose. “But even so, I’m not going to fall in love with you.” “How do you know that?” “Because someone told me love doesn’t exist.” “And someone told me it does. So I’d say the potential is there. I mean, look at me.”

I giggle and snuggle into the blankets and watch his eyes twinkle. “What?” “I was just thinking how fun these last few days have been.” “They have been, huh?” He reaches out and brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “More than I even imagined.” There’s a question that’s been on my mind and the time has never been right to ask it. The opportunity is wide open now, but I’m afraid of the response. I know my heart has bridged the gap from straight-up rebound to someone I could imagine seeing again, and his answer could feel like salt in an open wound if I don’t watch it. Taking a deep breath, I go for it anyway. “Do you do this a lot?” I ask, my words out in a rush before I change my mind. “Do what a lot?” “Do this? Take a girl on a weekend.” Whether he means to or not, he leans away a number of inches. He seems to consider his reply before giving it to me. “Not a lot. I have before, though.” “Girlfriends? Or girls you met when you found their phones?” I try to make light of the situation, even though there’s a lump I cannot deny sitting squarely in the middle of my throat. He grins. “You’re the first girl I’ve met in the produce department. But I’ve brought . . . I wouldn’t call them girlfriends, exactly. More like dates, I guess, along on trips.” “Why dates?” He shrugs, settling into the pillows. A mood settles over his face, a more somber one than I’ve seen this evening. “I don’t really have girlfriends.” My spirits sink and I mentally chastise myself for that. He’s a rebound, Brynne. Re. Bound. “Relationships mean a commitment and that means I can’t do whatever I want. Not other women, because I have no problem with monogamy. Just that I have to be responsible to that person. I can’t come and go as I please. It lends some idea to the belief that there might be more in the future, like marriage or something, and that’s all more than I’ve ever wanted to manage. I just want to work and have fun when time allows,” he shrugs, looking at me cautiously. “Is that a bad thing?” “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Not at all.” Even though I say that, it is a bad thing. Because even though he’s a rebound, a part of me really enjoyed being with him and hoped, secretly, maybe, that I would see him again after this. Really, though—I’m not sure if I could handle just seeing him occasionally. “Why do I feel like an asshole now?” he asks. “I have no clue,” I laugh, more to keep the conversation light than anything. He laughs and kisses me gently, a soft, leisurely motion that stirs the butterflies in my stomach. His hand cups the side of my face, his thumb stroking my jaw, as he tries to interrupt the conversation. I let him and enjoy the sensation of being enjoyed. “So you don’t want a girlfriend, which I understand,” I lie. “So who do you spend time with? You said before you don’t have a lot of friends either.”

“No one, really.” The way his eyes fall makes my heart go right along with it. The loneliness is palpable, and I wonder why he chooses that, because he clearly does. Anybody would love to be around him. There’s nothing not to love. “No one?” I whisper, treading lightly at the look on his face. “Really, Fent?” “I didn’t have friends growing up. I was the outcast for a lot of reasons. I didn’t fit in with the other kids and they never accepted me. So I spent time by myself or with my parents.” He pauses and gazes into the distance. “My dad would take me on these hunting trips a couple of times a year. It was just me and him in the wilderness. My mom insisted we take the meat and donate it to a homeless shelter or to a tribe or whatever where we were. So we did that. Other times of the year, Mom would take me, like I told you, to the ballet and musicals and to the things she loved. I was their friend and they were a helluva lot more interesting than the kids my age, jacking off to Playboy. Not that I didn’t do that too,” he winks. I want to wrap him up in my arms and kiss away the pain that I know is buried just under the surface. Fenton is so dynamic and social; it must be so difficult to be alone all the time. It’s heartbreaking to consider. “So you have no family or friends at all?” I ask, praying for him to admit to an aunt or cousin or something. He shakes his head. “Technically, I guess, but I’m not close to them in an everyday kind of way. They don’t live near me and our lives don’t really cross more than once or twice a year—if that.” My mind immediately goes to my parents and Brady and Presley and my chest tightens for him. I can’t imagine my life without my family. “You must be really lonely,” I say wistfully. “I miss my parents, of course. But really,” he takes a deep breath, “I like it better this way than having someone hold me back or tie me down. And,” he grins, “There’s no one in my life that can question me. I make the rules.” Beaming, I roll back onto my side. He looks confused and it makes me giggle. “What?” he asks. “Well, I just questioned you and made the rules and you followed along. Just pointing that out.” “So?” “So. That makes me the boss. I’m everyone’s boss’s boss,” I sigh dramatically. “That is such a powerful position.” His laughter barrels through the room. “You may have been in charge of . . . what was his name?” “Grant.” “Grant, yeah. But that doesn’t mean you’re in charge of me, rudo.” “Keep telling yourself that,” I wink. My attempt at humor dissolves and I’m picturing Grant sitting on our doorstep this morning. I hate the idea of seeing him and know I’m going to have to figure out a way to keep him away from me when I get home. The idea is draining.

“Hey,” he says, tilting my chin so I’m looking at him. “What’s wrong?” “Oh, I was talking to Presley earlier and she said Grant came by today.” He stills. “Is that so?” “That’s what she said.” “What did he want?” I shrug and then bring the blankets up a little higher around me. Fenton is watching me, assessing every reaction, and I try to stay completely unaffected. “Is this normal behavior?” Fenton finally asks. “Not really. He pops in and out at times, but I haven’t seen him in a while and . . .” “And you are uneasy about it. I can tell.” “It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “He probably just got drunk or something and wanted to reminisce.” I don’t quite believe that, but it’s a realistic theory. “Do you want to get a hold of him?” he asks cautiously. “No.” I turn my head to face him. “I don’t. Grant McDaniels is nothing to me.” “That’s his name? Grant McDaniels?” “Yeah.” He pulls me against him. The blankets form a barrier, one he doesn’t look thrilled with. “Are you sure this guy is safe?” “Yes, I’m sure he’s safe,” I scoff. “I was with him for years.” Fenton’s features tighten and he bites his tongue, both literally and figuratively. “He might be safe, I think, but that doesn’t mean I want to see him. There’s a lot of strife between him and my family right now, and it’s just . . . it’s a difficult situation.” “Want to tell me about it?” “Honestly? No. Because it’ll make me sad and I don’t want to be sad. I just want to enjoy lying here with you, okay?” He squeezes me tighter and plants a soft kiss to my forehead. “That’s entirely okay with me.”

The bed is empty beside me. I glance at the clock and it’s early afternoon. I stretch, letting my sore muscles warm up before I hop out of bed. Every part of my body aches deliciously with memories of being wrapped around Fenton in various positions three times from yesterday morning to the middle of the night. It was well worth the discomfort I’m feeling today. I twist to my left and then to my right and a dopey smile plays across my lips. I lift his pillow to my face and inhale his lingering scent. My body immediately hums, sparking awake with the promise of the man that’s made it feel alive more than it ever has. Flopping back, I cringe. I could get into deep trouble here if I’m not careful. It’s too easy. Being with him is entirely too comfortable. He’s smart. He’s funny. He’s sexy-as-sin and adorable-as-hell. And he doesn’t do relationships. Rebound, Brynne. This is a rebound. Enjoy it this weekend and move along with life. Just the thought makes my spirits drop, and that, in turn, makes me feel stupid. He may be man candy in every way, but that doesn’t mean I need to turn into some cheesy addict. Even though he gives the best oral. Tossing the blankets back, I swing my legs off the bed. Stop it. Just slow this train wreck down a few clicks. After making a quick stop in the ensuite, I look for some sign of him. Just like yesterday, there’s no note, no text, no mention of when to expect him back. I grab a glass of juice, jump in the shower, letting the hot water work the soreness out of my body, and then decide to do a little window shopping in the casino below. I pull out a cute blue dress that’s more casual than a lot of things I brought. I brought a bright yellow bikini that would look really cute under it. Tossing my things around in the suitcase, I come up empty handed. Staring at my luggage, I realize I don’t see any of the five bikinis I brought. Dashing into the closet, I look on the rack where I hung the one up from yesterday. Gone. “That fucker.” “Who?” I spin around to see Fenton leaning against the doorframe. His red tie is loose, his jacket missing,

his hair a mussed-up, yummy mess. “The thief,” I say, hands on my hips, trying to hide my desire to wrap my legs around his waist and kiss the hell out of him. “We have a thief?” He watches me with complete sincerity. Like he has no clue what I’m talking about. “We do. He stole all my bikinis.” “Huh.” “Yeah,” I say, traipsing over to him. “And nobody likes a thief.” “You know what else nobody likes?” He shoves off the frame and wraps his hands around my waist lacing his fingers together in the dip at the small of my back. “Girls that can’t listen.” “I’ve never been a good listener,” I sigh dramatically. “I just make things happen . . . like calling the concierge and having them bring me another one up. And I charged it to your room since you stole my others. Thief.” He smacks my ass, making me yelp. “What was that for?” I laugh. “Did you really have them bring you another one?” “No. But I hadn’t ruled it out.” He chuckles, a sinful smirk on his face. “You’re going to make me crazy, you know that?” He drops his lips to mine, and in a split second, has me forgetting all about the bikinis and focused solely on getting him out of his suit. He breaks contact way too soon. “Any plans for the day?” I ask. “Yeah. I’m taking you somewhere.” “You are?” “Yeah. So get changed. The car is probably downstairs.” My mind starts racing. I’m not close to being ready to go anywhere. “Where are we going?” “Just something fun and away from this bullshit.” His shoulders stiffen as he spits out the last word. I run my hands over his shoulders and roll them around. He exhales harshly, sighing. “Bad day?” I ask “You can say that.” “No fire extinguishers again?” He laughs, swiping my dress off the counter. “There are too many fires, rudo. Is this what you were going to wear?” “Yeah,” I mock, taking it from him, “with my yellow bikini.” He turns and walks out of the bathroom. “It’s under the kitchen sink. Now get ready.” “Oh, now you tell me!” Wheeling around, he gives me a look of complete seriousness. “Yes. Now I tell you. Because you’ll be with me.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask, watching the city slip away from view. The landscape turns into an arid, flat picture with no fancy billboards or flashing lights. It’s hard to believe we are just barely outside of Las Vegas. I glimpse over my shoulder to the other side of the car. Fenton is scribbling on a notepad, the pen flying back and forth across the page. His attention is trained on whatever he’s writing, his jaw pulsing as he gets whatever he’s thinking down on the yellow legal pad. A purple Polo shirt stretches across his chest, constricting just a bit at his biceps. His legs are clad in steely grey swim trunks that hit just at the end of his toned thighs. My mouth waters at the mix of businessman and playboy and if some hired hand wasn’t driving us a foot away, I’d be unable—and unwilling—to resist temptation. He catches me admiring him and grins. “We’re almost there. It’s not too much longer,” he says. “Good. Because I don’t know how much longer I can sit this close to you looking like that and not touch you.” He glances quickly at the driver and then back to me. “Want to make a pit stop?” “Can we?” Laughing, he puts his notepad on the floor and unbuckles my seatbelt with a deft hand. I slide into the middle, his lips meeting mine in a soft, slow gesture. He winds a hand through the side of my hair, pulling me closer to him. His supple lips feel so comfortable against mine, and when I finally pull back, I’m breathless. That kiss wasn’t a reset button kiss. The thought strikes a bit of terror in me. My fingertips fly to my mouth and I gulp back a sliver of fear that this fuckfest, for lack of a better word, is starting to evolve. My emotions, which are supposed to be cut and dry in a rebound kind of way, are now feeling like they’re being strangled by a grapevine with a killer body. I’m not supposed to feel things when I kiss him. I’m not supposed to look in his face to see if his worry lines are forming around his eyes. I’m not supposed to care. But I do. The realization that my time with him is going to end, and probably soon, slithers into my consciousness and chokes me. Fuck my life. His brows pinch together as he takes me in. “Are you okay, rudo?” “Yeah,” I profess as lightheartedly as possible. “I’m great.” He doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me either. Being great would mean things were going according to plan and this little adventure would give me a swift kick in the butt to refocus. Why couldn’t he be the cool, asshole alpha type? Or a hot mess in his private life? Why did he have to go be all kind and swoony and tender? Fenton surveys me, the greyness of his irises sweeping across my features. “You know, I thought I had you figured out. Now I’m not so sure.”

“You’ll never figure me out. I’m a woman.” “Why do I think you go out of your way to make sure I don’t figure you out?” “Where’s the fun in having things figured out?” I tease. “I’ll keep you on your toes. Make you work for it.” “For what, exactly?” A zip races through me at the timbre of his voice, the huskiness that’s brimming with an innuendo I’m afraid to pick up. I can’t let myself fall for this man with no safety net and he’s made no qualms that he doesn’t want more than a fling. His gaze heats, scorching my defenses, and I realize that there would be no such thing as a safety net with Fenton Abbott.

The water stretches both directions and goes as far as the eye can see. It’s a beautiful azure, the light breeze sweeping across the lake and dragging the fresh air with it. I take a deep breath, feeling the peace of the water, something that’s always made me feel a sense of serenity, roll across me. Boats cut lazily through the surface and people linger along the banks, dipping into the stores and cafes lining Lake Las Vegas. I take in the view, the exotic Mediterranean feel, and convince myself we didn’t get into a car and drive to the Amalfi Coast. We are still in Nevada, just a stone’s throw from the Strip. In front of us sits a large boat. A yacht. A golden vessel with black accents and tinted windows, something that looks like it should be docked and waiting on royalty, not me. I watch as Fenton talks to a man in a white suit on deck. The man is about my age, blond hair, and definitely cute. I can imagine Presley going ga-ga over him, and maybe I would be too, if he weren’t standing next to Fenton. If the blond were on his own, it would be hard not to look at him. Now it’s hard to even see him. I take them in, watching Fenton explain something, and then turn to me. He studies me, hesitating, before waving me over. I step onto the dock and make my way across. Fenton takes my hand immediately and gives it a gentle squeeze. He laces his fingers through mine and tucks me under his arm. “Brynne, this is Lucas,” he notes. “He’ll be taking care of us today.” “Madam,” Lucas nods. He begins to offer his hand and then quickly changes his mind. “I hope you enjoy your time on the Ajax.” “Ajax?” I inquire, glancing up at Fenton. “It’s the name of the boat,” he reveals, the sun highlighting auburn strands in his hair I hadn’t noticed before. “Oh. Thank you, Lucas. I’m sure we will. It looks incredible.” Fenton’s hand splays against my ribs in a sweet, yet slightly territorial gesture. Lucas takes another step back. It makes me giggle, and when I peer up at Fenton, his brows pull together. “It’s our prized vessel,” Lucas continues, ignoring Fenton’s gesture, “And one we are delighted to have Mr. Abbott and yourself enjoy this afternoon. If we can get you anything before we set sail,

please let one of the staff members know.” Lucas disappears inside and Fenton turns me in his hands to face him. He brushes a lock of hair off my forehead. “I thought we could do this today. Just get away from the city and have an afternoon that’s just the two of us. Is that okay?” “I think it’s fantastic.” He seems relieved, the lines on his face disappearing. He traces my cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, pinning me in place with his gaze. I notice Lucas standing in the doorway waiting on us, but Fenton is unhurried. His scrutiny is nearly unbearable. My hand trembles as I lay it on top of his. “Mr. Abbott? We’re about ready to set sail,” Lucas calls, breaking our moment. Fenton grins. “Let’s go get settled.”

The Ajax moves easily through the water. It’s a beautiful, cloudless day, and now that we’re an hour into our sail, the water traffic has waned and we’ve found a little cove to drift around. It’s private and besides an interruption from Lucas to refill our drinks a couple of times, we’re alone. Fenton seems to relish it. He’s stretched back on the deck on an oversized lounge chair lined with marshmallow-like pillows. His aviators are over his eyes and I can’t tell if he’s sleeping or just relaxing, but it’s a sight to behold either way. His skin has beads of sweat dotting its golden ridges and I fight the urge to let my fingers explore the lines of his chiseled abs. Again. “Are you staring?” he asks, making me jump. I laugh and continue to openly admire him. Screw it. “Yeah. So?” He chuckles and puts his hands behind his head, his body glistening with the movement. “This is nice, huh?” “So nice. I’ve always loved the water. There’s just something about it that soothes my soul or something. Presley says it’s because I’m a Scorpio.” “I’m a Scorpio,” he notes. “But I don’t know much about all that.” “Me either. Presley goes through these phases of Feng Shui and astrology and veganism. I learn a lot just by watching her dabble in everything.” “I was a dabbler back in the day,” he reflects. “I wanted to be a doctor, an archaeologist. And I was a vegetarian at one point too.” “Seriously? I’ve seen you eat a lot of meat over the last few days.” “I said was,” he laughs. “Not anymore.” “Good to know. I don’t trust anyone that doesn’t like a good hamburger every now and then.” He peers at me over the top of his sunglasses. “What?” He shakes his head and slides his glasses back over his eyes.

“Nope. The ignoring my questions stops now.” I’m kidding but not kidding. I want to know what that look meant. “And I thought you were being sweet now.” “I was. And then you annoyed me,” I laugh. “Can I tell you a secret?” “I’d be shocked if you did, but yes. Please do.” “I like it when you’re bossy,” he tells me. “You get all fired up and that goes straight to my cock.” I roll my eyes and relax back into my chair. “I’m starting to think everything goes straight to your cock.” “Everything having to do with you certainly does,” he mutters. “But you want to know what that look was for?” I shrug, not going to bite. That gives him the power. I’ll hold on to a little bit yet. “Frustrating girl,” he groans. “Fine. Your declaration of your love for a hamburger is not something I’ve heard a woman say before.” “What? They usually declare their love of sausage?” He chuckles. “You’re impossible.” “So I like a hamburger. I also like Swedish Fish. What’s your point?” He opens his mouth and closes it. Twisting in his seat, he faces me head-on. “When I normally spend time with a woman, it’s very . . . contrived. Everything she does and says is very calculated, every word that comes out of her mouth for my benefit. But then there’s you.” His grin melts me. “From what I can figure, you say whatever you’re thinking and that’s that. You aren’t really bothered about how I’ll take it.” “Why would I? You’re a big boy. You’ll get over it.” He roars, his laughter causing a flock of birds perched on a tall red rock to fly away. “You know,” he says, settling down, “I imagined you’d be . . . fun. I had no idea you’d be so . . . refreshing.” “Refreshing, huh?” I grin. He leans back again and stills. I watch the water ripple, a fish jump and splash into the blue. I’ve never thought of myself as refreshing. Boring or predictable, maybe. But refreshing? Fenton yawns next to me, stretching his legs. It’s hard not to feel like a bundle of hormones around him, yet the more I talk to him, the more I realize how much more there is to him than a hot body. “Sometimes I have half a notion to sell everything I have,” he says, jostling me out of my reverie. “I just want to buy a boat and float around the world, docking at different islands and countries. A nautical nomad or something.” “Why don’t you?” “It’s not that easy, Brynne.” “Of course it isn’t,” I scoff. “But if that’s something you really want to do, you should do it. At least for a month or something. Take a vacation and float around with no itinerary. Think how fun that

could be.” “I can’t. I mean, I could, but I can’t just leave my companies to run for an extended period. Fuck knows what I’d come back to, if anything.” “Just close the restaurants. You make food for people,” I point out, trying not to sound like it isn’t important. “I’m pretty sure they can find other places to eat.” “You do know I have more than restaurants, right?” he smirks. “I don’t know much of anything because someone doesn’t like to talk about work.” “Well, that someone doesn’t like talking about work when he’s with a beautiful woman.” “You think I’m beautiful?” I coax, knowing he does but still wanting to hear him say it. It’s quickly becoming a drug and I’m not saying no to a fix. He scoots to the far side of his chair and rolls up on his side. “Get over here and lay by me.” I flash him a big grin and climb over, lowering myself beside him. I lay on my back and his hand rests on my stomach like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He looks down at me, studying me in the way he does. “I’ve enjoyed these last couple of days with you,” he admits. “Thank you for coming.” “Thank you for making me come.” He snorts, catching my innuendo. “No, really,” I confess, “I’m happy I came with you. This little adventure has been exactly what I needed.” “Me too.” The sun blazes brightly, the reflection of the water shining off Fenton’s glasses. I wish I could see his eyes, to try to get a feel for what he’s feeling, but they’re effectively blocked. A nervous jolt shoots through me and I do the math. I have to be at work in a few days. The idea of going back to reality—to work, to the ordeal with Brady, to Grant—seems overwhelming. My time with Fenton has been the most hedonistic thing I’ve ever done and knowing that’s going to end sends my spirits spiraling. Somehow I hadn’t thought too much about leaving, about the clock striking midnight and turning back into a stepsister. “When are we going home?” My voice is filled with the same dread I feel. It’s almost painful to say the words, the sounds barely slipping past my taut voicebox. “I’m waiting on some news about a couple of things. I should have some of it rectified tonight or tomorrow and then I’ll have a better idea. A couple of days probably. Is that okay?” I nod, feeling the blues start to sink in. I’m going to miss him and I don’t want to. “If you need to get back sooner, I can have someone take you. It’s not a problem.” He says that, but the way he looks at me tells me it is a problem. Why? I’m not sure, but I won’t leave unless I have to and a couple of days is better than tomorrow. “A couple of days is great. I have work coming up, but I’d like to stay with you as long as you’re here.” I chew my bottom lip, my stomach rolling with anxiety. I shouldn’t have said that. It sounds pathetic and needy and I’m not either of those things. I don’t want to be, anyway. But I wasn’t prepared

to feel like this. “What did you just think?” he asks, his voice packing a level of feels I’m not prepared for. “Nothing of importance,” I lie. I don’t want to tell him I was thinking that I didn’t want to leave him. How stupid. “Brynne—tell me.” “Just . . .” When I look him in the face, I lose my resistance. He lifts the words from my lips with a single look. “I was thinking I would miss you when we leave.” He flinches. It’s a quick movement, a fast blanch, but I catch it. And my stomach drops into a freefall, my reputation now obliterated. I’m sure he’s thinking I’m some pitiful girl that doesn’t know how to do things without strings. But I do know how to do that. I want to do that. I can’t help it that he’s the Pied Piper, leading me around with a sexy grin. It’s not fair. “Brynne . . .” “No, Fenton,” I say, sitting up and starting towards my chair. His hand on my arm stops me. I look at him over my shoulder. “Lay back here.” “I . . . No, it’s okay. I’m sorry,” I blush. “It was—” “It was exactly what I was thinking.” My breath leaves my body in a slow, steady stream. I wonder if I heard him right, but the hesitant grin on his face tells me I did. Shakily, I fall back into position on the chair and his hand presses flat on my stomach. I don’t know if it’s so I don’t get up or so he’s sure I’m here, but I love the feeling of his heavy arm lying on me. Of knowing he doesn’t want me to get up. Of being sure he’s still here. “I told you I’ve enjoyed these last couple of days,” he confesses. “I’ll hate to go home and let you go back to your life.” I wait for him to continue. There’s little doubt he can feel my heartbeat pounding in my stomach, but he doesn’t say anything. He just strums my skin with his fingers, sweeping them over my stomach. Pulling his sunglasses off, he wipes his brow with the back of his hand. Some of his thick hair sticks to his forehead and I want to reach up and push it back, kiss his pursed lips, straddle him and kiss him until we forget this awkwardness. But it’s already in the universe. There is no taking it back. “My life is a big mess right now, anyway,” I say, trying to feel okay about this. Trying to convince myself as much as him that I don’t need him, that I can split ways and go on with life. That I have a lot of things going on that I’ve been able to forget about for a few days, but things that are going to have to be dealt with. I force a swallow, summoning my courage. “I have all this family stuff happening. Grant is around, school will be starting soon . . .” He narrows his eyes. “I didn’t think you had anything to say to Grant.” “I don’t. But I’ll still have to deal with him, and I don’t know how to go about it. He locks me in with a promise he has something to say about my brother, and although I know it’s probably bullshit, I can’t risk it. What if this is the time he breaks?” “What if he breaks and does something to you?” His eyes darken, his brows pull together.

“I’ll handle this.” “You’ll call me.” It sounds so simple coming from him, but the look on his face is anything but. I gulp. “I’m not bothering you with this. I can handle Grant.” “That doesn’t mean you should.” “Grant was almost a part of my family, Fenton. I dated him for two years. I think I can deal with him.” “I don’t give a fuck how long you dated him. If you were paying his bills and letting him skirt having to be a fucking man, I’m surprised you even classify it as a relationship or love under your own definitions.” “You don’t understand.” “What I don’t understand is how you could even think this way.” His chuckle reverberates through me, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. “With me, you’re strong and smart and witty. When you talk about him, you seem the exact opposite. Why would you want to give anyone time that makes you feel this way?” “You don’t know him.” “Maybe not. But I haven’t heard anything to like.” He removes his hand from my body and I instantly miss it. “Your family was okay with him acting like he did to you?” I’m not going into this. It would only add fuel to Fenton’s fire. “My family is too busy with my brother to really care that much,” I say. “What’s happening with your brother?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” I watch the boat drift by a large red rock that looks like a table. I try to focus on the layers and colors and not on Fenton. “I get not wanting to talk about stuff, as you know,” he laughs softly. “But I’m curious as to what’s going on. What would make your parents not notice their daughter broke up with her boyfriend of two years.” “Curiosity killed the cat,” I say simply. “But satisfaction brought it back.” “I hate you,” I laugh. He scoots closer, the heat of the day too much for us to be lying this close, but I can’t pull away. I like the proximity, the way it makes me feel safe. The little ripple of anxiety, that things are about to sprial out of control with my life, is calmed with him peering over me. It’s a relief to be able to breathe for once . . . even if it is sweltering. The heat, the smell of his skin diminishes my resolve and I give in. “My brother is missing. He has been for a while.” “Like a runaway?” “He took off to do something nice and something happened and now . . .” I sigh, fighting back

tears. Fenton notices because he notices everything and scoops me up. Our heated, sticky bodies cling to each other, but that’s one thing he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. “My brother is the kindest person you’d ever meet. He’s a humanitarian, like you said your mother was. He’d do anything for anyone, and it was his heart that got him in trouble.” I wipe a stray tear rolling down my cheek. “I miss him so much, Fent. I miss his stupid jokes and Dodger stats and calls late at night to ponder life’s great mysteries. I just wish he’d come home.” That’s the best I can do without going into detail, and the last thing I want to do is to spoil this moment with a timeline of events, the way he looked on the proof of life video, the worst case scenario the government has given us and what that would do to me and my family if it were true. His face is buried in my hair. “I’m sorry. I know what it feels like to lose someone.” “He’s not dead,” I choke. “No, I know. I didn’t mean that, rudo,” he says hurriedly. He breathes me in, holding me tight. “In my line of work, we lose a lot of people, whether it be their lives or just that they walk away and we never see them again. And, you know, both of my parents are gone.” He presses a kiss to my head. “Having an attachment to someone and having them leave is one of the hardest parts of life.” I wonder if that’s one of the reasons he doesn’t have friends or girlfriends, why he purposefully doesn’t let a lot of people in. I don’t get to ponder it too long before he speaks again. “Sometimes I think getting on a boat and floating around would be the easiest life, the best use of my money.” “Why don’t you?” “Lots of reasons. I guess the main one is I can’t trust anyone to handle my businesses. We do a lot of important things, and I can’t just walk away from that.” “Like make food?” I laugh, wiping my face with the back of my hands. “Making food, yes,” he chuckles. “And helping children with scholarships and buying land before the trees can be cut off it. We provide security to hotels and casinos, keep concert goers safe. We fund small businesses that hire homeless people and help get them started in life. Lots of different things.” “Wow,” I observe. “That’s pretty incredible. So you do a little bit of everything, basically?” “Yes, but they overlap sometimes. You know, you see a good deal on food and you can snag it and use it for one of the restaurants. You can take some of your contacts with the security company and use them in the restaurants for events and stuff. That’s how I fell into the restaurants; I met a guy through security that needed an eatery in his new hotel.” “So you just started a restaurant?” I laugh. “Yeah, basically. I mean, I hired people to figure it out. I don’t know anything about cooking, only eating,” he grins. “You do eat very, very well, Mr. Abbott.” He shakes his head and laughs, the sound pulling at my core. An ache spreads from my stomach to my groin, causing me to shiver. “If you could be patient with me and not look too far into it, I’d like to see you when we get

home,” he whispers. He drags his hand down my stomach and cups my pussy in his palm. I gasp, maybe at his words as much as from the contact. “You just want me for sex, don’t you?” I breathe. “I do want you for sex,” he roughs. “But I also want to spend time with you. Talk to you. Take you for a hamburger.” Pressing a kiss to his lips, I switch positions so I’m straddling him. “I’d like all those things. As long as they all lead to sex.” He laughs, pulling me flat against him. He arms wrap around me. “If that’s a deal breaker, I’m happy to promise that all things can lead to sex.” “Mr. Abbott,” I whisper, planting kisses up his chest, “Consider it a deal.” Before I know what’s happening, I’m flipped onto my back and he’s hovering over me. His lips are twisted into a wicked smirk, the muscles in his arms glistening in the hot sun. My hands fly to his skin and run along the hard muscles. His skin is wet from the heat of the day, but I don’t withdraw my touch. Instead, I trace the ridges of his muscles on his back, the firmness making me ache for him. He drops his face to mine in a slow, controlled push-up. By the time his lips reach mine, I’m nearly panting. My palms press into his sides, my hips rising to his. He kisses me hard, his mouth commanding mine to open and allow his tongue entrance. Kissing me like it’s a language only the two of us understand, he rolls his hips into mine. His cock is stretching the fabric of his shorts, rock hard for me. I drag in a hasty breath as he pulls back. Holding himself up with one hand, he pushes his shorts down with the other. My bottoms are off too, in a split second. Our breathing matching ragged breath for ragged breath, he slides inside me with one delicious movement. “Ah,” I moan, feeling him fill me. “Is that what you wanted?” He bites his bottom lip, sucking in a breath, as he gives me a chance to adjust to his length. “Yes.” I swivel my body, letting him know I’m ready for more. He withdraws and slips in again in a heavy motion, one that obliterates all rational thought. All I can think about is the feeling of his body in me, on me, against me, and that I want more. Of all of it. I want more Fenton any way I can get it.

The sky is a deep midnight blue with a spattering of tiny silver stars sprinkled across the endless night. Streetlamps are few and far between on this piece of highway leading back to Las Vegas. The air conditioning whirrs through the car, the white noise lulling me after a perfect day. My eyelids are heavy. I rest my head against the glass and stifle a yawn. Fenton reaches over and takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together. It’s the most normal, basic gesture, yet it feels like so much more. “You tired, rudo?” “Yeah,” I mumble. Despite my exhaustion, I can’t help but grin. “But it was so worth it.” “Today was great. One of the best days I’ve had in a long time.” He watches me with a look of contentment, his thumb stroking my knuckles back and forth. My lids grow heavier and I fight not to drift off. I want to enjoy this feeling, this stillness I feel, for as long as I can. It’s a moment that, if I could, I would hit “pause” on and live inside forever. “When we get back to our suite, I’ll give you a bath,” he whispers, a creaminess to his tone that warms me. “And then we’ll go to bed together. But I do have a meeting early in the morning, so I won’t be there when you awaken. Order some breakfast from room service and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” “Maybe I’ll just sleep until you get back.” “In that case, I’ll climb in bed with you and give you a proper good morning.” I laugh an easy, carefree burst of happiness. “You’ve just struck another deal, Mr. Abbott.” He draws my knuckles to his lips and places a gentle kiss to each one. He startles when his phone buzzes. He groans, but lifts his hips and digs in his pockets and retrieves it. I don’t miss the shadow that creeps across his face as he looks at the number. Clearing his throat, he swipes the screen. “Abbott.” I sit up, now wide awake, and watch him. The easiness of the last few hours has evaporated. His jaw twitches and he stares straight ahead. “All right.” He blanches. “Fuck!” Placing my hand on his knee, my heart lodges in my throat. I have no idea what’s going on, but I know it isn’t good. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge my touch. “Do we have any additional information?” He listens intently, gripping the back of the seat in front of him with his free hand. “My God.” His head dips towards the floor for just a fraction of a

second as he listens to the voice on the other end. “This situation is out of control. I don’t give a fuck what has to be done. Even if . . .” He shakes his head, the voice on the other end getting louder. “Throw all the motherfucking money at it you have to in order to get answers, but I want them and I want them fucking yesterday!” I flinch at the sudden outburst, drawing my hand back slowly. The vein in the side of his neck begins to throb. I feel sick to my stomach. “Are you not fucking listening to me, Duke?” He squeezes his temple. He’s trying to stay calm and I wonder if it’s for my benefit because I’ve never seen this side of him before. His next words come out controlled, way too bridled. “I’ve been very clear I want this . . . situation,” he chokes, “Ended. I want answers. I want amounts, locations, deals, and I don’t give a fuck how much it costs me out of pocket, do you hear me?” He exhales harshly. I, on the other hand, hold my breath. I have no idea what’s happening or what this means, and I feel like a spectator at an event I shouldn’t be at, a witness to a conversation I shouldn’t be hearing. If we were in a room, I’d walk out and give him space. Yet, there’s nowhere for me to go. Fenton glances at me over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m aware of the possible outcomes and what the ramifications might be. I don’t care if they’re going to be pissed. Just . . . get it done, Duke. I mean it. Get. It. Fucking. Done.” He ends the call. Clenching the phone in his hand, he places both hands against his head. He tugs at his hair, muttering something beneath his breath. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” “It’s okay. Really. I just hope everything’s okay.” He huffs, a blend of anger and sadness that chills me. “Yeah. Me too.” “Do you want to talk about it?” I say it before I think and realize it’s our ongoing joke. He rolls his eyes. “Do you think I want to talk about it?” “Absolutely.” A small smile touches his lips. “I just . . . I have a situation I’ve been trying to resolve and it just keeps getting more complicated.” “You’ll figure it out.” “I have to,” he gulps. He eyes me before sitting upright. “I’m going to have to cancel our breakfast in bed for the morning. I, um, I’m going to have to make some decisions tomorrow that are going to take some time.” I consider that giving advice might mean overstepping my bounds, but his willingness to share that with me without prodding makes me think it’s okay. “My brother used to say to not make decisions based on whatever problem you’re having. You should make choices based on what outcome you want.” Fenton doesn’t respond, just watches me with a blank look on his face. “I never understood that,” I continue. “I mean, it makes no sense, right? But my brother is a doctor

and he explained it to me this way once: if a patient is bleeding, you can focus on stopping the bleeding or you can focus on saving their life. Maybe stopping the blood is a part of saving their life, but the decision has to be made with the bigger picture in mind.” “Smart.” I grin. “It really is. You have to weigh the risks against the rewards of your decisions. And when the balance begins to tip one way or the other, you just have to find the courage to do it.” He grabs my arm and twists me so that I’m lying across his lap, pulled securely in his arms. He nestles his head into my hair and holds me tight. “You’re a little light in my life, you know that?” “That’s me. Bringing sunshine everywhere I go.” He snorts and lets me pull back so I can see his face. “I’ve not known you for very long, but I know you’ll do what’s best.” “I don’t normally get too worked up about things. I just pick a direction and charge on. But this one is just such a mess and what I choose to do doesn’t just affect my bottom line. If that were the case, I know what I’d do.” “Fenton, you already know what to do. Follow your heart.” “What if that means walking through hell?” “Then take a fire extinguisher with you.” He laughs, but it’s weighed down with his troubles. “You and your fire extinguishers.” The car rolls up to our hotel and it catches me off guard. I hadn’t even realized we were back on the Strip. I uncurl off Fenton’s lap and gather my things from the floorboard. The car door swings open, but Fenton grasps my hand before I can step out. I turn to see him observing me. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. “It seems complicated,” I whisper so the valet doesn’t overhear. “But it isn’t. Risk versus reward. And then follow your heart.”

Fenton doesn’t speak as we trudge the last few feet down the hall towards our suite. He opens the door and holds it open as I enter. I don’t recall him saying a single word since we got out of the car. He didn’t even thank the valet, which is beyond unlike him. He just nodded his appreciation and continued on, extending his hand behind him until I clasped it with mine. The light switches on as I enter and watch Fenton make his way into our bedroom. I hear him rummaging around and I don’t know what to do. What I want to do is hold him in my arms and reassure him. But really, I don’t even know what I’m reassuring him of. I just loathe the look of despair on his face; it’s such a contradiction to his usual confident demeanor. Tossing my bag near the sofa, I stand with my arms around my waist. It’s so quiet. I jump when he moseys back into the room. He’s wearing a pair of white sweatpants, no shirt, and no shoes. I sweep his body from head to toe, taking in the divine view. And then I get to his face and my heart breaks. It’s a sorrowful smile, and I can’t stop myself from reaching for him and wrapping my arms around his waist. He does the same, pulling me into his chest. “I’m sorry I’ve put a damper on our night,” he says, his voice dejected. “This is not how I envisioned capping off the day.” “Fenton—stop it. You can’t help it.” “I know . . .” “You did come here to work, remember?” He plants a kiss on the top of my head. “True, but I didn’t come here to work on this. I came here to deal with a problem at Funda and . . . some other business here.” “So you’re kind of caught off guard by this?” He shrugs and pulls away, running his hands through his already wild locks. “Kind of. This has been a predicament for a while, but . . . let’s just say it just got a whole lot worse.” “I’m sorry.” “Me too, rudo. Me too.”

He sort of drifts through the room, aimless in purpose. Every now and then, he sighs or tugs at his hair. But he’s mentally someplace else, and I’m not sure whether to let him be or to try to cheer him up. My decision is made for me when his phone rings in the bedroom. He stalks towards it and disappears though the doorway. I hear him answer. A few seconds later, the door shuts. “Ugh,” I groan, plopping down on the sofa. I don’t know what to do with myself. Dragging my bag to my feet, I search for my phone. When we got on the Ajax, I turned it off, and now I wonder how many times Presley has texted me. I smile thinking about the possible messages I’ll see when the phone turns on. I flinch. Not only do I have a ton of texts from Pres, I also have a boatload of missed calls from her and my mom. My stomach sinks. With trembling hands, I call my mother. Each ring takes an eternity. It rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth, right before I disconnect the call and dial Presley, it picks up. “Brynne,” my mother chokes out. Her voice is barely audible, a whisper through the line. I spring to my feet. I feel the adrenaline kick in without knowing why. It’s an automatic response because my mother doesn’t call a million times. She doesn’t answer like this. The only time she’s done that is to tell me about Brady . . . Oh. My. God. “Mom? What’s wrong?” “Oh, Brynne.” She sobs again, each hiccup gashing me. I start to cry too—scalding, blinding tears streaking down my face. I realize the senselessness of it, but it’s unintentional. Just a reaction to hearing my mother break apart and knowing that soon, I will be too. “It’s Brady . . .” I guess, holding my breath. “He . . . we . . .” My hand covers my mouth, choking back the wails that threaten to break free. I can’t see for the tears, I can’t talk because panic has squeezed my throat shut. I feel the sofa at the back of my legs, but I can’t sit. I’m frozen, immoveable—a girl standing alone with a wound splitting her into tiny little pieces. “We got a call today,” she says, “A video of Brady has shown up on a website. We were hopeful, you know, because they told us early on that any contact or proof of life was a good sign.” “What was it?” Her fear is palpable. The misery I felt when I got the news he’d been taken pierces me again. My hands shake, my legs go limp. I nearly fall, but lean against the armrest and catch myself. “It was grainy,” she says, “And from a week or so ago they think. Of course they didn’t tell us until they tried to verify it and garner any useful information. But it was him.” Her voice breaks when she says the last word and tumbles in an unbearable sob. The howl I’ve been choking back is too powerful, my mother ’s agony the straw that broke the camel’s back, and it breaks free. “He looked so thin, Brynne. He had a full beard and his hair was covering his ears. He was on his

knees, his hands behind his back. And these men stood behind him with guns pointed at him like before,” she breaks off, struggling to stay composed for me. “His eyes . . . My baby’s eyes are just so empty. Your father has watched it a few times, but I just can’t,” she cries. “They demanded a ransom. There was no time frame to pay it, but the number was astronomical. We know the government won’t pay it and I just don’t know how we could ever possibly come up with that amount!” Her lament barrels through the phone and all I can do is add to it. I don’t have answers. I don’t understand any of this. I feel along the sofa and fall into it, covering my eyes with one hand. My body wrenches, ready to expel my dinner. I hear a rustle on the line and my father ’s voice comforting my mother. “Brynne Girl,” he says, calling me the nickname he gave me as a child. “Oh, Daddy!” I cry, the tears rolling again in full force. “Hey, now,” he rasps. “It’s going to be okay. We will find a way.” I feel Fenton at my side. I can’t make him out through the wetness, but I feel him kneel in front of me. One hand lands on my knees, the other wipes my hair out of my face. His fingers brushing away tears that come faster than he can rid them. “I know, sweetheart,” my father says. “We are doing everything we can. I won’t believe this will end in any way other than the right way. We have to make a push to get him out and Hyland has promised me he’s doing everything he can. I have every contact I’ve been able to make working on it. But baby girl, we have to remember, focus on the silver lining—he’s alive.” “To hell with them,” I say, my agony turning into anger. I lift off the couch, nearly knocking Fenton over. I can feel the pain being dulled by the fury and I welcome it. I feel it flow through my veins, making me light-headed. “You tell those bastards to go get my brother! He isn’t just another person over there. He isn’t a soldier that fled. He’s a doctor there to help people and he should be home with his family and not left to rot in Zimbabwe because of some stupid fucking red tape!” “I know, honey. But they’re sticking to the ‘not negotiating with terrorists’ line of bullshit.” “So what? They don’t negotiate? They just leave him there to . . .” I can’t say it. I can’t launch those words into the universe. I dry my face with the top of my dress. I see Fenton standing near the sofa, watching me with wide eyes. He probably thinks I’m a lunatic. “He wasn’t working for the government, so he isn’t their liability. He’s an American citizen, so they’ll do a bit on his behalf. But with all the wars happening right now and the domestic terrorism on our own soil, Brady isn’t the highest priority.” “I hate them, Daddy,” I blurt, my blood curling. “I hate every single one of them!” “I do too, Brynne Girl.” My mother ’s voice rings through the background and my father sighs. “Are you someplace safe? Are you with someone?” Fenton takes a few slow steps towards me. He’s hesitant, like I’m going to start screaming at any

given minute. “Yeah, Dad. I’m with someone. I’m safe.” Fenton stops a few feet in front of me. I blink rapidly, the tears threatening to fall again. “I love you, Daddy.” “I love you, sweetheart. Stay strong. Call me if you need me.” “I will.” I end the call and press the phone to my chest. I try not to look at Fenton because, if I do, I know I’ll cry again. “Are you all right?” he inquires, his voice wobbly. “No.” “Can I ask you what’s wrong?” I force a swallow past the lump in my throat. It burns as it goes by, squeezing through the constriction like lava. “Brady, um, went to Zimbabwe a few months ago. He’s a doctor. He’s so freaking smart, Fenton.” I look up into his grey eyes. They’re crystal clear, so much so that I can see my reflection. I look like a wreck. My tear-stained face swollen, my lips over-plump, my eyes bloodshot. “He went there as a doctor. Grant had worked for the company before, some kind of security company or something. Grant’s the one that got him the job. Brady felt like it was his calling, in a way, to give back and felt like he could make a difference there. I begged him not to go . . .” My voice breaks and I can’t hold back the pain. The tears come again, wildly this time, and I bend forward in physical agony. Fenton crushes me against him, holding my head against his body. The comfort breaks me, frees the rest of my anguish and I break down completely. I sob so loudly I can’t hear my own thoughts. I cry so profusely his chest has a river of tears flowing onto the edge of his sweatpants. I wail so dramatically I’m sure someone is going to call the front desk. I wipe the snot off my face and half-laugh at how ridiculous I must look. Today I felt like a goddess; tonight I feel like a baby. “I begged him, Fenton,” I sniffle. “I told Brady I had a bad feeling about it, but he said it was where his heart was. And he had to follow it. So he went and I was right. I was right,” I whisper, wishing empatically I weren’t. His face falls, his skin ashen. He’s as shocked as I was the first time I heard about it. You don’t expect this type of thing to happen to someone you know. This happens to other people. “So they said my brother was helping a child and got kidnapped by a group of men. From what they’ve told us, it’s a local band of fuckers, not some coordinated multi-national group. Even so, our government won’t negotiate with terrorists. And his employer . . .” I clench my jaw. “Fuck those assholes.” “What did they do?” “Nothing. Not a fucking thing. Grant says they sent them into an unauthorized area, that they’re a careless company behind a benevolent façade. I believe that much is true because they don’t seem all

that motivated to do anything.” “But Brady went willingly, right?” “That’s not the point,” I hiss. “And him not coming home wasn’t willing. So fuck that.” He follows me with his eyes as I roam the room. “I hope they die a painful death. I hope they lose someone and it hurts so bad they can’t fucking breathe. I hate them, Fenton,” I bite out, spinning around and looking at him. “I despise them.” He swallows hard. “I can understand that. Of course they’re to blame.” “Absolutely. If it weren’t for their carelessness and heartlessness, my brother wouldn’t be God knows where with guns pointed at his head right now.” The image skates through my mind and the tears form once again. “He doesn’t deserve this.” My sight blurs and I drop my phone on the floor. Fenton is to me in a split second, scooping me up in his arms. I rest my head on his shoulder and cry. “Shh,” he whispers, nuzzling my face with his head. “Shh, rudo.” “I have to have him back,” I choke out through the tears. “This is destroying my family, especially my mother. I think she’s going to have a nervous breakdown or a heart attack. It’s impossible to live a normal life knowing he’s over there . . .” We enter the bedroom and he lays me on the bed. He doesn’t break contact, just angles me so he can slide in behind me. We lie there in silence, me crying, Fenton rubbing my back, my arm, smoothing my hair. Once I calm down, he kisses my cheek, letting his lips press against my skin for a moment longer than necessary. “Do you need to go home?” he asks. I turn over to look at him. His face is etched with concern, his eyes trying to figure out mine. But this time he won’t because I can’t figure them out myself. “No. There’s nothing I can do there. I just . . . I want to be here with you.” “Are you sure?” “Yes. I’m happy I got this call while I was with you. You just . . . you make it a little easier. Just knowing you’re here.” His smile is forced, the lines around his eyes deep. I remember he was dealing with something too, before I got my call. “Are you all right? You got a call . . .” His eyes flutter closed for a brief moment. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” “I know you will,” I say, trying hard to smile. He jerks the blankets up over our bodies and turns me around so I face the wall. “We’ve had a long day. Let’s get some sleep,” he whispers. “Maybe we can have lunch by the pool tomorrow,” I say, sleep settling over my brain quickly. The crying was the nail in the coffin and I can’t keep my eyes open. Fenton responds, but I can’t focus on his words. I just settle in, finding a rhythm in the beating of

his heart, and force myself to think about boats and kisses.

Something shakes me. I groan and turn away after a night of letting the demons that come around in the darkness have a party in my brain. “Brynne. Wake up.” The voice sounds far away. It’s too soft to make out exactly. It’s too much work to try to open my eyes or to figure out what’s happening, so I drift back off again. Pressure descends on my thigh and I’m tussled back and forth. I drag my eyes open and wipe the sleep out of them. They’re swollen from a night of intermediate crying and sobbing and my head has a dull throb of what I fear is the start of a banging migraine. Fenton, fresh from the shower, is bent over me. As I allow my pupils to adjust to the light, I breathe him in. He smells like cotton and musk and my senses are enveloped by the comfort it brings. “Good morning,” he whispers, running his hand down the side of my face. I lean into his touch, his warmth. “Morning. What time is it?” “It’s early, just seven o’clock.” “I thought you had a meeting?” He takes a deep breath and holds it a long second before releasing it in a heavy huff. “I did, but it got rescheduled. I have the jet on the runway waiting on us in an hour.” I scramble to sit up, to knock the fog out of my head. My stomach plummets when I remember the disastrous night before—my parents, Brady, Fenton’s call. I remember him carrying me to bed and holding me throughout the night. When I fell asleep, we’d discussed what we would do today. What changed? “I know I planned on a staying a couple more days,” he says, his voice trembling with a hint of uncertainty, “I just think it’s best we get back now.” “Okay.” I don’t say anything more. I feel whipped, completely defeated in every sense of the word. Being here with him was the distraction I needed and now it’s over. I’m Cinderella and the clock has struck midnight. I’ve gone from being happy, in a complete dream, to being thrust back into the vile real world in one fell swoop. “Don’t look like that,” he says, lifting my chin with his finger. I can see the hesitancy written all

over his handsome face, the way he seems to be giving me room or taking some for himself. Whichever way, it stings. “We both have a lot happening right now,” he says, “and I need to be at the office handling this. And you probably want to be with your family too, right?” “Yeah,” I lie to save face. I’m not sure what changed his mind about us, whatever we are and were going to be, but I guess it was my craziness last night and realizing how his normal way of thinking works for him. Relationships are too much work, too much of a distraction, too much responsibility. He doesn’t want that and it’s probably very clear I’m not at an easy point in my life. He takes my hand and lifts me off the bed and onto my feet. I jerk at the hem of his shirt that I wore to bed in an effort to feel less exposed. Less bare. Less vulnerable. Instead of pulling me close like has become our habit, he studies me. It’s not the amused or even warm look I’m used to seeing. It’s peppered with a loneliness that seeps into my bones. “The last few days have been some of the best days I’ve ever experienced. I want you to know that,” he professes. “You are such a special person, Brynne. I’ll always be grateful for the day you lost your phone.” I feel his rejection, or what I take as his rejection, and the obnoxious level of misery that accompanies it is devastating. My lip quivers and I bite down on it, hard, to keep myself from crying. I won’t cry in front of him. I won’t cry for him. I won’t belittle myself like that. “Brynne . . .” “I need to pack my things.” I bow my head and step around him and towards the ensuite. I’d rather just grab my stuff and get this over with rather than listen to him apologize for changing his mind about everything. If we get home and he wants to see me again, I’ll work that out. But it’s not a theory that’s holding water at the moment, and I have other things I need to concentrate on. Like not having a nervous breakdown. I grab a clean outfit from my suitcase and stumble into the ensuite and change. I wait for his hand to fall on my shoulder, the sound of him following behind me. Neither comes. I get cleaned up, focusing on each step. Brush teeth. Remove shirt. Slip on dress. Stepping back into the bedroom, it’s vacant. His suitcase is gone, his briefcase that sat all week when he wasn’t at work on the dresser is missing. The bed is rumpled from our bodies just a few minutes ago. I walk over and let my fingers grab a handful of the sheets and remind myself of what this was. A reset button. A rebound. Even if I allowed myself to believe this had potential for more, it doesn’t now. I can’t blame him. We don’t know each other well enough to expect loyalty. He doesn’t owe me anything and delivered on his promise of a fun few days. He’s allowed to change his mind, especially when his decision to see me again clearly was made under too much sun and too much alcohol.

I gather my courage, and tuck the rest of my belongings into my suitcase. Latching it closed, I pull it into the living room. He’s sitting on the sofa, his fingers flying across his phone. He glances up when he hears me. “Are you ready?” he asks wearily. I nod. “Brynne, let me explain—” “There’s nothing for you to explain,” I say as nonchalantly as possible. “We both need to get back. I get it.” The air is thick and it stirs between us. Any other time it’s felt this way, he’s leapt through the space and kissed the shit out of me. But this time, he doesn’t. He starts to speak but, before the words eke out, he blows out a breath and turns away. He grabs his bag and tosses it over his shoulder and turns to me again. “Leave your suitcase here. The bellboy will come and get it.” He gives me a quick once over. “Do you have everything?” “I do.” His bottom lip clenched between his teeth, he leads me to the door and I follow, giving the suite a final glance.

The car coasts along the highway, the palm trees drifting back and forth in the breeze. It’s a pictureperfect California afternoon, one songs have been written about and people have envisioned as they migrate here from all over the world. I watch the trees zip by from the rear passenger ’s window. Fenton sits beside me. Just as he’s done from the moment we exited our suite a few hours ago, he barely says a word. I get the feeling often that he’s going to say something, that he wants to say something, but it never happens. And each time his mouth opens and closes, my spirits tumble just a bit more. Although he said we’d see each other after we got home, I know that’s not happening. I feel it. I can see it in his beautiful grey eyes. I feel his touch, his fingertips brushing across the back of my hand. My throat tightens at the contact and I squeeze my eyes shut, relishing the feeling. Still-shots from the last few days fire off in my mind, images of the way the corners of his lips nearly touch his eyes when he laughs, the way his jaw ticks when I’ve riled him up, the way the smirk skirts slowly across his mouth right before he says something ridiculously sexy. “Brynne . . .” My name on his lips is the cashmere Presley first described. It’s soft and rich and textured. He draws another pattern across my knuckles and I remove my hand from beneath his. Turning to look at him, he’s scanning me, searching for something that I don’t know how to give him. “Yeah?” He takes a swallow, his throat moving with the force. I wonder if his feels as constricted as mine. If he feels the awkwardness, yet the complete easiness, between us.

“I’m going to be really busy for the next few weeks . . .” he begins. He doesn’t look me in the eye, and I think that’s the hardest thing about the start of what I know is an about-face to what he said before. Even though I knew this was coming from the moment I looked into his face this morning. I keep my features neutral and unreflecting of the jagged pain I feel inside when his eyes finally drag to mine. The hope I’d begun to feel, the visions of things that might be possible, vanishing through my fingers. “This, whatever this is between us, is probably going to have to be put on hold a little while,” he mutters. I can’t tell if he doesn’t want to say it to me, or if he doesn’t want to say it at all. “I get it,” I say, forcing an insincere smile on my lips. “It’s not like that.” “You’re busy,” I point out, as much to myself as for him. “And you told me we’d spend a few days together and you made them memorable and have been over-the-top in generosity. There’s nothing for you to make excuses for.” “I didn’t just tell you that. I told you I wanted to see you when we got home–” “And I never believed you,” I lie to the both of us. “Scotch makes people say funny things.” His head drops into his hands. He growls, running his hands across his face, scrubbing it harshly before looking back to me again. “Whatever I say is just going to make this worse, isn’t it?” “Yes,” I agree, “it is. So you should probably just shut up.” His shoulders tumble forward and he grins. It’s the one I love most, the one that shows me that I get to him. That he doesn’t know what to do with me. I guess this time, he really doesn’t. “I wish you would’ve let me have Presley pick me up at the airport. We could’ve saved ourselves this conversation,” I half-laugh. “But I would’ve had to give up this time with you.” His words choke me, bolts of poison cutting me to the core. How dare he say something like that now? I can’t look at him. I miss him already and he’s still a couple of feet from me. How am I going to feel when this car pulls away and I probably never see him again? His hand picks mine up, engulfing my small palm in his. He clamps over it in a gesture I would’ve deemed territorial at this time yesterday. I recognize the street we’re on over Fenton’s shoulder and start to pull my hand out of his. Before I can, he brings it to his luscious lips and presses a heavy kiss against each knuckle. I take in his face, the lines around his eyes, the intensity of his gaze and the heaviness of my heart. Giving him the best smile I can, I withdraw my hand. I start to speak, to thank him again for a great few days, but when I open my mouth, I sense the tears that may start and I’ll be damned if I’m going to cry. So instead, I nod and open the door. His seatbelt clicks and I turn around. “Fent?” “Yeah?” “Don’t.”

“I just want to walk you to the door.” “Please. Don’t. This will be much easier if we just end this here.” “I didn’t say end, Brynne,” he grimaces. “I said put on hold.” I shrug and start out of the car again. “Brynne . . .” I turn to look at him. I can’t read anything he’s thinking or feeling and it makes me feel so alone. He takes stock of my features, of the pleadings of my eyes. With a heavy sigh, he sinks back into the seat. I climb out and close the door and follow the driver that’s carrying my suitcase up the walk and never look back.

“I’m going to be real honest with you, Brynnie. I didn’t expect you to look like this when you got home.” “Shocker.” “I expected a post-coital glow, maybe a permanent smirk from all the sexy times. Not . . . this.” I huff, stirring the sugar into my coffee. “Yeah, well, this wasn’t on my list of to-do’s either.” Presley clasps her hands together and sits them on the table in front of her, which is across the kitchen table from me. Her bracelets rattle off the wooden planks, jingling through the room. “I’m sorry, Brynne. I know what happened with Brady.” “Yeah,” I exhale, lifting the warm mug to my lips. “Your dad told me last night when they called here looking for you. I called them this morning to check on them. Your poor mother. I almost drove to their house just to try to offer some support or something.” “I called her before the plane left Vegas and she just sounds numb this morning. I guess we all are in our own way.” “Do you want to go see them?” I’ve considered it. It’s just a couple of hours drive from here and if I left now, I could be there before dinner. But when I proposed it to my mother, she demanded I stay home and go through the motions of my day. “Nah,” I say, sipping the coffee. “I have to work. And really, if I were there, I think they’d feel torn about spending time with me and focusing on him. At least if I’m here, they can do what needs to be done, if that makes sense.” “It does.” Presley watches me with narrowed eyes before speaking. “You’re pretty calm about it. Calmer than I thought you’d be.” “I think I cried myself out last night. Today, I just feel . . . dull. I don’t know how to explain it. There’s nothing I can do, Pres.” My jaw tenses as I think about the assholes who won’t go get him and how they’re having breakfast with their families today, sleeping in their beds tonight. “Did he even know who he was going to work for?” I ask, tossing my thoughts into the universe. “Did he know how dangerous it would really be—not just the generic ‘I’m going out of the country

so there’s a level of danger involved’? Maybe they let him be taken—” “Whoa,” Presley interrupts. “You’re pissing yourself off. That’s not going to do anyone any good.” I roll my eyes. She’s right, of course, but screw that. At least when I get pissed off, I care, and that’s more than anyone besides my parents have done since day one. “Let’s change the subject,” Presley proposes. “What happened with Cashmere?” “Well, he whisked me away on his private jet. He fucked the sense out of me. He was kind and sweet and playful and it was just amazing.” She beams. “He took me away to Lake Las Vegas and chartered a private yacht,” I feed her. “We screwed on the balcony as the sun set, drank a lot of frozen drinks, ate the best hamburger I’ve ever tasted, and he told me he wanted to see me when we got back to California.” “For real? How awesome! I’m not jumping ahead, and I know I said he was just a rebound, but—” “And then,” I cut her off, “he got a call from work and, whatever it was, really perplexed him. And then Mom called and I think he realized how much he needed to focus and what a hot mess my life is.” We exchange a sad smile. Presley’s lips twitch before she finally bites the bottom one to keep from talking. “So, here I am a couple of days early. But,” I sigh, looking at the ceiling, “it’s not even that, Pres. It’s like he let me down easy. He tried to make it seem like we might see each other again, but I really don’t think he means that. And while I appreciate the gentle brush-off, the ‘hold’ part of ‘on hold’ feels pretty damn permanent.” “Oh, Brynne . . .” My spirits sink. Again. “Yeah. So that’s that. It was a great few days and I have enough material to masturbate to for a few months. It’ll all work out.” She shakes her head, still in disbelief. Watching her work through the emotions is somehow cathartic. I follow her as the disbelief switches to sadness and then, ultimately, to anger. Her eyes blaze. “Fuck him,” she says. “Fuck him and his cashmere voice and his big cock. I mean, I’m guessing he was packing.” “Of course he was.” “Shit.” I giggle at her, the way she takes my side and keeps it real is so entertaining. “So that was my vacation. What did you do?” “Went on a couple of dates. Ate some sushi. Did some hot yoga which, for the record, you should not try. It’s like asking for someone to contort you and asphyxiate you in the process. Horrible.” “Noted.”

“And then I got to see Grant. So that was a good time.” I groan and get up and refill my coffee. “What did he say?” I sigh, leaning against the counter. “He said he wanted to see you. He was just sitting on the steps, Brynne. So weird. But when he saw me coming, he jumped up and wanted to know where you were. I just . . .” She blows out a breath and stops herself from finishing the sentence. “But he’s okay. Like, nothing bad happened to him? He didn’t look strung out or desperate?” “Not really. Not anymore odd than he has been the last couple of times I saw him. I wouldn’t give him your number since you changed it and I wouldn’t tell him when you were coming home. His number is under the Cosmo magazine on the coffee table if you want it and don’t have it.” I’m too exhausted to exert any energy on Grant and tie myself up in whatever he has to say. It’ll just be some bullshit and what he won’t say—the truth about what happened in Zimbabwe—is the real kicker. It’s the reason when it’s all boiled down as to why I won’t see him. “I’m going to grab a shower,” I say, pushing away from the table. “Go wash that hot man off of you,” she winks. “And I’ll make us some brunch.” “You’re making us brunch?” “Well, I’ll order us brunch. You haven’t been gone that long,” she laughs. I give her a thumbs up and leave. I walk through the kitchen, assiduously ignoring the Cosmo magazine, and into my room. Reset button has been pushed. Let the chips fall.

“W here is my name tag? Have you seen it?” I rummage around on the top of my dresser and search for it. My hand knocks over a bottle of perfume but I don’t have the energy to pick it up. “Ugh. I always put it right here.” Presley shuffles the array of items from my suitcase that are now dumped on my bed. “I haven’t. But the mess we made getting you ready for Cashmere probably knocked it around.” “Probably.” I crouch down and look on the floor and spy it lying behind a lamp. Retrieving it, I pin it to the front of my blue button-down Cooper and Sheldon shirt. My fingers fumble with the clasp, my coordination suffering the effects of not getting any sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes, a movie-like reel of images would start. Sometimes it felt like they started before I even fell asleep and that made me fearful to even try to let my lids close. I feel like I’m walking around in a bubble. The world is speeding by, doing its thing, and I can’t keep up. I’m slogging behind, trying to keep pace, while being dragged down by the stresses of my life. Things were barely manageable before; I’d learned to put everything into a box and open each parcel as I was able. But now? There’s no hope. Fenton won’t fit into any box. I keep telling myself he did exactly what a rebound should do: he was fun. He built me up, gave me some of my confidence back. And that has my chin lifted a little bit. Or a lot. So my plan worked. I rebounded. I think. The only problem is—now I don’t want to boomerang to the next guy. I want him and I don’t think that’s going to happen. “I so don’t feel like going in tonight,” I groan, feeling a headache start to pulse in my temple. “Why didn’t you just say no?” “Because,” I sigh. “They let me switch with another girl so I could take the last couple of days off. So how can I say no now and not look like a complete jerk?” “What’s the worst they can do?” “Fire me!” “Over that?” “Yes, over that!” I laugh. “Sometimes I forget that you don’t understand basic life.” She shrugs, examining a freshly manicured fingernail. “I understand basic life. I just happen to be

born into a family with a trust fund. It’s not bad to be me.” If anyone else would’ve said that, I would’ve rolled my eyes and called them a twat. But Presley doesn’t mean it badly. She’d do anything for me or for anyone she loves, which in honesty, is few and far between, but that’s not the point. She has a huge heart and is right—she’s lucky. I twist my name tag until it sits only partially lopsided. “I’d miss him, too,” Presley says. Turning to face her, I glare. “Don’t try to play pretend with me. I’m your best friend and I’m a female that saw him in those workout pants and you confirmed my cock theory. There’s no way in Hades you aren’t missing him.” I slouch over to the bed and sit on the edge. I do miss him. But that’s not the problem because I’ve missed people before. I missed Grant. I still kind of miss Grant in a weird way. But this feels different. I miss Fenton, yes. I miss the sound of his voice, the way he makes my skin come alive under his touch. I miss the little idiosyncrasies that make him him. But I also miss the way he makes me feel– giggly, interesting, safe, desired. It makes how I missed Grant feel incredibly superficial. What I feel for Fenton is wrapped around some deep part of my consciousness and it doesn’t just hurt–it aches. “He was that good, huh?” “Yeah,” I chuckle. “He was that good.” “I figured. Rich, sexy asshole. Of course he’d be great in bed.” “Right? But you know, Pres, it was more than that . . .” I sigh, searching for the words to sum up all that Fenton was in such a short period of time. “He’s smart. He’s kind and funny and silly. He listened when I talked. He didn’t get mad when I challenged him.” A picture of Grant and I sits on a shelf across the room. His arm is around me and we look exactly like what our relationship was—young and immature. I spin around to Presley again. “When I would go somewhere with Grant, I had to fight for his attention with every pretty girl in the room. But no matter where I went with Fenton, we may as well have been alone. He never looked at anyone but me. I never felt like I bored him or that he wished he was home watching football. It was just . . .” “Magical?” “Kind of,” I whisper. My eyes close and I swear I can feel his breath on my neck, his voice murmuring in my ear. “He could’ve made me want to try a relationship again. I guess he was just too good to be true.” She narrows her eyes. “You don’t think you . . .” “What?” “You don’t think you fell in love with him, do you?” “No,” I shoot back too quickly. She slaps her palm against her forehead. “Didn’t we go over the rules of the rebound? No falling in love, Brynnie. Oh my God.”

“I’m not in love with him,” I huff. Even I am not convinced by my tone. It’s a thought that’s crossed my mind a time or two over the last few days, but I’ve scooted it right back out. Presley doesn’t respond. Just watches me. “I’m not, Pres,” I assure her . . . and me. “I don’t know him enough to be in love with him. Lust? Yes. Absolutely. Love? No. No way. How can I be in love with someone I met a few days ago? That’s impossible! That’s stupid. No one does that. No one falls in love right away.” “Tell me the story again of how your parents met and, you know, fell in love.” I glare at her, shooting the sharpest daggers I can manage right into her skull. “I’m not saying you are in love with him, Brynne. I’m just saying that maybe this was a guy you feel like you could’ve fallen in love with. And now you’re a little heartbroken, which is totally understandable under the circumstances.” “What circumstances?” “That he’s a fucking ten in every category.” I roll my eyes. “You aren’t helping here.” “I knew he’d have a magic stick. I have to say I’m impressed he was a wizard all around.” “Oh, Pres,” I giggle, Fenton’s invisible touch gone with her silly words. “You’re nuts.” “True,” she grins in victory of distracting me. “Okay, you go to work and do your bookstore thing, and I’ll grab some expensive wine and we can just drink the night away.” “I’m sure you’d hate that,” I laugh at my wine-loving friend. She clutches her chest. “It will be torture, but I’ll do it for you.” I lift off the bed and start the search for the purse I take to work when the doorbell rings. Presley stands and heads towards the hallway. “I’ll get it,” she says. “Expecting someone?” “Maybe,” she sings. “I was with this guy a couple of days ago and he’s been threatening to show up and fuck some sense into me if I don’t return his call. So, naturally, I’m not returning any of his calls. Or texts.” I locate my purse under a pile of sundresses I discarded when packing only because it starts ringing. I see my father ’s number and my heart leaps into my throat. “Daddy?” “Hey, Brynne Girl. Did you make it home?” “Yes. I’m sorry. I should’ve called.” “It’s fine. I’ll let your mother know. You know how she gets.” He takes a long pause and I wait. He has something else to say, I can feel it through the line. “Grant came by here yesterday.” “He did?” I sit on my bed and wait for him to reply. “Yeah. He was really shaken up.” “What did he say?” “Nothing much. I let him hang around for an hour or so then told him to hit the road unless he had something to tell me and he said he didn’t. But I think he did. I think he was going to tell me

something.” “About Brady?” “I guess. He was just so odd, even for Grant. I know things between us are strained, and he isn’t the little boy I carted to baseball practice years ago. But there’s no comfort level anymore. It’s like he feels guilty and won’t tell me why, and I finally just told him to go so I didn’t wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until he got it off his chest.” I sigh. “Mom can’t handle you in prison.” “I can’t handle me in prison. I’d be no good to any of you there.” We sit on the line quietly. I watch the tree sway in the breeze outside my window. “Has he contacted you?” Dad asks. “Presley said he came by. I wasn’t here.” “I want you to be careful with him, Brynne. Don’t see him unless you’re in public, okay? He’s driving a new BMW SUV. Where’d he get the money for that?” “I have no idea,” I breathe, feeling a sickness sweep over me. “Me either. But there’s something going on with that boy, and I don’t want you alone with him. You hear me?” “I do.” “If you do, like I said, do it in public. Be safe about it.” “I will. But I have to go to work now. I’m going to be late.” “Go. We’ll talk soon. Love you.” I stand and head to the door. “Love you, Dad.”

Thud! The stack of books comes crashing down, smacking me in the head and shoulders as they barrel towards the floor. “Ouch!” I yelp, shielding my face from the onslaught of paperbacks. The thundering stops and I open my eyes to see a chaotic scene in front of me. Romance stories are scattered everywhere, stories all ending in a happily-ever-after. The irony is not lost on me. I begin the tedious task of picking them all up and stacking them in shorter piles on the table. I’ve been tucked away in a back corner of the bookstore all afternoon. We haven’t been very busy anyway, so that coupled with my seclusion has given me way too much time to think, and I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin. All I can do is think about Fenton. Everything reminds me of him. The cover model on one super-sexy book. The girl in a bikini on another. The grey paint in this part of the store would match his eyes and I know he’d hate the music playing over the speakers, just like he hated the similar music in the café we stopped at for breakfast on the way to the yacht. It’s a miserable decline into the pits of remorse. I’ve always heard you shouldn’t regret your decisions. You should analyze them, learn from them, and be grateful. I wonder if those people have ever experienced Fenton Abbott and then had him turn away. Doubtful. “Ugh,” I groan, picking up a book with a boat on the cover. It looks romantic and fun and I hate it instantly. I hope the heroine knows how that ends. He’s going to drop her off at home and she’ll be heartbroken in the bookstore at the end of the novel. I slam it down a little more forcefully than necessary. I’m not heartbroken. I bend over and scoop up a novel that’s hidden under the table. It’s a glossy pink cover with a beautiful couple kissing under a palm tree. He has dark hair and a strong jawline, just like Fenton. I press it to my chest and take a deep breath. If I try hard enough, I can smell his cologne.

“Brynne? You can take your break now,” my boss says as she walks by, carrying a stack of magazines. “There’s coffee cake in the break room. I made it this morning.” “Thanks,” I grin, feeling relieved. I need a shot of sugar and some time to get myself together. Working my way to the break room, I spy the dessert, take a chunk and cuddle up on a loveseat as my phone lights up with a number I don’t know. I swipe it instantly. “Hello?” “Hey, Brynne.” Grant’s voice shoots through the phone, rougher than any I’ve heard in awhile. The familiarity I once found in his timbre is long gone. “Grant?” “How have you been? I was by a couple of days ago.” “So I heard.” “You okay?” Dropping the rest of the cake in the garbage next to the chair, I sit up and sigh. “I’m great. What do you want?” “Will you have dinner with me?” “No.” He sighs and I know he’s scratching his head. He always does that when he’s frustrated. “Please?” “We have nothing to talk about.” “We do, actually,” he says, his voice lower now. “I want to talk to you about some stuff.” “Like what?” “Just . . . stuff. I can come over, if you want.” Remembering my father ’s warning, I give in. I know Grant’s going to show up. That’s just how he is. If I at least hear him out and agree to do it somewhere publicly, maybe he won’t come by the house and cause a scene. “No,” I groan. “Don’t do that. I’ll . . . I’ll meet you somewhere tomorrow night.” “You will?” I hear the surprise in his voice and instead of making me smile, I frown deeper. “I guess. You’re leaving me no choice.” “Perfect. I’ll text you a place later. Does that work?” “Yeah,” I mutter. “Awesome! I can’t wait to see you, Brynne.” “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I click off the phone and squeeze my temple. The son-of-a-bitch better have something to tell me. Before I can think about it too long, the phone rings again. I hold it in my hands, watching Fenton’s name at the top of the screen. “Hello?” I try to sound as relaxed as I can, like I was just lying on my bed, watching television. The syllables come out forced, breathy, but it’s the best I can do. “Hey, Brynne. It’s Fent.” His voice wraps around me like a warm blanket on a winter night. It tugs at the memories of being actually wrapped around him and that stings. Even so, I can’t help but feel

the little hope budding in my gut at his attempt at reaching out. “Fent, huh?” “It’s a newly acquired moniker given to me by a beautiful, sassy, bikini-clad girl. I kind of miss hearing it, actually.” “Whoever gave it to you was clearly a genius.” “That might be stretching it . . .” The laugh that radiates from me betrays my attempt at sounding cool and unattached. Our banter is too comfortable. It’s almost as if we haven’t lost a step in the easy way we have together. Had together. Whatever. The uncertainty of where we actually stand and the anticipation of why he might’ve called riddle me, and as much as I want to just start talking, I don’t. The ball is in his court. “I thought I’d check on you,” he says. “I’m good.” He breathes heavily and I know he’s squeezing his temples. I wonder where he’s at and how things are going for him. And before I know it, I’m asking. “How are you?” “Hanging in there. What did you do today?” “I’m working, actually. On a break. What are you doing?” “The same.” His answer is super simple, leaving both nothing and everything to the imagination. He didn’t say enough for me to decide if it’s a good day or a bad day, and I’m not sure I’m supposed to press for more. “Sounds fun,” I reply and then decide to take a gamble. “Did you ever work out that big problem you had?” “Maybe,” he grunts. “But I don’t want to call you and talk about work.” “Well, what do you want to call and talk to me about?” I squeeze my eyes shut and wait. I’m holding my breath, hoping, maybe even praying a little bit, that he’ll say something I want to hear. Instead of something over-the-top, or even hopeful, he laughs. “I just wanted to hear your voice, to tell you the truth.” “Well, here I am. Hanging in there, as you say.” “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” A long moment passes between us and I wait for him to continue. “Do you have plans tomorrow night? I’d love to see you now, but I have meetings that are probably going to run late,” he sighs. I have half a notion to tell him I don’t. I want to see him so much that I would blow off Grant and maybe never hear what he has to say just to lay my eyes on Fenton again. But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I know I can’t do that. I’m just a distraction for Fenton and I need to hash this out with Grant. “I do, actually,” I say, feeling the words fall off my lips.

I don’t miss his groan in response, but I can’t make out the words he mutters. “What do those entail?” he asks cautiously. “Dinner. Then wine.” “With the same person?” “Not necessarily,” I shrug. “I might have wine at dinner, but Presley and I will also be having wine when I return.” “So it’s safe to assume you’re not having dinner with Presley?” “That’s true. It’s also safe to assume, for what it’s worth, that I won’t be wearing a bikini.” “Brynne . . .” The deep timbre of his voice floods through me, sparking the spots in my body that only he can. I shiver from the onslaught. “Who are you going to dinner with?” he asks, his voice rough, not at all the cashmere effect. “Grant.” Tension fills the line and I instinctively pull the phone away from my ear in some sort of pointless self-defense maneuver. Without being able to see him, I know his eyes are narrowed, his strong, sexy jaw pulsing. He would be looking down at me, taking a step closer to me, invading my space and my senses with all that is Fenton. I gulp, the mere vision of him making me sweat. “Can I ask a favor of you?” he says finally. “Sure.” “Don’t go to dinner with him.” I snort. “Fenton, really? This is none of your business.” “I’m making it my business.” “Too freaking bad.” He laughs, but the rumble isn’t filled with amusement or sincerity. “Go to dinner with me instead.” I leap off the sofa, my cheeks aching from the smile stretched from ear-to-ear. Pulling the phone away from my face, I exhale a rushed breath. It’s what I want—definitely what I want—to see him, to spend time with him. But as I pace across the break room floor, reality sets in. If not because I need this resolution with Grant, but because I’m not letting him think he can just call the shots. That’s not how I roll for him or anyone else. He needed a pause to this relationship and now I do. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” “I’ll make it worth your while.” The innuendo thick in his voice makes me shiver, my thighs clenching shut at the promise of things to come. “I’m sure you would, Fent, but I really can’t.” A low rumble ripples through the phone and I clamp my legs together harder. “I don’t understand why you are so hell bent on seeing this kid?”

“I, for one, have a little respect for a couple of years spent with someone.” It’s not the complete truth, but I don’t want to bring up Brady. I want to keep it simple. “Like he respected you? Like he respects you now?” “You don’t know him.” “How well can you know him, Brynne? How can you sit there, someone as intelligent as yourself, and tell me you respect some guy that only took from you? Some kid,” he spits, “That you don’t know anymore, if you ever did.” “I didn’t say I respected him, Fenton. I said I respected what we had. And I’m going to dinner with him, and I’m going to hear what he has to say.” I take a deep breath and realize I’m going to have to just be honest. “He says he has something to tell me and he won’t say what unless I meet him. And on the off chance it’s about my brother . . . I have to go. And if it’s not, I can walk away and feel like there’s not something I didn’t do that could change things.” The line stills. “Do you think he really has information?” “Probably not. It’s most likely just another ploy to stay connected to my family, although there’s a chance his employer paid him off. But I can’t take the risk. I have to give him one more chance. My father thinks he’s on the verge of cracking.” He blows out a heated breath. “No matter what I say, you’re going, huh? Like the fucking bikini.” “Yes. Like the fucking bikini.” “Shit,” he hisses. He mutters under his breath again before clearing his throat. “Okay. Have it your way.” “I fully intended to.” “You’re something else, you know that?” “It’s been said,” I say, my words pierced with as much levity as I can insert. “But my break is almost over, so I really need to go. Thanks for calling, Fent.” “Goodbye,” he whispers and I end the call.

The deep blue dress kicks out as I twirl in front of the mirror. It’s pretty, especially coupled with Presley’s red harlot heels, and fits my waist perfectly. The top couple of buttons are undone and I notice my ample cleavage. I hurriedly fasten one, lest Grant get any ideas. After work yesterday, Fenton sent me a few texts to change my mind. As hard as it was, I held my ground and managed to turn down his final offer via text when I left work this afternoon. This night has all the potential in the world to go a number of ways and nearly all of them are bad. The one good outcome would be Grant delivering a brilliant bit of information that helps my brother get home. The odds of that are nil. So why am I even doing this? I swipe my eyes with another coat of mascara. I’m doing this because I have to. If Dad is right and he’s on the verge of breaking down, I want to know what he has to say. And if I don’t meet him, he’ll show up here and that’s not safe. So we meet in

public and I convince him to leave me alone, and I can come home and pretend I’m back in Vegas with Fenton. Launching the mascara at the mirror, I hate myself for thinking of him. He pops into my brain like a flashing light and it’s beyond frustrating. My phone buzzes in front of me and I see it’s my mom. I lurch forward and swipe it on. “Hey, Mom! Is everything okay?” “Hi, sweetie. Yes, relax. I’m not calling with news.” Sighing in both relief and disappointment, knowing that means Brady isn’t free and he isn’t dead at the same time. “So, what’s up?” I ask. “Just checking in. Seeing how you are.” “I’m good,” I say as brightly as I can manage. “Just got off work. Going to dinner in a few.” I think back to the place Grant texted me to meet him. “Checking out a place I haven’t been to before and I hear it’s really good. I’ll probably come home stuffed,” I laugh. “That’s good. With anyone I know?” “No,” I lie. I don’t want to get into Grant with her. Not that I have the energy or desire to do it ever, I don’t think she has it in her today either. “Just an old friend. We’re just catching up.” “You have no idea how happy it makes my heart that you’re going out to dinner,” she sighs. “We have to keep pressing forward, Brynne.” “I know. And we will. Every day I think of Brady as soon as I get up, and sometimes, just imagining him yelling at me to get up and go is the only reason I actually do.” “He was always such an early bird,” she whispers wistfully. “You know, sometimes I get up before the sun comes up and watch it and wonder if he saw it rise. The same sun shines on all of us. I just wish it could tell me where he is.” I wish I was there to hug her. To comfort her. To be home, surrounded by my family. To go into Brady’s childhood room and feel a little closer to him. “Hyland has a meeting with one of the owners of Mandla this week who has personal ties to Zimbabwe, so he might know more than he’s letting on.” “Wait up. So one of the guys Brady was working for is from there?” “I guess. Your father thinks maybe that’s tied in to Brady’s abduction. Maybe he was taken as some sort of retaliation against Mandla.” I pace the floor in my heels, wishing I could wrap my hands around Brady’s boss’ balls and squeeze until they fall off in a big, dead lump and then feed it to him. “If that’s true, they aren’t going to tell Hyland anything! If they know this is more than some random thing, they aren’t going to want the blame placed on their shoulders!” “I know, honey. We’re working on all of that.” Anger boils in my chest at the thought of my brother sitting for months with a bunch of crazy assholes while this company, out to make money, leaves him for dead.

“Okay. Just checking in. I need to run some errands before your father gets home. Have a good dinner.” “I’ll try.” “You’ll try?” “I will.” She doesn’t respond, curious as to my little slip of the tongue. I try to smooth it over so she doesn’t also worry about me. “It’s just a long drive and you know I hate traffic.” “You get that from me,” she laughs. “Goodnight.” “Night, Mom.” I glance up and see Presley’s head sticking around the door. I roll my eyes and she mimics me, walking on in. “You look gorgeous. I’m a little afraid to ask why you’re going to see Grant looking like that . . .” “Is it too much? We’re just going to Pano.” Presley pops a hand on her hip. “That’s still a really nice place. How is he paying for that?” “Oh, I probably will if nothing’s changed,” I snort. I turn away and back towards the mirror again and second guess my outfit. It’s a dress I bought on clearance a couple of years ago and have only worn once. I want to look nice—enough to make Grant realize what he’s missing. But my normal wardrobe is too blasé for Pano and it seems wrong to wear the stuff Fenton bought for me. I shake my head, trying to keep thoughts of him at bay. “I’m not going to even ask,” Presley comments, chiding me. “I know that look.” “You do not.” “No, I do. That’s the look you get on your face when you imagine Fenton eating your pussy.” “For heaven’s sake, Presley!” “What? Did he not? Do I not recall a conversation about his oral skills?” “I can’t even with you,” I say, grabbing my phone again as it starts to jingle. I gasp at the number. Presley stills. “That’s him, isn’t it? That’s Cashmere.” “I don’t want to talk to him, Pres.” “Yes, you do. Just answer it. Or give it to me and I’ll find him and he can eat my pussy.” “Get out of here!” I laugh, nudging her to the door. She flicks her hair off her shoulders and winks. “I thought that would convince you.” She blows me a kiss and shuts the door behind her.

The cheery music drifts through the interior of Pano, a bubbly little beat that’s more annoying than welcoming. My mood is a wavy line, tossing over the boundaries of anticipation of what Grant has to say and a quiver of foreboding that this is going to be a mess. That I shouldn’t be here. That, although I want answers, I don’t want to be here. I follow a casually dressed server about the same age as me, her long hair twisted into some intricate up-do, through the winding tables. The restaurant is laid back, a very California ambiance flowing easily throughout. I might be a touch overdressed, but I feel good and I’d rather be overdressed when meeting Grant than under. If this is the last time I see him, and by all means that’s the point, I want him to remember me at my best so he can miss me as much as I missed him. Skimming the room, I look for him. I automatically look for a door leading into a private room, but then it occurs to me yet again that I’m not here to see Fenton. I’m here to see Grant. Tossing my shoulders back and weaving through the last few tables to the back, I spot my exboyfriend sitting at a table. He sees me and jumps up, jostling the tableware. “Hey, babe!” He leans in to kiss me, but I pull back. A sheepish grin touches his lips and he nods, his ruffled hair moving with his head. “Hey.” I pull my own chair out and sit, tucking my purse onto the chair beside me. Grant sits, folding his hands on the table in front of him. We look at each other like we’re complete strangers, and in a lot of ways, we are. The man sitting in front of me is the same man that I used to know. But the twinkle in his eye is different. The smell of his cologne not the same. He’s a lackluster stand-in for the man I used to love, even though he looks . . . better. His watch is fancier, his haircut trendier. It’s a very peculiar situation and one I don’t have time to think much about because he starts talking. He chatters away about some dirt bike race he saw earlier in the week, one of the things he loves more than anything. My mind drifts away, not at all engaged in his words and realizing that he knows I couldn’t care less, and still—he doesn’t care. I’m not sure if I thought things would be different between us at some point in the future, maybe when Brady comes home and this is all sorted out. But they won’t be. Some things will always be the

same, and while Grant and I had some chemistry, he doesn’t inspire me. He doesn’t make me want to be a better person. He doesn’t put me before himself and he never has. Like a hammer hitting a nail, pounding it into a wooden plank in one fell swoop, it occurs to me that I will never love him again. And I’m not sure I ever did. A server steps up and we order drinks. She scurries away and returns before we can get a conversation started. Whatever I anticipated, it wasn’t this awkwardness like we’d never conversed before. We place our orders and I wait for the server to leave once again before I try to push this conversation to the finish line. “So . . .” I say, giving him a chance to lead the conversation. Instead, he sits there like a little boy and doesn’t speak. I groan. “Grant, you’re going to need to start talking.” “I know, I know.” He fumbles with his silverware and then takes a hasty sip of water. “It’s just . . . I don’t know where to start.” “I’d just appreciate you starting. Really.” He plays with his fork, moving it from one side of his plate to the other. “Grant,” I groan, considering just getting up and leaving. “I showed up here so you could talk. Start talking.” He stills and looks up at me. “I’ve missed you.” “I don’t care.” “Babe, you do. Think back to all the time we spent together.” “First of all, don’t ‘babe’ me. Got it?” Nodding, he watches me carefully. He’s surprised by this new me, this more forward, confident version I’ve just taken on recently. He’s not comfortable with it, his hand going to his scalp and tugging on his hair. “Second of all, you cheated on me. That’s unforgivable.” “You never let me have a chance to explain.” “No, I did. I gave you a chance and you didn’t take it. You just stretched out beside her and looked at me,” I spit, my blood boiling. “Go to hell, Grant.” “But I wasn’t fucking her, Brynne.” “I. Don’t. Care. Not anymore.” “Well, I do care. I went overseas on two tours with Mandla to save money so we could start a life together—” “We weren’t together the second one, asshat.” He rolls his eyes, but it’s not a confident gesture. It’s a move that lets me know he’s grasping at straws. “But I was still thinking we’d get back together. Brady wanted us to.” “Don’t you even bring him into this,” I glare. “It was him that told me to drop you because you were acting erratically.”

“I’ll never believe that.” He folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair. “That’s not what he said to me. He said he wanted us to fix things, to get back to the way they were.” “Well,” I chirp, “The first step in that is getting Brady home because nothing can go back to the way it was until that happens. So why don’t you be a fucking man for the first time in your life and tell me what really happened that night?” His mouth drops open, not used to me talking to him like this. His vulnerability only sets me on fire, makes me more determined to show him I’m not the naïve little girl he once knew. “I’ve told you everything,” he notes evenly. “Brady left his bodyguard and ran into the street. There was nothing we could do.” “And you want me to believe that?” He shakes his head. “Yeah. Because it’s the truth.” I search his eyes, looking for a tick that makes me believe him or not. But he’s such a good, practiced liar that I can’t find anything to go on. “I really doubt it,” I say. “None of us believes that was the case. You and the other guy—you say you were ordered into that area and the company says you weren’t. Why were you there, Grant?” “Because they told us to go there! They gave us the coordinates and off we went. Yeah, it seemed odd. But it’s not our place to object. That’s not how these things work. You do as you’re told and don’t question it.” “That makes no sense.” I watch him fidget in his seat. “If that were the case, there would be some record of it. There’s not. Not according to Mandla’s files.” He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know, Brynne. But do you really think, really think, I’d have let anything happen to Brady? Fuck, he was my best friend. Not only that, it could’ve been me they grabbed. Why would I put us in that position?” He leans over the table, his eyes boring into mine. “You have to believe me. Think about it. What do I gain from having him gone? Nothing. Just the loss of the best guy I’ve ever known. And the loss of you, the love of my life.” “Don’t . . .” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t start in on that.” “But you are. I’ve loved you for so long.” “You’ve needed me for so long,” I whisper. “Those are two different things.” An extended silence settles over the table as we both let our words marinate. I wonder if what he’s saying is true. If any of it is true. It’s heartbreaking all around, and I bite my lip to remind myself to be calm. I’m trying to form words when I sense him. His musk swirls together with the scent of expensive cologne. The air heats and moves around me in a seductive dance, the way it only does when Fenton is around. I gasp, unmoving. I just wait for him to appear. He’s dressed in a black suit, a satiny lilac tie hanging down his torso. Fenton’s eyes bore into mine, feeling me out. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach as I try to ascertain what the hell is happening.

“Everything is good,” Grant says. “Thank you.” I hear his voice across the table, but it sounds like he’s a million miles away. I’m held captive by a pair of steely grey eyes that display a mixture of tenderness and irritation in their depths. “Is that true, Miss? Is everything good here?” Fenton asks, ignoring Grant. He keeps a few steps away from me, his hands going straight to his pocket. I wonder if he’s having a hard time not reaching for me. My hands, too, duck under the table so I don’t make a fool out of myself. They itch to grab him, lace through his silky strands and down his chest. I nod, afraid to smile, too nervous to frown. “I’m very glad to hear it,” Fenton replies. “I’d be disappointed if it weren’t. Most people fall in love with our service.” “It’s been fabulous,” I whisper. “But I think falling in love is a bit of a stretch.” The words tug a smile on my lips, and I’m immediately rewarded with one on his handsome face. “Everyone defines those things differently.” “That’s true. Some people don’t believe you can even fall in love at all. What a shame.” Fenton chuckles, the resonation drowning out Grant’s attempt to break into the conversation. “And some people think it’s about chemistry. How would you define the chemistry this evening?” I glance at Grant, who’s watching us with an inquisitive eye. “I had fairly high expectations and they fell flat right away. But as the evening has progressed, things seem to be improving. More or less,” I add, just to throw him off. “We do make a tremendous effort to put your needs over ours.” “Is that so?” I laugh, my cheeks heating at him putting my needs over his every single time. He reads my thoughts and smirks. “So, it’s safe to assume that you’re the owner of this fine establishment?” I raise my eyebrows, taunting him. I should’ve made the connection when I heard the name, so similar-sounding to his other restaurants, but I didn’t. Pano is so much more low-key, I didn’t think anything of it. But it’s true —this is his place. Now I can’t stop from wondering how Grant and I ended up here, but it’s no coincidence. It can’t be. A smirk tickles his lips and he watches me with caution. “I am.” I ask him a silent question and he shuts me down without a word. Instead, he turns to Grant. “I will take care of your bill this evening since your beautiful dining partner felt the experience tonight didn’t meet her standards.” “I had a gift card someone gave me yesterday on the Pier. But, yeah, I’ll save it for later. Maybe we can come again, babe.” Fenton bristles and keeps his eyes on mine. I grin, but don’t correct Grant. It’s far too much fun to watch Fenton’s reaction. “If you don’t mind calling in a customer satisfaction survey at the end of your night, we’d really appreciate it,” Fenton says directly to me.

“Oh, I’d give this place five stars,” Grant gushes. “What about you?” Fenton asks. I shrug. “I’d give it four. Maybe five, but it’s lacking a few details that would really put it over the top. A few notes aren’t rounded out, if you know what I mean.” He grins. “Please call us when you leave and tell us how we can improve your experience.” My head shakes side to side in disbelief. Cheeky fucker. He laughs, nods to Grant, and moseys his way back through the restaurant until he disappears out of sight.

“W ell, I guess that’s it,” Grant smiles, standing up from the table. He wipes his mouth with the linen napkin and tosses it on his plate. Somehow I managed to make it through dinner. Grant chatted away, talking about dirt bikes and poker, two subjects that I would have conversed with him about before we broke up. Tonight, I realize how much I really don’t care about either of them and how many hours of my life I wasted trying to become interested for his benefit. He never learned about books or yoga for me. Every now and then he seemed to realize it was a total one-way conversation and he’d slip in a question about Brady or my schooling. My answers were half-assed because I know he didn’t really want to know. He wanted to slip back into our normal routine, of him leading the relationship and me happily playing along, but that wasn’t happening. This dinner was for information or an end to his games. Over the course of the past few months, things have changed. I’ve changed. I’ve had to get stronger, lean on myself more. And watching the power shift between the two of us, I like it. I’m sure part of the way I feel is having something to compare it to. “Brynne? You ready?” he asks. He’s clearly enjoying the fact that there’s no bill to pay and I realize that he’s not even going to leave a tip. My annoyance creeps up through the bliss of seeing Fenton and I clench my jaw closed. I give him the benefit of the doubt and wait a few seconds, but he makes no move to get his wallet. Grumbling, I grab my purse and fish out a few bills and plop them on the table. I want to get this over with and get out of here as quickly as possible. I roll my eyes and stand, hoisting my purse on my shoulder. I wait for him to lead the way. When he doesn’t, I realize just how different things are now. I really have no idea what he’s been doing for the last few months, but I know one thing—I don’t really want to know. It doesn’t matter. Our story has ended and he isn’t going to tell us anything about Zimbabwe. He’s just wanting a companion and that’s not me. This ends now. His hold on me, in any form—Brady included—ends now. “You ready?” he asks, moving around the table. I head towards the door, Grant shuffling behind me. “You want to come by my house?” he asks, completely unfazed by the events of the evening. His

thumbs are jammed in the pockets of his jeans and I vaguely wonder if he’ll ask me to the movies like we’re sixteen. “No, Grant.” “But babe . . .” I whirl around to face him. “No, Grant. No to your house, no to babe. No to everything.” “Don’t tell me you’re done. That’s not fair. Everything I’ve done in my life is for you!” “You fucked the blonde from the cantina for me. You lost my brother on another continent. Thanks. I really appreciate it.” I turn away and start through the door again. “Fuck you.” “You can’t blame Brady on me! That was Mandla’s fault! Not mine!” I pause and glance at him over my shoulder. “It was both your faults. Even if Mandla changed your orders that day, which they deny, you had a responsibility to me, to my family, to bring Brady home.” “I tried! I did everything I could! You have to believe me, Brynne! I love Brady as much as you do. I would never have done anything to hurt him. Things over there just . . .” His eyes dart around, to me and then flick away just as quickly. His hand racing through his hair. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe he is on the cusp of telling us something. “Just what?” I probe. “You just can’t understand it till you’ve been there. There’s so much that goes on.” “But not responsibility to someone you love as much as I do. I get it.” “You love me. I know you do,” he coaxes. Just like that, his demeanor has changed. He’s playing a game, whatever it might be. There will be no truths tonight. Not from him, anyway. I push my finger into his chest, my nail digging into his shirt. “You don’t know what love is, Grant. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me. You wouldn’t have cheated on me. You wouldn’t have taken my brother to Africa and put him in harm’s way! None of that is love, Grant. It’s nothing remotely similar to what love should look like!” “I’m sorry, Brynne.” “I bet you are.” A crack in my fury opens and I see the vulnerable guy I remember and my anger wanes. “Look, Grant, I know I’m blaming you for the world right now. But you deserve it for what you’ve done to me.” “I know, Brynne. And fuck if I’m not sorry.” “But as far as Brady,” I continue, ignoring his apology, “you know Mandla blames you. You know there’s this cloud of suspicion around you—” “That’s bullshit!” he interrupts, his eyes wide. “I had nothing to do with that, Brynne. You have to know that!” “I hope not. But you can’t blame me for wondering.” “Brynne, I . . .” He stumbles on his words, reaching for something to say when there isn’t anything he can say.

“Good luck, Grant. I mean that. I hope you figure your life out and end up in a good place . . . but tonight marks the end of any connection we’ve ever had. Don’t call me or lure me into meeting you. If you have something you want to say, call my Dad. I’m done.” Turning away, I head towards the parking lot. The walk to my car is quiet, the warm air billowing my hair behind me. I fill my lungs with air and let my heartbeat steady, relishing the sense of tranquility that’s washing over me. Not much was discovered at dinner, but one thing became crystal clear: the way I felt about Grant and the way I feel about Fenton couldn’t be any more different. I climb in the car and back out of the space. My phone rings before I even put it in drive. I click the button on my bluetooth when I see Fenton’s name. My plan was to play it cool, make him wait before caving to him. To his benefit, my body is still on a high from being around him, so I give in immediately. It’s not a fight I’m fit to win. “Hey,” I say, my voice swollen with a smile. “Are you okay?” His smooth tone wraps me up and makes me feel like he’s right beside me. Like he’s pulling me into one of his tight hugs. “I’m fine.” “I’m really asking, rudo. Are you really okay?” The smile breaks across my face at his insistence and his compassion. “Yes. I’m really okay, Fent.” His sigh streams through the phone and the touch of frustration is not lost on me. “Are you alone?” I pull out of the parking lot of Pano and onto the road leading to the freeway. “You mean you aren’t following me?” I only half tease. It wouldn’t surprise me. And it wouldn’t anger me either. The thought of seeing him, just the two of us, makes me want to dance in the seat of the car. “You didn’t answer my question.” Fenton’s voice comes out in a strained breath. “Are. You. Fucking. Alone?” “Yes, I’m alone,” I mock him. “But just for giggles, what would you do if I weren’t? What would you do if I said that I was with Grant and his fingers were dipping insi—” “Brynne . . .” “What if I told you his lips were—” “I’m trying to be calm,” he interrupts, making me giggle, “But you’re pushing the fucking limits of my self-restraint.” “Ah, poor you.” He snorts. “It’s going to be poor you if you keep it up.” “I might like it.” He growls, the sound lighting me up from every which way. “Turn around and come back here.” “I need to get home.”

“Just give me a few minutes.” I laugh. “It’s never just a few minutes with you.” He chuckles, the smoothness warming me. “No, it’s not and it won’t be. I’m not that kind of guy.” “Thankfully.” “So turn the car around and come for me.” “I can go home and come, Fent.” I grin as I steer down the exit towards my house. Just knowing I’m turning him on, listening to him get worked up is better foreplay than I’ve ever had with anyone else. Having an effect on a man of this caliber is exhilarating. I wait for him to respond and he doesn’t. He sits on the other end of the phone, completely still, not uttering a word. “You still there?” I ask. “I’m trying to decide how to handle you.” I burst into a fit of laughter. “This isn’t funny, Brynne.” “Oh, no, it really is.” He seems to struggle with his words, starting to speak and then stopping a few times in a row. My laughter ceases and a dubious feeling takes its place. “In all seriousness, can I see you tonight?” The way the words hit me makes me lose my breath. He’s not being playful, not teasing me with sexual innuendo. I’m not sure how to read what he’s saying, but there’s some overriding quality that makes me still. “I have to work in the morning,” I reply, my voice wobbly. “I’ll triple it.” I can’t help but smile. “We’ve been here before. You can’t buy your way all the time.” “Isn’t that the truth?” His words are so low, I can barely make them out. A heaviness sits on my chest, an odd sense of trepidation taking over. There’s something in his tone that makes me curious, but also one that wants me to keep my distance. “I can send someone to pick you up if you’re almost home by now,” he offers as I pull into my house. “I, um, I really can’t tonight, Fenton.” I flip off the ignition and inside the car. “I have a few questions for you before we see each other again.” He sighs, but doesn’t miss a beat. “Shoot.” A million things flutter through my mind, a host of questions and clarifications I need. I don’t even know where to start. Presley’s Mercedes pulls in beside me and she jumps out and waggles two bottles of wine in the air. “Now’s not a good time. I need a few minutes to get my head together. It’s been a crazy night.” “All right,” he sighs. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I thought you had work to do and you couldn’t see me?” “I do have work to do and, honestly, I probably have no business seeing you. But what can I say?” I grin. “Ah, Fent, did you fall in love with me?” “No, but I’ll pretend to love you if you’ll come over tonight.” Laughter rolls off my tongue and I open my car door. Presley is standing there waiting for me. “I really can’t tonight. I have a date.” “It better be with Presley.” “I—” “I’m warning you,” he growls, “If you fuck with me again and pretend you’re with someone besides Presley, I’ll be at your door in ten minutes.” “It’s with Presley,” I reply sweetly. “Now I gotta go.” “Talk to you soon.” “Bye.”

The white wine flows smoothly in the glass, the sound music to my ears. Presley fills it to the brim, way past the acceptable level, and sits the bottle back on the table. My legs curled under me, I take a sip of the sweet liquid. “I needed this,” I say, licking the tanginess off my lips. “I always need this.” She pops her feet up on an ottoman across from me and takes a long drink. “So good.” “What did you do tonight?” I ask, wondering if I can divert the conversation away from me for a while. I haven’t had time to play it all out in my brain and I really need to do that, if at all possible, before I’m inundated with Presley’s gazillion questions. “Oh, no, my beautiful friend. Don’t even try it.” I slump back into the sofa. “Spill it,” she demands. “Well, Grant was waiting on me when I got there.” I search for the words to describe everything. “It was just . . . weird, Pres.” “Why? Because you haven’t seen him in so long? That’s normal.” “Yeah, because of that, I guess. But it was more than that. He seemed so . . . was he this immature when I dated him?” The wine sloshes in the glass as she laughs. “Yeah, Brynnie. He was.” I shake my head. “I didn’t remember him like that. He talks about racing and cards and the same old stupid stuff. You know?” She grins knowingly. “So, basically, you’re comparing him to Fenton?” “No!” “Yeah, you are.” I release a breath. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s amazing how different he seems now. But a part of me wishes I hadn’t gone. He had nothing. He tricked me into seeing him and I let him. But it won’t happen again.” “You needed to hear him out,” Presley says, “But, yeah, don’t go again.” “He wanted me to go home with him.”

“Thank God you didn’t!” “There was no chance,” I laugh. “It’s just strange that after all the years we spent together, I feel absolutely, positively nothing towards him. Nothing. Not one iota. Especially since he cheated on me and is tied up in this Brady thing, I still expected to feel something. I did the other times I’ve seen him, you know? But I don’t now.” “Compared to Cashmere, how could you?” she laughs. “This is one of the reasons I thought you needed to see Grant. For closure, yeah. But also to see if you even liked him, because Brady will come home and it would be so easy to fall back into old habits. Before they left for Zimbabwe, you were living in this bubble of missing something that maybe seemed a lot better because you were seeing it through break-up goggles.” “Wait a minute. Break-up goggles?” “Yeah. Like beer goggles. Only this is a skewed view of a relationship after you get dumped. Things are always remembered better after the fact. Like when someone dies and in reality they were a complete asshole. Have you ever heard the eulogies? No one says that. No one says, ‘Uncle Gerald was a complete dick that grabbed my ass last Christmas and cheated on Aunt Mildred a hundred times and drank entirely too much.’ Instead it’s all, ‘He was a saint that lived a humble life of love and giving. God broke the mold with the benevolent Uncle G.’“ I choke on my wine. “Where do you get this stuff? And I wasn’t dumped.” “It just comes to me. It’s a gift,” she winks. “But the point’s the same. I think you’ve just realized that your relationship with Grant wasn’t what you thought it was.” “For sure,” I say, catching my breath. “I know now, after being with Fent, how different things can be.” “So you’ve properly rebounded! I knew you could do it!” “Will you shut up?” She rolls her eyes and tosses a lock of hair behind her ear. She doesn’t pop me with a quick retort and that catches me off guard. I watch her, perplexed, before she leaps off the chair and disappears into the kitchen. Things shuffle around before she comes back with a box of oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies. “Here,” she says, taking one and stuffing it into her mouth before slamming the box at my chest. “If you’re getting bitchy already, I’ll just get the cookies now.” “I’m not getting bitchy,” I say, slipping a cookie out of the sleeve. “But if these are raisin and not chocolate chip, I’ll be at nuclear-bitch level in about a half a second.” “I bought the raisins by accident one time! Get over it. It was an honest mistake.” “And I about died of raisin ingestion!” “You’re trying to distract me,” she says, swiping another cookie before settling in her chair again. “And it won’t work. I’m your best friend. Getting the details to everything is a part of our deal.” “I didn’t know we had a deal.” “It’s in the girl code. Now get talking and you can even do it with your mouth full and I won’t

comment. Even if you spray me with crumbs.” “You’re so disgusting.” “Talk.” I lift the cookie to my lips and take a bite. I chew purposefully before making a point to swallow and then take a long sip of my wine. “Okay. I’m ready.” “Finally,” she sighs. “Okay, so I’m assuming Grant didn’t have anything important to actually tell you.” “Nope. Not a thing. Just that he loves me so much and apparently is still into dirt bikes.” “That weasel!” “I know,” I say, taking a nibble of my cookie. “But there was a little surprise tonight.” “What’s that?” “Fenton showed up.” “What?” Presley leans forward in her chair and sets her glass on the table. Her jaw hangs open. “At Pano? He was there? Dining?” I shrug. “He owns it. He conveniently owns the restaurant where Grant and I had dinner. And he just sidles up to the table like it was nothing. “The odds of that being random are like one to I’ll-get-to-fuck-Thor. Not good.” She leans back in her chair, her brows pulling together. “Did you ask Fenton about it?” “Not yet. Grant did say he got a gift certificate yesterday while at the marina.” “That’s odd.” “That was done intentionally,” I propose. “But how could Fenton have known that? And why?” I shrug and pick up my wine. I down it in one long slurp. Presley has the bottle primed as soon as I finish and refills it to the brim. “You’re going to have to talk to Fenton,” Presley points out. “You need to get to the bottom of this. But I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about that. Did he know Grant? How did you all show up at the same spot? This is a big freaking city.” “I know. I get it. I just don’t have the answers.” “But you need them.” Sighing, I take another sip. The wine begins to fog my brain in a delicious way. I close my eyes and feel the softness that dampens my thoughts. “I know I need them,” I mutter, “But I need to get them tomorrow. I need to wrap my brain around it tonight and then ask Fenton when I can think clearly.” “Don’t let him sidetrack you with his sexiness.” “He uses it like a weapon. It’s like when he comes into the room, it comes in first and just obliterates a path to my clit.” “Ha!” Presley barks. “You’re starting to sound like me!” I groan. “That was a you thing to say.” “I’ll take that as a win.”

“You do that. Why don’t you also flip on the television and let’s watch some Netflix?” She swipes the remote off the table and a sitcom blares from the screen. I let the problems of the characters on the screen trump mine and snuggle in for a night of made-for-television hospital angst, leaving mine in the back of my mind for later.

“I thought you had to work today?” Presley asks, standing up from a yoga position. “Nope. Someone wanted to trade. Wanna do something?” I pour a cup of coffee and glance at the clock. It’s already eleven and I haven’t bothered to even take a shower yet. Sleeping in is one of the best things in life and I’m enjoying it while I can. “Are you seeing Fenton today?” That’s the million dollar question. “I don’t know. I didn’t commit to anything, mainly because I don’t want him thinking he can get me to do whatever he wants.” “I—” Presley’s phone starts ringing before she can get out the sentence. She holds up a finger and grabs her phone off the counter. “Hello?” She pauses, her smile slipping. “Yeah, sure. Hang on.” She thrusts the phone towards me. “It’s your father.” “Why is he calling you?” I ask, taking the device as Presley shrugs. A ball of uneasiness curls in my belly. “Hi, Dad.” “Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is scratchy, without the usual cheer when he greets me. “You’re home with Presley, right?” “Yeah. Daddy, what’s wrong?” “We got a video today—” “Is he okay?” I cry, grabbing the back of a chair. My legs wobble beneath me as I await his response. The delay makes me panic, my chest heaving. “Daddy?” “He’s alive. That’s what’s important.” “Oh my God.” Images flash through my mind, every worst possible scenario rapid-fires across my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the ideas that are making me want to shut down. “What happened? Did he speak?” “He did. He said a little bit,” he sighs. His exhaustion is evident, palpable, even. “I can forward it to your email if you want. But, Brynne—don’t watch it unless you’re with Presley, okay?” “Send it. I want to see,” I say, unsure if I really do or not. “I’m doing it as we speak. They said they think it was taken a few days ago. There were parts the government didn’t give us, things that could be classified, so we aren’t sure what else was said. Our attorneys are fighting them to see the rest now.”

The tears blind me as I march down the hallway and grab my laptop out of my room. My hands shake as I toggle it back and forth as I go back down the hall. Presley watches me as I set it on the kitchen counter and motion for her to pull up my email. I slide onto a barstool and soak up my tears with the hem of my shirt. Presley watches me out of the corner of her eye and gives me the best reassuring smile she can manage. Phone still to my ear, my dad continues. “I’m trying to get to Zimbabwe. I just feel like I need to be there, on the ground, trying to find him. We’re trying to get the money gathered now, even though I have no idea where I’d even start there,” he chokes out. “This video, Brynne—it’s not pretty.” I cry softly into the phone, saying silent prayers on repeat that it isn’t as bad as he’s making it out. That there’s a mistake. That this is a bad dream. “Do not let this break your spirit,” Dad says, his voice even. “Wherever your brother is, he’s getting power from you—he always has. You two have always been so close. Use that connection by living well and sending him energy to come home.” “I’ll try,” I say as the email opens. “Your email is here. I’m going to watch.” “Call me if you need me. I love you.” “You too,” I whisper, shutting off the phone. The screen darkens, the frame fuzzy. It zooms in, out, and back in again before settling on a man on his knees in the middle of what looks like a warehouse. A long white robe drapes his thin frame, and as the camera zooms in, I see his face. I gasp. Presley’s hand flies to her mouth. My stomach threatens to expel everything inside it. Brady’s cheekbones are sunken in, his beard scraggly. There’s a cut above his eye that looks like it’s been bleeding recently. I examine the screen as closely as I can before a man steps between the camera and my brother. “We come to show you our captive,” he says in broken English. “He is alive and well and wants to go home.” I try to peek around him, which is impossible and infuriating. My tears scald my cheeks as I wait for the man in the military fatigues to speak again, my heart pounding in my chest. “We will decide soon, America, on his fate. Because you have no heart. You know what you’ve done to our brothers around the world. And this time, you don’t get to call the shots.” He steps back and Brady is centered in the lens again. “Fighter, tell them your name.” Brady lifts his chin, his eyes trained on the camera. They’re so lifeless it rips a hole in my soul. When he speaks, his voice is calm. “I am not a fighter. I’m a doctor—Brady Stewart Calloway from California, USA.” “Do you want to go home?” “Yes. I want to go home, to see my parents and my sister.” He forces a swallow and readjusts on his knees. Every move is calculated, every motion premeditated.

“He says he’s not a fighter, but he’s in Zimbabwe, in our country. In our business. America, you are fools. If you want him back, you will listen to us. We are in control.” Presley’s hand finds mine and I grab it, pulling her close. My hands tremble as she clasps hers over them, both of us glued to the screen. Brady faces forward, still watching the camera. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, barely breathes. The top of his robe has fallen forward, a bit of his chest exposed. You can see the outline of bones beneath the skin and it causes my tears to fall harder. “In a few days, you will receive a list of demands,” his captor says. “If you want to see Fighter again, you will give us what we want.” He turns to Brady, the sun streaming in the small windows at the top of the room behind them glistening off the butt of his gun. “You want to say something else?” “Yes,” Brady says cautiously, looking at him before turning back the camera. “Mom, Dad, Brynne . . .” I wipe the tears as soon as they hit so I can see him, but they come too quickly. His voice washes over me, my big brother trying to be the anchor even in the midst of his own storm. “I’m okay,” he says. “I’ll be patient. But I need you to—” The gun, a long, black piece of metal, strikes the side of his head before he can finish. I scream and Presley jumps as Brady falls to the side, the butt of the gun smashing him in the ribs. He shouts, his voice dripping in agony, as he’s struck again. This time, the force bowls him over and his face hits the ground. The camera jolts to the asshole terrorist before it cuts out. Jumping off the chair, shoving it behind me, I grasp the computer with both hands. “No!” I cry, trying to figure out how to rewind it. My hands won’t work, my eyes won’t focus. “Damn it! No!” I collapse against Pres and she holds me tight, letting me sob into her shoulder. Wails wrack my body, my cries are howls as they echo off the kitchen walls. Presley closes the computer and guides me to the sofa. We sit there until I finally cry myself to sleep.

The sofa sinks with Presley’s weight, the setting sun dipping behind the horizon. My head hurts a little from the crying, but tears also cleanse the soul somehow. “You okay?” she asks, giving me a sad smile. “Not how I planned to spend the day,” I groan, rising up and pulling a pillow on my lap. “This is such a nightmare.” “I called and checked on your mom a few hours ago while you were asleep,” she says. “Your dad took her to the doctor and got her on some medicine to calm her down. She’s a wreck.” “I need to call her.” “I’d wait a bit,” Presley suggests. “Your father said they gave her a shot that pretty much knocked her out. I’m sure they’ll call you when she’s awake and coherent. He regrets showing you the video. I

told him he had to or you’d have killed him if you found out later.” My head rests against the back of the sofa, my body feeling numb. “I can’t believe this is happening. My dad can’t go there. How can he leave my mom?” “Let’s just take this a day at a time and see what happens.” I exhale roughly, feeling like I have a brick on my shoulders. I want to do something, take action, fix this entire thing . . . and I can’t. There’s not a damn thing I can do. My eyes close, but I reopen them immediately. The darkness brings the video back to life, scrolling through my memory like an old-fashioned movie reel, and it’s one story I don’t want to see again. Ever. “Want to grab some dinner?” Presley asks. “No. I want to go to bed.” “Brynnie . . .” “Don’t, Pres. Not tonight.” She sighs, flipping her hair off her shoulders. “Can I tell you a secret?” I don’t react. She rolls her eyes. “Remember your brother ’s going away party?” I nod. “He asked me that night to take care of you while he was gone. And I’m a woman of my word.” “Since when?” I groan, trying not to smile. “Since forever,” she scoffs. “And I’m going to take care of you, and part of that is not letting you sit here and worry about this.” “What am I supposed to do?” I toss the pillow across the room and onto the chair Presley usually sits in. “Just skip off and go to dinner, maybe have a margarita? Hell, let’s see a strip show while we’re at it.” Presley stands and puts both hands on her hips. “Not my idea of a good night, but if that’s what you want to do . . .” “It’s not. I . . . I don’t know what I want to do. I just feel rotten making plans, smiling, when I just saw . . . that.” The last bit of the video parades through my mind. “What do you think he was going to say? At the end, right before he got hit?” Her shoulders shrug as her hands drop to her sides. “I have no idea. Probably something very Brady, something positive and motivating,” she laughs. My lips twitch. “Yeah, probably. Or a quick question about the Dodgers.” “Or maybe he was going to tell you to tell me he’s in love with me?” A smile breaks my will and spreads across my cheeks. “Doubt it.” “He is. I think I just intimidate him and he’s afraid to take a girl like me head-on. But I feel it. I’ll be the wife of a doctor someday.” “Oh, Pres.” I rise off the sofa and face my friend. “It’s true. Now, what are we going to do with you?”

“Maybe I’ll start with a shower?” She nods. “Good girl. Then you can call Cashmere and go see him.” “Presley . . .” “No, Brynne. Be sad about Brady, worry about it. But you gotta keep going. If you don’t, what happens? You mope around here and end up ruining yourself? That’s smart.” “That’s what I feel like doing.” “I know. But it’s not what you’re going to do. Cashmere makes you happy and happy is what we’re after. So go wash the stink off of you and then call Mr. Abbott.” I consider arguing with her, but I know it won’t do any good. She’s right. She knows it, and down deep, I probably do too. And down not-so-deep, I know that’s what my brother would tell me to do.

The steam rolls out of the bathroom door when I pop it open. I balance the towel wrapped around my head, turban-style, and take the few steps down the hallway to my room. There’s something about running water that calms me. Showers, the ocean, even the little brook that drifted through the back of my grandparents’ property when I was a child somehow quieted my mind. I’ve never needed its powers as badly as I do today. I stood under the shower head until the hot water ran out, thinking thoughts way too deep for someone with a headache like I have. I thought about Brady’s face in that video and the way he seemed so calm. It was so like him, making the best out of whatever situation he faces. Not panicking. Not freaking out. Just doing what he can with the life he was given. As much as I want to climb in bed and pull the covers over my head, I can’t. How can I let Brady’s situation affect me more than he’s letting it get to him? I have to take a page out of his playbook and keep pressing forward. Living. That’s what he did by going to Africa in the first place—live. Always to the fullest. And I have to live too. For both of us. And the thing that makes me feel most alive is Fenton. And even he is more complicated than I would like. Sigh. I really wish I knew how I ended up at Pano. The answer matters. I don’t want him wrangling to see me, to control what I do, because he’s jealous. I don’t really see him that way. Yes, he can be a touch aggressive, but it’s usually in a joking or protective manner, not in a caveman, seeing-red kind of way. But if it were, I don’t need that. I don’t want that. I want something real, and I don’t know if what it is with him is real or not. Naturally, my phone takes the opportunity to ring with me in the same room and breaks me out of the spell. I can’t find it, mostly because I still haven’t picked up my room from the Vegas packing debacle. It rings twice, three times, as I scramble across my bed, knocking my pillow to the floor. I reach it right as it rings for the fourth time. “Hey, Fenton,” I say, trying to keep my breathing from sounding like I’ve just run a mile. “You busy?” “No, why?” I sit up and try to push the towel back up on my head. It falls over, my wet hair

smashing the side of my face. “You’re out of breath.” “I just got out of the shower.” He chuckles. “I thought my cock was getting hard for a reason.” “You’re so stupid,” I laugh. “That’s not what you said the last time my cock was hard.” “No, I believe I told you to slide it inside my wet—” “Brynne . . .” “What?” I grin. “Don’t talk like that if I’m not there.” “Why? I’m simply reliving a memory.” He snorts, knowing I’m doing way more than reliving a memory. I’m winding him up, listening to him respond to me. It’s something I’ll never tire of, a methamphetamine that I’m addicted to. “Did you have a good day?” he asks, changing the subject. “No. My day has been absolutely horrible.” “Why’s that?” Taking a deep breath, I consider not telling him. But if I’m going to find out if he wants to even try things with me with my life how it is, then I may as well be honest. “We received a video today of my brother.” The words sound like they’re coming from someone else. “It was awful. They hit him with a gun . . . My mom had to go to the doctor for sedatives to keep her from losing her mind. My father is trying to get a ticket to Africa.” “He shouldn’t do that.” “That’s your response?” I pull my brows together. “I tell you all that and you say my dad shouldn’t go?” He, too, blows out a breath. “I’m just saying he shouldn’t make the situation worse. What will he do there? He needs to stay put and be with you and your mother and let the experts find your brother.” “I agree. But we’ll see what happens. It’s been hard to have a lot of faith in the so-called experts.” A long stretch of silence descends on us and I can only hear his breathing. I wonder where he is and what he’s doing and what he’s thinking—but I don’t ask. I wait for him to make the next move. “Can I see you tonight?” he asks finally, his voice low. “I know you’ve had a shitty day and I’m sorry for that. But let me try to help you. Let me hold you.” I settle back on my bed and look at the ceiling. Being in his arms is the best medicine I can think of, but I can’t just let this situation be skirted over. I have to remember why I didn’t see him last night and stay true to myself. Stay strong. “Honestly, Fenton. I have a lot of questions.” “I’m sure you do.” I can hear the indignation in his exhale. He doesn’t want to answer my questions or give me an explanation, and that takes my frustration up a couple four notches. “I know you want to know the odds of you and Grant showing up at Pano.”

“Yes. That would be a good start. And also why you bothered to arrange that . . . however you arranged that.” “I get it. There’s a list.” “Of course there’s a list. And I need some transparency here. This thing between us started off as a weekend getaway and the weekend is over—not even mentioning because you cut it short—and you’re still calling me and interfering in my life.” “Interfering? Is that what you think I was doing?” “Yes,” I sigh. “Kind of. It all depends on why you did it.” Giving him a chance to interject, to come forward and volunteer the information, I pause. But it doesn’t happen. I suck in a hasty breath and get ready to play hardball because as sinful as he is and as much as I really, really want to be with him again, I’m not going to be bowled over by anyone. “Why does it matter?” he asks. I pop myself up on my elbows. “It doesn’t unless you want to see me again. If you’re just a rebound—” “A what?” “A rebound. If you and I are just fuck buddies, then I guess it doesn’t matter.” “I loathe that term, Brynne,” he bites out. “Loathe it all you want. It’s the truth,” I say, holding on to my courage as tightly as I can. “I’m just telling you . . . I’m telling you that I really enjoy being with you. And that you have the power to flip me all around. When I went to Vegas, it was to make a fresh break from my life before, to get a new baseline, and have some fun. Easy peasy. But you’re so easy to be around that it makes it completely not easy.” I pause, feeling my way through this. The feeling of vulnerability makes my stomach weak, a feeling I dislike more than many others. But I am vulnerable to him, and if this has any potential of going anywhere, he needs to at least realize that and decide if he wants that responsibility. “I don’t know how to process you ensuring I see Grant at your restaurant, Fent. How am I supposed to read that? You tell me you can’t see me and then you go off and make it so I don’t see anyone else without you there. That’s not fair.” “Brynne, there was a reason for that.” “Then tell me!” “I will. See me.” Lying back on my bed, I take a deep breath and hold it before letting it trickle out of my lungs a wisp at a time. “I know what you’re saying,” he voices. “I realize how confused you might be.” “Might be?” “Brynne . . .” he sighs. “I want to give you answers. But I don’t want to do it over the phone.” “I’m sure you don’t. You can pick me up and take me somewhere and use that damn cashmere voice and sexy smirk and have my pants off in two seconds flat. Not happening.”

He pauses. “If I have my way, it won’t take two seconds.” “Fenton . . .” “What if I promise you I won’t?” “You won’t what?” “I won’t fuck you . . . first.” I can’t stop the laugh that bubbles in my throat. “Fuck me first? Like it’s a guarantee?” “Let’s be real. If we’re together, we’re gonna fuck. You made me promise that, remember?” he teases. I could argue with him and pretend to be Superwoman and have some sort of feminine resistance to his charms, but it’d be a lie and we both know it. “Just let me pick you up. We’ll talk and you can ask whatever you want,” he says in a tone I haven’t heard from him before. It’s a touch shaky, a little nervous. “And then we’ll fuck.” “You promise to answer everything?” After a brief delay, he says, “Yes.” “You promise to make me come on your face?” “Oh, rudo, I promise to make you come any way you’d like.” I catch my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are pink, a wide smile on my face. This is what Presley was talking about and she’s right—there’s no sense in not being happy if I can be. Being miserable isn’t going to help anything. Pulling my towel completely off my shoulders, my hair doesn’t look too bad for not brushing it out right after my shower. “I can be ready in an hour.” “I’ll be there.” “See you soon.”

I hold up a yellow blouse and look into the mirror. I’m all over the place, unable to make a simple choice about what to wear. My phone sits in front of me on the dresser, right where I left it after talking to my mother. She sounded eerily calm, sort of sleepy. She said they were suing Mandla and that my father had lost his passport so he couldn’t go to Africa until he got it replaced and he was pissed about it. I’m not sure how much of that is true and how much is the result of her medication. A part of me feels guilty for looking forward to seeing Fenton and not being with my parents. But what good would it really do? And my mother ’s sister came into town and is staying with them, so that helps ease my burden. “Screw it.” I start to pull the hem of my red silk camisole over my head when the door to my room swings open and slams shut, rattling the picture on the wall. Spinning in a circle, I see Presley standing with her back pressed against the door. My typically unshakable best friend has eyes the size of saucers. “My God, Brynnie,” she breathes, her hand slapping against her chest in an over-the-top fashion. “He. Is. Fucking. Gorgeous.” “I know. Did you get close enough to smell him?” “Lord no! If I’d gotten that close, I’m afraid I would’ve just started licking him like a popsicle. I know he’s yours and I’m not that kind of girl,” she flashes me her heart tattoo that matches mine, “But you’d have to have forgiven me because—have you fucking seen him?” Laughing, I turn back to the mirror. The camisole with skinny jeans and heels will have to do. I run a hand over my hair to smooth a fly-away as I turn back to her. “Of course I’ve seen him. With and without clothes, and I’ll be honest, I don’t know which one I prefer.” “I saw him before. The workout pants at the grocery was one thing, but he’s in a fucking suit and it’s a completely different level now. He’s not just lickable, he’s edible.” She side-eyes me. “If I’d seen him like that first, I’d have fought you for him.” “You have no idea,” I tease, grabbing my purse off the bed. “The things that man can do . . .” “You’ve been holding out,” she says, stepping away from the door. “I know there are details I haven’t gotten, and I’m going to demand every single one of them when you get back. If I can’t have

him, I want the fantasy, and I’m not even sorry I’m fantasizing about your man.” “He’s not my man.” I cringe as the words float from my lips because it’s true. He’s not. Part of me wants to declare him mine anyway, but there’s the other, stupid, logical half that reminds me I have questions that haven’t been answered. And he hasn’t exactly said he wants the job. “No, but once your vagina touched him, he’s off limits.” I look at her in disbelief. “You never fail to just astound me with your brilliant language.” She pats me on the shoulder. “If I needed a job, I would’ve been a reporter. With these babies,” she lifts her boobs up with her hands, “They would’ve put me on TV.” “If you didn’t actually talk first,” I laugh, pulling the door open. Fenton’s cologne hits me right away. I stutter-step, inhaling a lungful of the eau de male. Presley comes up beside me and does the very same thing. We stand there, taking whiffs of the air like two bloodhounds looking for the target. We both breathe in at the same time and burst into a fit of giggles. “We’re ridiculous,” I say. “It’s only natural considering.” “No, it’s probably a mistake,” I wince, considering his possible answers and knowing I might have to walk away. “Hey,” Presley says, a gleam in her eye. “I never make the same mistake twice unless he’s super hot. And Fenton’s beyond that.” “What am I gonna do with you, Pres?” She winks. “I know I told you to go be a badass and force him to answer you, but if you forget because you’re wound around him like tinsel, I’ll forgive you. I mean, fuck.” I want to laugh, to play along, but her words sparked the flame of uncertainty that’s been smoldering all day. It builds, growing hotter and hotter, and I say a little prayer that I can keep myself together. “I shouldn’t have said that,” Pres says. “No, you’re fine.” I start down the hallway, my friend at my side. “I just start talking when I get nervous.” “I know you do.” “Brynnie,” she says, touching my shoulder so I stop a few feet away from the corner. I turn, taking in her newly sobered expression. “Don’t let that sexy bastard dazzle you. I know he was your reset button, but I haven’t seen you this lively in a long time and I like it. But I only like it if he’s the real deal.” “That’s yet to be seen.” “Exactly. So if he’s not, you just say ‘Fuck you very much,’ call me, and I’ll come get you. Because there are more fish in the sea. Maybe they won’t be that good looking because, I mean, you know . . .” she laughs. “But they’ll be great.”

“Shut up, Pres.” I return her laugh and we round the corner. He’s standing in the entranceway. Just as Presley said, he’s wearing a black suit and a silver tie. He draws his gaze over every curve of my body unabashedly. The heaviness of his inspection burns my skin as he rolls over every inch. Presley clears her throat, and Fenton and I both look at her. “I hope you guys have a good night.” “Thank you. We intend to,” Fenton says politely. She looks at me and grins mischievously before turning back to him. “Cashmere, I’m going to be honest with you.” Fenton looks at me and quirks a brow and I just shrug, stifling a laugh. “I think you and Brynne would make beautiful children.” “Presley! What are you doing?” I exclaim. “Hush, Brynnie. Let me get this out so you can go be dazzled,” she laughs. “You are dazzling,” she tells him. “But so is she. She’s the smartest, kindest, sweetest person in the entire world and she deserves the best. So behind that dapper exterior, if you have anything but the best intentions, just walk away and don’t hurt her. Because whether you have a magic cock or not, I will remove it from your body.” She tosses him a smile, blows me a kiss, and leaves us standing in the foyer. “I’m sorry,” I groan, taking his hand. “She’s crazy.” “I think I like her,” he grins. “She said I’m dazzling and I have a magic cock, even if she did threaten to chop it off.” He leans forward and plants a gentle kiss on my lips. “Damn, baby.” I roll my eyes to distract him from the heating of my cheeks. “What kind of a greeting is that?” “One from a man that can’t form words because of the beauty standing in front of him.” My face aches from grinning. He steps to me and presses a lingering kiss to my cheek. “You ready?” he breathes into my ear. “Yes.” His hand locking around mine, he ushers me out of the house and to his car. He opens the door and waits as I get settled and then closes it behind me. He’s around to the driver ’s side in a flash. The sky is warm with a wash of colors—oranges, pinks, and purples as the sun begins to set in the evening sky. Fenton climbs in and maneuvers the car onto the road, clicking off the radio and resting his hand on my leg. Without thinking, my body sinks to my left and towards him. It’s an instinct, an automatic response to his touch that I couldn’t fight if I wanted to. And I don’t. I love feeling the way he makes me feel, and I’m going to eat it up as long as I can. “Where are we going?” I finally ask, breaking the comfortable silence. “You want to talk first right?” “Talk before fuck. Yes.” He shakes his head. “Your language, Brynne.” “I’ve been around Presley too long,” I laugh.

He removes his hand and I want to pick it back up and place it back on my thigh. I miss the warmth, the weight, the feeling of being irresistible right away. “I don’t really want to bring this up, but I have to ask . . . how are you? How are your parents?” He glances at me through the corner of his eye. I shrug. “Bad. My mom is heavily medicated, my father is trying not to break down, I think. My aunt is there helping them. I just . . . I feel like I should be too.” “Why aren’t you?” “What good would it do? We don’t know when this will end,” I gulp. “I have to work, go to school. I know a lot of people would just stop everything and hole up together, but that’s just going to make it worse, you know? Besides,” I sigh, “Brady would want things to go on as normally as possible.” Fenton chews on his bottom lip, working it over between his teeth before responding. “Yes, you’re right. Just know if I can take you there or help you in any way, you only have to ask.” “The only way you can help me tonight is by taking my mind off of it, okay?” I glance out the window. “You didn’t tell me where we’re going.” “I’m taking you to Ruma,” he informs me, a grit to his voice. “Why do you say it like that?” “Like what?” “Like taking me there is painful.” Running my hands down my jeans, I wonder if I’m not dressed up enough for what he was expecting. I start to ask him to turn around so I can change when he speaks again. “Taking you anywhere besides my bed is going to be painful. Do you have any idea how hard my cock has been since we got back from Vegas?” “That must suck,” I say smugly. I watch the trees fly by instead of looking at him. I don’t want him to see how he affects me. His hand drops back into my lap, straight on the base of my zipper. It’s like being hit with a bolt of energy, like getting zapped from an unruly light socket. My pelvis tilts just enough to increase the contact, and when he chuckles, the electrocution via man candy turns up ten degrees. Oh, but what a way to go. “Cute, Brynne,” he scoffs. “What?” I moan as his hand slips under me and his thumb presses against the apex of my thighs. I bite my lip, trying to stay focused on his words and not his touch. “Your little tough girl persona is adorable. Unbelievable, but adorable.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about—ah!” He draws a circle with the pad of his thumb, a slow, torturous motion that has me falling back in my seat, dragging in hasty breaths, my eyes rolling back in my head. “Don’t try to play coy with me, like you weren’t getting yourself off thinking about me.” I don’t bother to dispute it.

“The thought of you coming without me irks the fuck out of me,” he continues. “But I’d rather it be without me than with someone else.” Just as the shiver rolls through my core and to my shoulders, his hand is gone. “Hey!” I protest, sitting up and looking at his brash smile. “Why’d you stop?” “Ah, are you frustrated? That must suck.” “You jerk!” I laugh. His lips twist in amusement and he nods to the windshield. I follow his gesture and realize we are pulling up to the restaurant. “It was you, rudo, that said talk before fuck. I’m just following your demands.” I can literally feel my heartbeat in my vagina, the throb so heavy that when the denim of my jeans rubs against it when I move, I nearly moan. “Feel okay?” he grins, pulling the car beneath an awning with a blackout shade that surrounds it. “Fine. I’m great. Fabulous,” I say through clenched teeth. My response is met with rolling laughter and our doors swing open. I take the proffered hand from the man in a suit and climb out. “Welcome to Ruma,” he says. The warm wind hits my face as I stand, the sun now dipping behind the horizon. “Thank you.” Fenton sweeps past the front of the car and has his hand around my waist before I can get myself together. “Ready?” I force a swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yes. I’m ready.”

The door swings closed, the sound of it catapulting through the room—the same room I had dinner with Fenton before. It looks exactly the same, from the décor to the server that just left after placing covered dishes in front of us. I stare at him from across the table. He’s assessing me in his pensive way, fact-gathering all he can from my demeanor. I wonder vaguely what kind of data he’s getting because I can’t even figure out how I feel or what I’m thinking. “I’ve missed you,” he says, his lips tugged up in a grin. “Naturally.” He laughs and reaches his hand across the table. He places his on top of mine, stroking my knuckles with his thumb. It feels good, simple—right. But I can’t get ahead of myself. I have to stay focused on words. Not touches. “You know I’ve missed you too, Fent. Probably way more than I should.” He smiles softly. “So, how is your brother?” “I wish I knew.” “No news?” “No, other than my parents are pursuing a lawsuit against Brady’s employer.” He pulls his hands away and cracks his knuckles.”What do they expect to get out of that?” “We think they’re hiding something.” I let my gaze drift to the dark waters of the Pacific through the windows. “When we were little, Brady was scared of the dark. I really wasn’t, probably because we shared a room in our little bungalow and he was my big brother and I thought he’d protect me if something bad happened. But he used to sing himself to sleep to distract himself from the monsters he was sure lived in our closet.” My heart burns with the memories, the sound of him singing the theme to He-Man making me smile. “I wonder if he’s out there somewhere now, singing himself to sleep, distracting himself from the real monsters. The worst part is, I don’t even know where he is. Is it dark there? Is he warm? Is he cold? Is he bleeding? Does he know we want him back? Does he think we forgot about him?” I swipe my napkin off the table and press it to my eyes. I don’t want to cry, not here. Not now. Fenton moves to stand and I wave him off. “Don’t. I’m fine,” I sniffle. “If you come over here and

hug me, I’ll cry.” “I hate seeing you like this.” I can tell his throat is dry because the words come out like sandpaper. “Yeah, me too,” I laugh. He watches me carefully before pushing back from the table despite my wishes. “Are you hungry?” I shake my head. My stomach is in so many knots right now I couldn’t force anything down. He stands and whips around the table, pulling me to my feet and into him before I can object. I rest my head against his chest and listen to the strumming of his heartbeat. It’s the warmest, safest place I’ve ever been besides my daddy’s arms when I was a little girl. I could get used to it. I want to get used to it. I want him to want me to get used to it. He draws away far too soon and takes my hand, locking our fingers together, and leads me to the sofa facing the water in the center of the room. As we sit, I notice his breathing has gotten quicker, his hand squeezing mine off and on. “So, how did Grant and I end up at Pano last night?” Fenton stares at the water, his profile so rugged and handsome. He has a trace of stubble dotting his jawline and I itch to touch it, to run my fingers from his temple down to his supple lips. He turns slowly to face me, his pupils wide in the soft light. “I had someone track him down and offer him a gift card.” “Are you serious?” His head nods slowly, his hand releasing mine and wiping across the top of his pants. “Why would you do that? How did you even know who he was?” I’m at a loss for words. My head is spinning because although I figured something like this was the case, hearing him admit it is beyond crazy. “I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before last night.” I sink back into the sofa, watching him uneasily. He’s nervous, but he seems confident. He’s looking me straight in the eye. I press forward. “So how did you find him? I don’t get it.” “Finding people is easy.” He seems to realize what he’s said as my face falls. “I’m sorry.” “Finding people in this country must be easy, I guess, when you have money.” I force a smile, trying to make light of the comment, even though it makes my heart hurt. He flashes me a tight grin and chooses to keep going and not dwell on his slip-up. “I called a guy I work with and he did some digging on Grant. We tracked him to the marina and someone gave him a gift certificate.” “But why?” “Because I knew if he tried to take you to dinner, he’d go wherever it was free.” “But Fenton, why?” I rise off the sofa and take a few steps away. I need some space to think, to breathe, to let my heart pound like a drum and not think he can hear it. “Why would you go to that much trouble?” “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” I say emphatically. “It matters. Your motivation behind it really matters to me.” He loosens his tie further. He’s squirmy, so unlike him. “After everything you told me about him, I was concerned for your safety. I wanted you somewhere I could keep an eye on you, make sure you were safe.” “After what I told you about him? What? That I had to pay for his shit?” “That he was acting erratically. He had problems with money, he lied. That you suspect he has something to do with your brother,” he gulps. “Those aren’t positive attributes, rudo.” “Obviously,” I snort. “But why do you care? You have no obligation to me.” I bite my tongue, holding myself back from saying more. He laughs, a quiet chuckle that leaves me standing wordlessly. He leans back and looks at the ceiling, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. When he faces me again, his eyes are as clear as I’ve ever seen them. “I do have an obligation to you,” he says quietly. My heart leaps to my throat and I take a staggering step backwards. “How do you figure?” “There are many reasons why.” “Such as . . .” I prompt him. His gaze catches mine mid-air and holds it and doesn’t let go. “You’ve really made me rethink a lot of things in my life. See things in a new light.” He grins a boyish smile, his head dipping just a touch. “You’ve made me smile, inside and out, for the first time in maybe forever. Certainly on this level.” “You’ve made me smile too,” I whisper. “The report on Grant isn’t good, Brynne. I saw enough to realize you shouldn’t be alone with this jackass. He’s bad news. Very bad news.” “Are you just saying that?” “Why would I just say that?” I shrug, trying to process this information. “What did it say? Anything that would have impacted his time in Zimbabwe? I mean, is he on drugs? Could he have been so fucked up on something over there that maybe he is the reason Brady was in that neighborhood that day?” My mind is spinning, round and round and round. The more I think, the faster it twirls. Fenton shakes his head and looks around the room. “When I get the final report back, if I think it can help you, I’ll make sure you get it.” “I’d really appreciate that. No one gives a shit about Brady. Grant, his employer, the government —they all just left him there to die. If you have anything, as small as you might think it is, please let us have it.” “I will. You have my word.” His voice wobbles and he stands, wiping his hands down his pants again. “There was another reason I wanted you and him to come to Pano.” “What’s that?” “Because I needed to know . . .” he groans and sweeps his hand through his hair. “I needed to know

if you wanted Grant back or not.” “I told you I didn’t.” “You told me you loved him.” “That doesn’t mean I want him back.” “If love is what you told me it was, then if you loved him, you might want him back.” “Now you’re going to get all philosophical on me? You go from not saying hardly anything to being profound?” “I’m not being profound. I just wanted to see how you looked at him.” My chest tightens. I almost can’t say it. “Why?” He just shrugs and grins a twisted grin that melts me. “I wanted to know if you looked at him like you look at me.” He stalks towards me, his eyes boring into mine. “I needed to see if that twinkle in your eyes, that one—right there,” he says, pressing his fingertip lightly on my eyelid, “if it was there when you looked at him.” “Was it?” I breathe. “No.” Finally, his arms wrap around me and I make no resistance. I’ve been craving his touch for far too long. I melt into him as his lips find mine. They work together effortlessly, like they were created for this very thing. My hands go to his hair and I brush back the silky strands as I pull back. “Have any more questions, Miss Calloway?” he asks, wrinkling his nose. “I sure don’t, Mr. Abbott.” “Does that mean what I think it means?” His fingers drag around my hip and across my pubic bone. “That means, now, we fuck.” “But we’re in the middle of my restaurant,” he says as blandly as he can manage, all the while fighting a smile. “So we are.” He takes my hand in his and pilots me to the door. A knock raps from the other side just before we get there and Fenton tells them to enter. The server comes in and stops, a confused look on her face. “Is something wrong?” “We’re leaving,” Fenton says. “Tell the chef it was fine, we just had a change in plans.” “Sure . . .” She steps out of the way as we charge by, me struggling to keep up in my heels. “Fent! Slow down,” I giggle. He turns and swoops down, picking me up. I shriek, tossing an arm around the back of his neck, my legs dangling over his arms. “What are you doing?” “Getting you out of here.” “Why?” “I’m taking you home. With me.”

He strides through the entrance and I spy his car sitting below. I’m in the passenger ’s seat and we’re tearing through the parking lot before I know it.

It’s exactly how I envisioned it. Fenton’s living room reflects everything I know about him. Sturdy, brown leather furniture sits around an oversized cinnamon-colored rug. One wall has a dark hued, built-in entertainment center with framed photos, books, and small trinkets that I’m dying to get a closer peek of. It’s a mixture of responsibility and fun, of classic and modern. The room is sophisticated in some ways, yet comfortable in others. It’s just so Fenton. He pulls me through the room, sliding one frame of glass to the side, and out onto an expansive deck. The view is stunning. The sea is as far as we can see, although I can’t currently see too far because of the night sky. Silver stars twinkle above, the water pushing in and going out, creating our own private white noise. Each side of the house is lined with trees, so even though he has neighbors, we can’t see them. There are no lights. Just serenity. I stand at the railing and gaze across the water. I feel him come up behind me, sense his presence, before he nuzzles his face against my neck. “Do you like it here?” “It’s beautiful,” I breathe. “My father built this for my mother.” “Did you grow up here?” I ask, imagining a little Fent playing on the beach below. Maybe a dog chasing him or a group of little boys playing tag. He laughs. “No.” “You must love it though.” “I feel close to my family. My mother loved this place. Dad had it built a few years before he passed away and it’s where she lived out the rest of her life.” “What happened to her?” “They said a heart attack, but I figure it was a broken heart.” His arms come around me, grabbing the rail on either side. His chest is pressed against my back and I let my head fall back on his shoulder. His body rises and falls, his breathing regulating with the waves.

I’ve never felt so peaceful with a man before. Even though I’d prepared myself hours earlier to walk away from him, now after his explanation, I feel my walls crumbling. It’s so easy being with him, such a natural give-and-take. I don’t feel like I have to be anyone, give anything, or do anything I don’t want to, and that’s in stark contrast to any relationship I’ve ever been in before. And even though this isn’t a relationship per se, it is . . . something . . . and I like it, even if I can’t define it. “A broken heart?” I repeat. “What happened?” “She just couldn’t live without my father, I don’t think. He met her on a business trip and I think he proposed within a few days,” he chuckles. “That’s what they told me, anyway. I never remember them fighting, never remember them being anything but happy. Even when things got hard—and they did— they didn’t let it split them. Some things we didn’t talk about in our house, like politics and religion. But we didn’t argue about it either.” “Sounds like a perfect relationship.” “They were just so in love . . .” His heart, so heavy against my back, skips a beat when he says the words. I grin, knowing he’s waiting on me to comment. I consider not saying anything, but I can’t help myself. “I thought you didn’t believe in love?” His delayed response is thunderous. My mouth slacks, my breathing quickening, as I wait for his answer. “I might not,” he says finally. “But there’s a chance that I do too. Maybe I was just afraid to believe in it, that I wouldn’t be able to sort out real love from the shallow motives I’ve seen a hundred times. Maybe I was scared I’d never be loved for me and not just for my money or who I am.” His breath dances across the sensitive skin of my neck, making me shiver. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference,” he breathes against me. “Maybe love is hard to explain. Maybe it’s different for everyone,” I counter, my eyes closed as his lips press against my neck. “Maybe it’s feeling like you can’t breathe without the other person,” he whispers, giving me my definition back. “Wanting to put their needs ahead of yours.” I feel his throat bob as he swallows, the heat of our bodies together pooling around us, making it hard to breathe. His words stir something deep inside me, the hope that maybe he feels the same way I do. Maybe he loves me. “Do you feel that?” he whispers. “Yes.” I know exactly what he’s referring to. The feeling of an invisible rope winding around both of us, pulling not just our bodies, but us as a whole together. “Can I tell you a secret?” I nod, afraid of moving too much and breaking whatever spell we’re under. I want to stay right here, forever, if possible, wrapped up in everything Fenton Abbott. “This is why I carried you out of Ruma.” “I don’t understand . . .”

He stands, twirling me around lazily to face him. I lean against the railing and he clutches the board on either side of me again, capturing me in his bubble. “I missed you the last couple of days, Brynne. I took you to Ruma so we would be forced to talk, get what you wanted to say out of the way. But as soon as that was done, I wanted to bring you here. To my home. To have you all to myself.” His words caress me, flip on switches inside me I didn’t know could be turned. It seems unreal that he is looking at me and saying that, but he is and I lap it up. “I missed you too.” “I wasn’t prepared to not be able to not think about you,” he confesses. “I watched you walk into your house after you told me not to follow you and it did a number on me. I figured then that it was just a burn to my ego and I’d be laughing about it the next day. But I didn’t.” “I told you not to follow me because you told me you’d be too busy to see me again. I’m a big girl. I don’t need an easy brush-off.” “It wasn’t a brush-off.” “No, it was,” I laugh. “And I still haven’t figured out why or what changed your mind . . .” He gazes over my shoulder at the dark water, the lines around his eyes deepening. “It’s a long story, one I don’t really care to discuss.” Pulling his eyes back to mine, he studies me. “You’re important to me. I know I’ve never felt this way about another person before, so I don’t know what it means. I just know you’re more than a weekend distraction or a dinner date—” “Or a fuck buddy,” I grin. “You know I hate that term.” I shrug, making him roll his eyes. He continues, “I’m having a hard time figuring out where to go with this, if that makes sense.” “It makes total sense. I don’t know either. One minute I’m lying in my bed, imagining it’s your fingers going inside me—” “Don’t . . .” he growls. “And the next minute,” I grin, “I’m preparing myself to never talk to you again.” The truth spins into the universe, knocking us both around a little. He shifts his weight foot-tofoot and I just stand as still as I can, waiting for him to respond. I know my answer to the unsaid question: I want to get to know him. I want to know what he likes for dinner, what kind of ice cream he likes, how he unwinds in the evening. But I’m not going to show my hand yet, not before he does. “If everything were equal, if there were no extenuating circumstances, what would you want to see between us?” he asks, his tone gravelly. “I’m not sure . . .” “You aren’t sure?” Guilt burns through me because that’s not true. And as his shoulders slump, just a hint of a drop, it makes me feel like an asshole.

“No, I am sure,” I breathe. “I’d want to spend time with you. As much as I can. I would want to get to know you, make you smile, make you laugh. Make you dinner and then undress you and help you relax.” I’m pressed against him before I know it. His chin sits on top of my head, his heart thundering in his chest. He doesn’t let go, just speaks with me still in his arms. “I don’t know what it is about you and I know we will have to take it slow. But I want to take it, Brynne.” “Take it where?” “To wherever it leads. I don’t want to feel like I can’t call you. I don’t want to go a day without seeing you or being afraid to piss you off if I show up. I want to feel justified in wanting to protect you and calling you mine. Not in some trophy way or in some barbaric way either. Just being proud that a man like me could manage to snag a girl like you.” “Oh, Fenton,” I say, trying, and failing, to not swoon. “The easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life is feel this way about you, rudo.” I run my hand down the side of his cheek, the stubble coarse against my skin. “I’d love to see where this goes. I’ve never wanted anything more.” His hand clasps over my wrist, holding mine to his face. He drags it to his mouth and plants a kiss in my palm. “You’ve put things in perspective for me.” He slips off his jacket and tosses it onto a chair. My fingers find his tie and begin undoing the intricate knot. I feel the heaviness of his gaze, the heat of his breath as I slip the silk from around his neck and add it to the jacket. Beginning to unfasten the buttons down his chest, I can feel his heartbeat rumbling. “I still have things I want to say,” he breathes. “Not now.” The shirt slips off his broad shoulders, the stars making his skin nearly glow. My fingers dip beneath the waistband of his dress pants and his breath hitches in his throat. “Brynne . . .” “Nope. We talked. Now we fuck. That was the deal.” Jerking his belt, I snap him out of his reverie. With quick, methodical movements, I undo the belt and yank it out of the loops. “Brynne . . .” “Later, Abbott.” He laughs and takes a step out of my reach. “You think you’re calling the shots just because you have a filthy mouth?” “Um, yeah.” “Sorry.” His features darken as he drags a chair behind him. He stands in front of it and undoes the button of his pants. He frees his cock, running his hand up and down the long, solid length.

I start to take a step forward and he gives me a look that stops me. Fenton sits in the chair, grabbing his dick at the base. “Take your shirt off.” “Is that how this is played?” “Tonight it is. No talking.” “I—” I’m cut off by his narrowed eyes. The words disappear into the thick, warm night air. Lifting my cami to the base of my breasts, I watch his reaction, measure the effect I’m having on him. The slight widening of his eyes, the slack jaw let me know I have his rapt attention. Good. Turning away from him, I brush my hair to one shoulder and then lift with no hurried movement until my cami is over my head. Glancing at him over my shoulder, I shrug. “Now what?” “Face me.” Tossing my hair back, I pivot back around. He strokes his cock, the head swelling with the pressure. I want to wrap my lips around it and suck, tasting him. But I know he won’t let me; he’s pinning me in place as it is. Bending at the waist, making sure he gets an eyeful of cleavage, I remove my heels. They hit the deck with a thud. Running my hands down my chest, abs, and to the top of my jeans, I watch as his gaze follows my movements. I undo the button and lower the zipper as torturously slowly as possible. His jaw ticks, wanting me to hurry, but he’s not about to ask me to. I turn away from him again, letting my hips swivel. I hear him mutter under his breath, but I don’t look back. Instead, I stand on my tiptoes, grabbing the deck rail in front of me with one hand and letting the other slip into the front of my pants. I lean forward, letting my ass pop towards him, and widen my stance. My bud is swollen, my slit slippery already with desire. I moan as my fingertip touches my clit and I hear the chair creak behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Fenton sitting back down. His pants are gone and he’s deliciously naked, just a look of pure lust painted on his handsome features. “Ah,” I cry, keeping our eyes locked while I work my fingers over my sensitive spot. His fist works his cock in time with my hand, at a pace that’s demonstrative of how much we both crave this release. “Don’t even think you’re going to make yourself come.” His words pierce me, nearly throw me over the edge on their own. I soar to the top, ready to hit the climax, but right before I hit the line, I stop. My head sags forward as the blood rushes from my brain, my body reprimanding me for quitting too soon. I slide my hands into the sides of my jeans and push them, one inch at a time, over my waist. I kick them off, standing in front of him in nothing but a white lace bra and panties.

His gaze is intense, scalding my skin as it takes in every curve and bend of my body. I walk towards him, one, two, three, four steps, and wrap my fingers in his hair. Dragging his face to mine, our mouths meet in the middle. Our tongues dance together, whispering promises of what’s to come. He bites down on my lip, his hands finding my ass, and nudging me forward. I straddle him, never letting our contact break, until my feet are planted on either side of him. He guides his cock under me, brushing my panties to the side, and I sit down swiftly on his length. “Fuck,” I hiss against his lips, needing to move but needing to let my body adjust to his size. His hands dig into my waist, holding me down against him. “Your body fits me like a glove,” he mutters, his tongue drawing across my bottom lip. I suck it into my mouth and he jerks. As he does, his cock moves and triggers me to move with it. I slide up and down his length, his solidness making me quiver. His mouth finds my breasts, sucking on one, then the other, and the combination causes an internal explosion. “You. Are. So. Wet,” he groans, tilting his hips. “Fuck, Brynne.” “It feels so good.” I put my weight on my feet and control the movement of my body against him. My head tosses back as he slips inside me, his fingers finding my clit and rubbing it in slow, small circles. My movements quicken, the build-up coming in a frenzied pace that I no longer have control over. He slips his mouth around one of my nipples again. He bites down, rolling it between his teeth. “Fent!” I yell, with no thought given to the fact that someone below could hear. I just pump my body along his, feeling his shaft slide into me and hitting my G-Spot at the back of my pussy. It’s an incredible, sensational feeling. “That. That’s going to make me . . .” I say, but the last few words come out as a stutter. “Open your eyes.” His hands find my hips again and he keeps me moving—up and down. The pressure, the intensity of his cock massaging the back wall of my pussy becomes more than I can take. Our gazes link mid-air as my eyes flutter open. The way his grey eyes swirl, heat, peer into the crevices of my soul is almost like another form of penetration. It’s too much. “I’m going to come, Fent.” He growls, moving his hips so that he’s slamming into me harder and harder. The force mixed with the sexiness of the timbre of his voice pushes me over the edge. I sit down hard on his cock, feeling the head of it pulse inside me. My body spasms around him, shivering as wave after wave of pleasure slams into me. Colors burst in my vision and I can feel my temperature spike, heat rising through me and pushing out of the top of my head. I moan, squeezing my eyes shut even as he tells me to open them. I can’t. I can’t do anything voluntarily. My body has taken over, succumbing to the euphoria. I can feel him still moving inside me. When he groans, and pushes the farthest he’s been, I grind my clit against his body. It sends another wave of bliss, a bit softer this time, through me and I feel him emptying himself

inside me. After what feels like forever, my body sags with exhaustion. I sink against him, my head to his shoulder. He wipes my wet hair off my shoulder and plants a kiss in its place. “If that’s a part of getting to know you, I think we should get to know each other multiple times a day,” he chuckles. I try to laugh but I’m just too tired. It’s a shaking of the shoulders instead, a failed attempt to pretend I’m just fine. Thinking I should get up and find a bathroom, I make one half-assed attempt to push away. It, too, fails. Part of me knows it’s because it’s too cozy to be lying against him like this and part of me knows it’s because if I do, I’ll be calling Presley to pick me up, because when things are too good to be true they usually are and I don’t want this night to end. Not yet.

The moonlight shines through the windows above the large soaking tub. It overlooks the beach and I imagine opening them and breathing in the salty air while sitting in a deep basin of bubbles. I could live in here. Fenton’s master bathroom is a girl’s dream. Heck, it’s anyone’s dream. Encased in golden marble, it looks like something you’d find in a Fifth Avenue penthouse rather than a beach house in Malibu. In the corner, there’s a large walk-in shower with more shower heads than necessary or practical. There’s a large television across the room from the tub and I wonder if he sits in this and watches baseball games or the news in the morning. At the other end, a walk-in closet that’s bigger than my bedroom is only half-filled with clothes. I know. I looked. I slip one of Fenton’s UCLA t-shirts over my head after getting a quick shower with him. He went to make some calls and I type out a quick text to Presley that I’m not coming home and then power my phone down. She’ll blast me with a million texts, most of them inappropriate, and I don’t want to deal with her. Not tonight. Not with Fenton lying in his bed in the next room, waiting on me. My cheeks ache from the grin that I can’t ease off my face. Thinking of Fent waiting for me, of the things he said to me tonight about wanting to see where things go, is enough to make me feel like a kid waking up on her birthday. Everything is full of promise. There’s the potential for so much fun, so much good, so many surprises to be lurking around the corner that it takes all I have not to jump up and down. Flipping off the light, I open the door. I see Fenton propped up on a pile of pillows. His eyes are closed, his skin still damp. The bed is hulking, taking up all of the space between the windows on either side of the room. Even so, Fenton looks so broad, so strong. So delectable. My fingers itch to trace the muscles on his abs, to feel the solidness of his chest under my palms. I start towards him and his eyes flutter open. “Hey, there,” he grins, pulling back the blankets. “Get in here.” I can’t help the excitement that flitters in my chest as I climb into his bed. He grabs me, drawing me across the mattress and into his arms. I snuggle into him, breathing him in. “Mmm,” he whispers. “I like seeing you in my t-shirt.”

“I hope you don’t care. I didn’t plan on coming here tonight, so I didn’t bring anything.” “Of course I don’t care. I love it. But you could’ve been naked and I wouldn’t have objected.” I can hear his heart pound in his chest. I know mine is doing the same thing. We’ve taken a step towards wherever we end up and I have a million questions, but I’m afraid to ask. Instead, I let my fingers trace the ridges of his arm, the thick veins that wrap the muscled limbs. “How do ya feel?” Fenton asks. “Great. Tired. Happy. You?” “The same. Strangely.” “Strangely?” “This wasn’t really on my to-do list,” he laughs. “What wasn’t on your to-do list?” “Finding a phone in a bunch of bananas and becoming hooked by its owner.” “Hooked, huh?” I laugh. “Pretty much.” I pull back far enough to see in his eyes. “It wasn’t in mine either, you know. You are supposed to be my rebound.” “You had a fatal flaw in your line of thinking,” he grins. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” “A rebound means to bounce back after hitting something.” “Yeah . . .” “There was no way I’d have been able to let you just go back. You’re stuck with me for a while.” He pauses, waits for me to respond, but I’m stuck in a limbo of words. I want to cheer, to smile, to do a little shimmy under the covers—maybe roll over on top of him for another round. But that seems a little overboard, especially when I’m not even sure what he does mean, exactly. “So you’re my . . . bounce?” I ask. “I’ll be . . . your dribble—taking you forward with the touch of my hand.” “You’re so stupid,” I laugh, rolling onto my back. He props himself up on one elbow and looks down at me. His lips twitch in amusement. “Stupid, huh? Boy, you know how to make a man feel good about himself.” “Like you need any lifting up.” “You think I have an ego?” “Not a crazy one. But how could a man like you not know you’re . . .” I let my words drift away. There are no words that could complete that sentence, not the right way. It would be too much or not enough, or God forbid, stupid. My cheeks heat as I realize I shouldn’t have started this because the look on his face tells me he’s not going to let it go. “I’m not what?” he prompts. “A complete asshole for putting me on the spot,” I laugh. “You put it out there. I just want to hear what you think.”

What I think is that he’s the ultimate male. That he could’ve hung the moon if he wanted to. That he is quite possibly a piece of perfection with every bit of an eight-inch, thick cock. But I can’t say that. “I think you’re gorgeous,” I say instead. “Sexy. Intelligent. I think . . . you’re kind. Compassionate. And . . . maybe a little ruthless about what you want. But honestly, I kinda like it.” I feather my fingertips over his lips. Pressing them together, he plants a kiss on my fingers. “How could you not know you’re all those things?” I ask. He peers into my eyes, his gaze so intense I feel like he’s seeing my bared soul. It’s humbling and nerve-wracking, but I can’t cover it up from him. I don’t want to. I want him to see me for what I am, to not ever feel like I have to hide from him. If wherever we’re going is going to work, I don’t want it to end up like my relationship with Grant. He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he asks one of me. “You want to hear what I think about you?” “I don’t know. Do I?” “I think you are strong. Smart. Capable. You hide your vulnerabilities and fears behind your strength. You’re easily shaken, but don’t let it show because showing that would equate to weakness in your mind. You’re the only person I can be around for longer than two hours and not want to slice my wrists.” “That’s good,” I laugh, a nervous crease in my voice. “It’s very good,” he grins. “So, this thing between us now. What does it mean, exactly?” His features darken, his bottom lip pulling between his teeth. He runs a hand along the curve of my hip, gliding it over my abs, and holds on to my other side. His palm is warm, a little rough, as it splays against my skin. “It means whatever you want it to mean,” he says, his voice low. When I don’t respond, he continues. “I’ll tell you what it means to me. You make me feel a way that I’ve never felt before. You energize me, inspire me. “My work is important to me for a number of reasons. But I’ve been doing it for years now and the last couple have felt monotonous. I’ve thought about getting out of my fields and saying fuck it and buying a yacht and sailing, like I told you. But with whom? Where to? I’ve taken my inheritance and I’ve built it up, much higher than my parents ever imagined it could be. But what for? I have no one to share it with and it never dawned on me . . . until I met you.” His fingers trail up my side, skimming my breast, until he cups my cheek. His eyes bore into mine and it makes my heart beat so fast I think it’s going to explode. I have no idea where he’s going with this and the anticipation, the possibilities, are running away with me. “But you come along and zap life back into me. I’m laughing for the first time in months about things that aren’t debaucherous. I’m making plans for vacations and to expand certain parts of my business, and all the while, you’re in the back of my brain. I want to work as quickly as I can and go

find you. And I think that says it all.” “I don’t know what to say,” I whisper. His hand drops from my face, but his gaze doesn’t leave mine. I’m still pinned in place by his steely grey irises. “You make me want to be better, to take risks. I like myself better when you’re around.” Fenton dips in, placing a sweet kiss to my lips. “So I don’t know where this is going, and I don’t know how to define it. I just know I want you by my side, and I want to prove to you that I’m worthy of your affection.” “I don’t think you being worthy is the problem,” I whisper. “You’d be surprised,” he says, a shadow darkening his features. “No, no, I wouldn’t. You are more than worthy.” I watch his gaze flicker from mine and settle on something across the room. “It’s my fear that I think will hold us back. I just don’t want to end up being so involved with someone that I get taken advantage of or made a fool of. I don’t want to lose myself in someone else.” “I won’t do that.” His eyes blaze with ferocity, with a seriousness I don’t see in them often. The shakiness in my confidence, the little rift in my brain that tells me to not trust, to take it slow, to question everything, settles, and I know one thing—I believe him. “If this is going to work, you’re going to have to be completely open with me, okay? Grant hid everything from me, and I’m certain I don’t even know the half of it. But I feel silly spending so long with someone and thinking he was one person when, in reality, he was another. Does that make sense?” He doesn’t flinch and makes no move to answer me. I’m not even sure he heard me. “Fenton?” “Yeah,” he says, shaking the cobwebs out of his head. “Did you hear what I said?” “Of course.” His features soften and he smiles at me cautiously. “You need transparency from me. I need patience from you.” “I will give you patience, Fent, if you can be honest. As long as I don’t have to worry about what’s happening, you can take all the time you need to get used to this. I’ll need some time too.” “I promise you—it will be worth it, rudo.” I believe him. The swell in my chest makes me trust in what he promises. Everything I know about him makes me believe him and in him. “I know it will.” Rolling over and pressing him against the mattress, I climb on top of him. Straddling his waist, I watch his face. His trademark smirk kisses his lips as his cock hardens under my bare pussy. “In the words of my Brynne, we’ve talked. Now we fuck.”

“Brynne! Your phone!” Fastening my earring, the back not quite wanting to slip on, I dart through the master into the living room. I hear my ringtone buzzing from somewhere, but the house is too big and foreign to me to know where the sound is coming from. Fenton comes around the corner from his office, my phone in his hand. “This is becoming a habit —me finding your phone.” I stand on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. He grabs my ass. “This is my mother,” I gasp, fear blazing through me. “Hello?” “Hey, sweetheart. How are you?” I don’t answer her. “How are you, Mom?” “I’m a wreck, to be honest. I’ve eaten a half a piece of toast in two days and your father is starting to drive me crazy with his pacing. I’m losing my mind.” “Is Aunt Donna there?” “Yes, thank God. She got in last night.” She sniffles. “You know, I look at her and I realize how awful this must be for you. If something happened to my sister, it would kill me. And you’ve lost your brother.” The phone muffles and I wait for her voice to come back. I watch Fenton stride around the room before finally landing in a chair under a large painting. “We just heard from Senator Hyland’s office,” she says, returning to the phone. “The chatter from Nekuti has picked up in the last couple of days.” “Chatter?” My eyes follow Fenton as he leans forward, his hands steepled in front of him, and rests his chin on top. His eyes are narrow as he listens to my end of the conversation. “We don’t know if it’s from the video being released or . . . something else.” “No . . .” I can hear what she’s saying without saying it. My stomach drops to my feet. “No, Mom. It’s not that. It’s something else.” Exchanging a worried glance with Fenton, I head to the large windows. I watch the sea roll in and out and try to match my breathing to the regularity.

“I hope.” Her voice breaks. “Just pray, sweetheart.” “I pray all the time.” A door bangs closed and I wheel around. Fenton is gone. It’s unlike him to walk away like that and to nearly slam the door is odd. I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong with him too. “Is everything okay?” Mom asks. “I can hear the stress in your voice, honey. I know you’ve been put on the back burner so much with this whole thing and I feel terrible about that. I just can’t—” “Mom. No. Don’t worry about me.” “Of course I do. You’re my daughter.” I smile. “I am. Now go take care of my dad and tell Aunt Donna hi. I have some things I need to do today, okay?” “I will. I love you, too, Brynne.” “Love you, Mom.” Clicking the phone off, I hold it to my chest and try to get myself together. Taking a few cleansing breaths, I head to the door and knock gently. “Yeah?” “Can I come in?” “Of course,” he says. I open the door and step inside. He’s standing over his briefcase and I hear it click as the door shuts behind me. He turns to face me, his features creased. “Are you okay?” I ask. “Did something happen?” He shakes his head warily. “I’m fine. How are you, rudo?” “That was my mother,” I say finally. “More bad news from Africa.” “Yeah?” he asks, his voice gruff. “There’s been an increase in chatter from Nekuti.” He studies me for a long minute. “Don’t panic. It could mean a million different things.” I pace across the room, not having a destination in mind, but needing to move. To think. “I suppose, but right after the video? I really have a bad feeling. They said in the video they would be making demands, which we know the government won’t do anything about. What if . . .” My voice cracks. I look at Fenton, dressed for the day we had planned. He’s in jeans, sneakers, and a plain grey tshirt that matches his eyes. He could have walked straight off the pages of a magazine, all casual sophistication. Yet the look on his face tells a completely different story, one I’m not sure about. “You can ‘what if‘ yourself till the cows come home, Brynne,” he gulps. “The fact is, you can play those games and never know anything for sure. You just have to believe the best.” Fenton starts to turn away but pauses, seemingly torn about what to do. I can’t offer him any advice because I don’t know what to do with myself. I just watch the uneasiness, the apprehension, wash over his face before he gives a subtle nod and turns away. He leaves the room and I watch him walk into his office on the other side of the living room, a

room I was in only briefly this morning. I hear a few drawers slide open and shut, keys jingling, before he marches back into the master. His hands are to his side, his fists closed. His features are on lockdown and I can’t read what he’s thinking. He makes a beeline for me like a man on a mission, stopping a few steps in front of me. “I want you to have this,” he breathes, extending a hand towards me and dropping a bundle of metal into my hand. Holding it in my palm, I pick it up with the other. It falls, a delicate gold chain with the head of an elephant on the end. It’s small, so small I can’t imagine crafting the intricate design. It’s smooth and cool, and when I look up to Fenton, I see he’s holding his breath. “Fenton?” He forces a swallow, his brows pulling together. “It was my mother ’s.” Gasping, my hand trembles. “I can’t take this.” I try to put it back in his hand, but he steps back and out of reach. “Fenton, I can’t take this. It’s beautiful and I’m honored you’d want to give it to me, but I can’t. Really . . .” “I want you to have it.” “But why?” He looks at the floor, his sneakers shuffling around before he speaks. “Elephants represent strength and loyalty. My mother would wear that necklace before she would go into a meeting and was unsure about the outcome or when she felt beaten down by the world. She would touch the emblem and say it reminded her to be loyal to what she believed in. I actually kept that in my pocket for a few months after she passed away.” His eyes shine as he draws them to mine. “And I want you to have it.” I close the distance between us quickly and wrap my arms around his waist, the necklace secured safely in my hand. There’s so much I want to say, but the lump in my throat keeps all words away. We just stand in the middle of the room and hold each other, in a way, letting each other know we’re here together. That right now, liking each other is enough. By the time I pull away, something has passed between us and when I look at him again, he’s still the handsome cashmere I know him to be, but he’s something else. Something deeper, something more intimate, something more . . . important. My throat feels parched as I realize what this feeling is. Love. I love him. I’ve known it was possible to love Fenton for a long time. Even though I haven’t given myself permission to feel it, I’m there. It’s an overwhelming, breathtaking moment, and I know now that I’ve never been in love before. Not like this. He makes me happy, gives me hope, makes me feel protected. We have undeniable chemistry and being with him is the easiest thing in the world. He’s handsome and smart and sexy and kind. And I love him. “You okay, rudo?” he asks, his voice soft. “I don’t think I can accept this,” I say again, watching the light reflect off the gold in my hand, still

reeling from my realization. “I want you to have it. Please.” “Are you sure? It was your mother’s.” “It was. And she would have loved you.” I grin shyly. “You don’t know that.” “I do know that. She’d like that you keep me in my place and she’d like your heart. She’d like that you make me think about things. She always said that if what you’re doing is easy, it’s not worth doing. And I think . . . I think I fell into that trap a little bit and you’re forcing me out.” “Well, I won’t let you take the easy road,” I joke. “I’m sure.” He steps behind me and lifts the necklace out of my hand. He lays the charm on my chest and brings the chain to the back of my neck. His fingertips sweep the hair off the back of my neck, my skin breaking out into goose bumps at the contact. He fastens the piece of jewelry and moves to face me again. “It’s perfect.” “Are you absolutely sure?” He nods, his gaze glued to the elephant. “I’m absolutely sure. It’s right where it belongs. When you get scared or nervous or start losing your faith, I want you to touch it and remember to be loyal to what you believe in. And that I believe in you.” “Okay then. Thank you,” I whisper, blinking back tears. His lips lower to mine in a soft display of something. What, I’m not sure, I just know it’s not love. Because he doesn’t believe in love. But me? I just fell head over heels.

I touch my cheeks. They feel hot to the touch and dry against my fingers. I slathered on tons of night cream before coming to bed, but they still feel parched. We spent the entire day watching a mishmash of local bands perform at an outdoor arena. It was something I’d have done before Brady went missing and I realized how much I’ve missed things like this. The excitement and energy pricked a part of my psyche that has gone untouched for a long time, the distraction that I so desperately needed. This was living—laughing, holding hands with a good-looking man. Drinking ice cold beer and eating with no care for nutritional value while listening to music I’ve never heard before. It was such a beautiful, brilliant day and exactly what I needed to keep my mind off of my mother ’s call earlier. It seemed like a good idea to give each other a little space and to kind of absorb all the newness to this relationship, a connection I still can’t quite define. It’s love, I’m sure. But a new type of love that needs space to blossom and grow. Even though I insisted some time apart might be a good thing, Fenton disagreed. Adamantly. He insisted I stay another night with him and it’s very difficult, if not impossible, to tell him no when his mind gets set on something. After a quick pit stop at my house to get clean clothes and toiletries, we were back at his. After a quick shower, a quick fuck with me sitting on the bathroom countertop, and a pizza delivery and wine, we now lie in bed and listen to the little fountain Fenton turned on in the corner of the bedroom. The water trickles over rocks, the sound dancing like a dream. My head is on his chest, absorbing the tranquility, when Fenton whips out his phone. He studies it, sweeps his fingers across, and then responds to an email or a text. His brows are pulled together, his message going in fast and hard. “Is everything okay?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. He nods, but doesn’t answer me. I just watch him continue to type away, a flutter of movement that seems to go on forever. Finally he seems satisfied, and with one final glance, pops the phone onto the nightstand. “That was some serious texting,” I point out, not wanting to press but more than a little interested. “So it was,” he grins, knowing exactly what I’m doing. “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

“It’s work. You wouldn’t care.” “Lame,” I sigh, rolling my eyes for effect. “You never tell me anything.” “I tell you everything that has to do with you. I’m not going to bore you with my job.” “What if I’m interested? What if I want to get to know you better? That’s what we’re supposed to be doing, isn’t it?” I point out. “Keep asking me questions and I might have to fill your mouth with my cock.” “I might like that.” He chuckles, running his hand through my hair. “I had a really good time today.” “Me too,” I yawn. “It was a lot of fun. Presley and I used to go there a lot last summer.” “I’ve never been to a concert before.” “What?” I gasp, watching him laugh at my reaction. “Seriously?” “Not one. I liked it though. We should do that more often.” “So, you just decided today we’d go to a concert?” He grins. “Presley might’ve given me a pointer or two.” “That worries me.” I feign concern, making his grin grow wider. “She can be a lunatic.” “I can see that. The first thing she suggested . . .” I slap my palm to my forehead. “Did it involve anal?” He bursts into laughter and I sit up, watching his face light up. “It did, didn’t it? I’m going to kill her.” “I told her I didn’t think you were ready for that.” “I’ll never be ready for that,” I laugh. “It’s not my thing.” “Scaredy cat?” “Totally. That’s an out. Not an in. I just . . .” I shiver, twisting myself around to lie beside him. He rolls onto his side and faces me. Like always, his hands drops across my mid-section and I realize it’s his habit. And I know him well enough now to know his habits. That makes me giddy. “What else scares you?” he asks thoughtfully. I shrug. “Sexually or in other areas?” “Either way.” I consider his question. “I’m scared of snakes. And of dying in dark water,” I reply. “Both things make me want to pass out. When I was a little girl I was sure that quicksand was going to play a bigger role in my life and that stuff still freaks me out.” “Quicksand? Seriously?” “Yeah, seriously! Have you ever seen Indiana Jones? Brady and I practiced hopping on pillows for weeks after that, just getting ready for the inevitable.” “You continue to surprise me.” “Quicksand shouldn’t surprise you. That stuff is dangerous.” He re-grips my side, his palm pressing harder into my skin. “What else scares you, Brynne?” A heaviness rolls over my chest, a seriousness that comes out nowhere. It feels right, though, to

open up to him. To tell him my fears. To let him see a part of me I don’t let many people see. “I’m scared of failing. Whether it be at a board game or at school or at life. I just want to do the best I can and always think people will laugh at me if I go for something and it doesn’t work out.” I look at the ceiling, both afraid he’s already laughing at me and trying to find some inspiration. “I’m scared of being weak, of not being strong enough to handle what life throws at me. That I’ll crumble under the pressure and let everyone down. I’m scared of being optimistic,” I continue, the words flowing from me, setting me free. Like an actor on stage getting over his jitters, the words pouring from me is cathartic. “I’m afraid to try to put too much stock in anyone or anything because I figure the next shoe is going to drop at any second. Like something bad is just waiting to devastate me.” “That’s a shitty way to live.” I shrug. “I’m learning to live with it. I’ve always had a little anxiety, but after this past year, it just got worse. So now I find myself waiting on the next thing to come along and knock me out.” He drags me closer, burrowing his face in my hair. I love having him so close to me, feeling like he’d protect me from anything. That he could protect me. “But, Fent, you make me happy.” He presses a long, lingering kiss into the side of my head. I snuggle against him more. “You make me happy too,” he whispers, his voice a little shaky. “Do I?” “You have no idea.” “Good.” I twist in his arms and rearrange us so that my arms are around him. We lie like that for a long time, the only sound our breathing and the fountain trickling in the corner. I begin to drift off when I hear his voice. “Brynne?” “Yeah,” I mumble, fighting to keep my eyes open. Despite my attempts, they grow heavier and heavier. “I want to talk to you for a minute.” “Okay . . .” I accept the fact that my eyes are going to have to stay closed, the relief in not trying to hold open the heavy lids is bliss. He blows out a heavy, defeated breath and I struggle to come out of my twilight. “I really want to talk to you. It’s important.” “Okay.” But I don’t move. I figure he can talk and I’ll listen while I’m snuggled up. “Can you sit up?” “Yeah . . .” But I don’t. Instead, I drift off into a dream about a woman with an elephant necklace.

My hips rise, craving contact. Fenton’s hovering over me, teasing me, tempting me with every fiber of his being. He grins, that flirtatious, come-hither look that causes my core to clench every single time. “You want to know?” he asks, his voice rolling past his lips. “You want to know, rudo?” “I want everything,” I groan, pushing his hips towards me. “I want it all.” “Do you?” His face becomes fuzzy, his skin vanishing under my touch. He’s replaced by a stream of light and my eyelids flutter open. I’m in his bedroom, the sunshine filtering in through the blinds. The fountain has been turned off and Fenton’s side of the bed is empty. I can smell his cologne in the air and smile as I close my eyes and let it permeate my senses. The notes hit every part of me, from my groin to my heart, and I know I’ve slipped too far into the rabbit hole to climb back out. I feel too good in his bed. I don’t know where this is going, but I’m on board, ticket in hand, heart on the line. Rolling off the mattress and onto the floor, I notice his briefcase is missing. I swipe my robe off the chair in the corner and begin my search of the house for my man. “Fent?” I call out, entering the living room. The sea is a brilliant blue, seagulls circling over the water. I could sit on the deck and watch it all day, and I just might do that if I can convince him to sit with me. “Fenton?” I peek into his office and he’s not there. He’s not in the kitchen either, but there’s a note next to the Keurig. Brynne, I had to run to the office this morning. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Please be here when I return. I really want to talk to you. Fenton I run my fingers over the ink, his writing just like him—controlled, masculine, and striking. I slip it into the pocket of my robe and pop a coffee pod in the machine and await the delicious nectar of the

gods. Reading his letter again, something triggers a memory of him wanting to talk to me last night. An unsettled feeling washes over me. What would he want to talk about? Something in his tone last night right before I drifted off tells me it isn’t something I necessarily want to hear. He was too calm, too heavy, too serious. I have no idea what he could want. Everything has been amazing. Grabbing the steaming mug, I head back to the deck and get comfy in a chair. It’s so peaceful, the sun so high in the sky I’m guessing it’s closer to noon than an acceptable time to wake up on a weekday. A few people are on the beach below, walking a dog along the shore. They hold hands, letting their arms swing between them. That’s what I want, I think to myself. Some day, when everything settles down, I want the ease of the couple on the beach. The comfort, the unhurriedness, the trust they seem to have. Fenton has made me realize there’s so much more out there than I ever dreamed. He’s the hero in a movie, the dapper hunk that whisks you off your feet. The one all the girls want and somehow, he seems to want me. No, he does want me. That’s the thing—he doesn’t leave any doubts in my mind. I don’t question it like I did with men before him. He. Wants. Me. My lips twist across my cheek as I take a sip of my coffee and remember the way he looked at me from this very chair last night. I brush the lingering uneasiness out of my mind. Whatever he wants to talk about, we’ll discuss and deal with and move on. A ringing sound chimes inside the house and I place my mug on the little glass table beside me. It rings again and I get up and venture back through the house. I try calling Fenton to see if I should answer, but it goes immediately to voicemail. Standing on my tiptoes, I look out the peephole. A delivery guy in brown is standing holding an envelope. He goes to ring the bell again. I take a deep breath and open the door a sliver. “Can I help you?” I ask. “I have a package for Fenton Abbott.” “He isn’t here right now.” The man glances at the envelope in his hand. “This doesn’t require a signature. Do you want to take it?” he asks impatiently. “Oh! I . . . uh . . . sure.” He hands it through the crack in the door and scrambles back to his truck. Locking up behind me, I head to the kitchen and toss it onto the counter. It slides across the marble and smashes into a basket of fruit, causing apples and pears to go rolling across the hardwood floors. “Shit!” I scoop them up and inspect the damage. Kind of bruised, but not too bad. Popping them back into the basket, the label on the envelope catches my eye. It’s blue and white, a bold, official looking emblem that I think I’ve seen before.

A ball presses in my throat, a feeling of anxiety lodging itself in my windpipe. I flip the manila envelope around until the label is facing me. There’s nothing outstanding about it, nothing that seems out of line. Just a package to Nzou Ltd in care of Fenton. Shrugging and blowing out a breath of relief, I wander back through the house and take my place again on the chair. The sun is warm against my legs and face, but the wind coming over the water keeps it perfect. I soak up the rays, breathing in the fresh air, but I can’t knock the feeling of something being off. My mind scrambles, trying to locate the source of the anxiety. No matter how long I think, what I think about, nothing sticks out. Not one thing. I down the rest of my coffee and make a mental note to call my doctor and get another dose of the anti-anxiety medicine I was on for a while earlier this year. I haven’t needed them in a few months. I always try to not need them, to not depend on them, but sometimes it’s necessary and I don’t want this feeling to spiral out of control and leave me bedridden like it did before. Heading inside to grab another cup of coffee, I figure I’ll go ahead and call the doctor now. Nip this in the bud. My phone is on the coffee table in the living room, so I grab it as I go through. With one hand, I search for my doctor ’s number. With the other, I insert a fresh K-Cup and push the magic button. I turn around and lean against the counter while I scroll my contacts list. I don’t see the number anywhere. Standing, my elbow snags the corner of Fenton’s delivery. My gaze travels across the package once again. Nzou Ltd C/O Fenton Abbott Wait . . . I spin the envelope as the Keurig shuts off behind me. Why does that ring a bell? No, it can’t be. My hand trembles as I pick up my phone and proceed to drop it against the counter top. Grabbing it again, I call my mom. She answers on the second ring. “Mom?” “What’s wrong, Brynne?” “Hey, um, I have a question.” My voice shakes like a leaf in an autumnal windstorm. I keep looking at the letters. “Why is the name N-Z-O-U familiar to me?” “That’s the company Brady was working for. Well, not technically. He was working for Mandla, but the parent company is Nzou. Why?” The phone slips right out of my hands and smacks against the marble. I make no effort to pick it up. I can hear my mother ’s voice, asking me if I’m okay. I’m not sure, Mom . . . “Brynne! Answer me!” she shouts from a few feet away.

I choke back the bile in my throat and try to stay calm. “I’m here,” I say as collectedly as possible. “What’s going on with you? Why did you call to ask me that?” “No reason,” I laugh and even I don’t believe it. “The name just popped in my head randomly and I couldn’t figure out where I’d heard it before.” “I mentioned it to you the other day, I think. But why did you think of it? It’s a rather odd name.” Nzou. Mandla. Ruma. Pano. My shoulders lift and fall dramatically, but I don’t speak. I can’t. My mind is spinning so fast, tumbling out of control, that I can’t put together a response. “Brynne Meghan Calloway. Answer me. Something is wrong with you and I know it.” “I’m fine, Mom,” I lie. “I have to go. I need to get a hold of Presley—” “Brynne . . .” “No, I’m really all right. I’ll call you later, okay?” “If you don’t call me back tonight, I’m coming to see you. Do you understand?” “I do. Love you.” I click off the phone before she can push any father. Dragging the envelope back in front of me, I do a triple check of the words. Could it be a coincidence? Why would Fenton have business with Brady’s business? Did he know Brady? Is he just checking on things, like he did Grant? Filling my strangled lungs with precious oxygen, I try not to jump to conclusions. I know Fenton. There’s nothing to . . . I startle at the sound of the door opening and shoes on the entryway floor. My breathing still, my heart pounding wildly. I wait with a sense of overwhelming dread as the footsteps grow closer. And there he stands all composed in his suit. He assesses me with a swift eye, placing his briefcase down on the floor. The snap of the metal against the wood makes me jostle, my hand moving to my throat. Guardedly, he moves his eyes to the counter and rests them against the envelope. His lips form a thin line before he meets my gaze. I feel it. I feel his desire to bolt from the room, the same one I’m fighting. I want to know what this means, but, then again, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to be crushed, humiliated . . . I don’t want to hate the man standing in front of me. The one I’ve started to fall in love with. “How’s your day?” His tone is clinical, like he’s walked into the office and asked his secretary is she’s having an all right afternoon. He makes no movement towards me, not the typical reaction for him when he sees me. He usually is touching me in some way within a minute and now he seems like he’s encountered a wild badger. “You okay, Brynne?” Hauling in a breath, I nod. “Yeah.” He seems a bit relieved. “Good. What have you done today?” “Woke up. Got some coffee. Sat outside a while.” I pull my robe tighter around me, needing some sort of barrier between us. “Received this envelope for you.”

I slide it across the island. He doesn’t touch it. He just glances down at the address label and soaks in reality. When he looks at me again, his eyes are wide. That sparks my panic. My jaw drops as I try to breathe, try to force air down my constricted throat. My hearing gets blurred, the sounds as he takes a step towards the counter and lifts the offending package dulled by my rapid heartbeat in my ears. “Did you open this?” he asks. “No. Should I have?” He blows out a breath and flops the envelope back on the marble. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a couple of days.” “Now seems like a good time.” “Brynne . . .” He looks at the ceiling and then squeezes his eyes closed. “Can we go sit down in the living room?” “Nope. We can do it right here.” There’s a good few feet in between us and I add a few more by going to the other end of the island. I have a sick, vile feeling in my stomach that this is not going to be a good conversation, and I don’t want to be so close to him that he can touch me. Watching his face pull together, reminiscent of being in pain, my heart cracks. I hate seeing him like this, unsmiling, unjoyful. And I have to remember why he feels this way and not go to him, comfort him like I want to, even now. “I don’t know where to start,” he laments. I wait for him to continue, to look at me, to say something, but he doesn’t. All that comes out of him are tension-filled exhales and that’s not getting us anywhere. “Tell me this,” I say, my voice sounding way more controlled than I feel. “Why does that envelope say Nzou on it?” His gaze snaps to mine, his face ashen. He starts to come around the island, but for every step he takes towards me, I take one back. “Brynne . . .” “Why?” Both hands on the counter, he eyes me warily. “Nzou is my company. I own it.” My entire body goes weak, my shoulders slumping forward. It makes no sense. “Did you know that’s the name of the company my brother works for? It’s the parent company of his contractor. Of Mandla. Did you know that?” Again—silence. But he doesn’t have to respond because his silence says it all. He knew. Of course he knew. He had to know. I, too, hold myself steady with both hands against the counter. “Fenton, I . . . I don’t understand.” “Your brother . . . Brady,” he gulps, “he’s employed by Mandla, a subsidiary of Nzou.” “I . . . how . . .” The room spins, wobbles, shakes as I try to force the information into a puzzle that

makes sense. “I don’t understand.” “Mandla is a security company working in Zimbabwe.” I think I’m going to pass out. My eyes clamp shut to stop the room from rolling and to stop myself from having to watch his reaction. I need words. Only words. Only the truth. “This can’t be happening,” I mutter, resting my head against my forearms. “Mandla was a company of my mother ’s. She was from Zimbabwe, from a family of British immigrants. My father met her there on a hunt, like I told you.” “Pardon my lack of manners,” I say, popping my head up, “but I don’t care about your parents right fucking now.” “Right. Okay. So Mandla was my mother ’s way of pumping my father ’s money back into her home country. It was a humanitarian-only company at first, but after she died, we had a group of our people fired on by insurgents. A couple of them died. It’s gotten really murky there in recent years. I knew I was going to have to provide better security for our workers, so I expanded our repertoire to include security as a whole.” “Fenton,” I sigh, irritation thick in my voice. “Cut to the chase.” “Brady went with us as a medic in the humanitarian aspect of the mission. Just like you already know, he was helping an injured child when he was abducted.” The pain on his face matches mine. It’s a cool, twisted vision of grief and I wonder why, exactly, he’s hurt. Does he know more than he’s letting on? Is he sick about having to come clean? Did he know my brother? “I . . . oh my God,” I sigh, my eyes filling with tears. Anger keeps them from spilling over, an intensity that just builds. “How long have you known who I am?” “Not long,” he swears, his voice abnormally steady. “Why didn’t you tell me this?” “I tried. I wanted to tell you, Brynne, but I was afraid—” “Afraid of what?” I say, feeling the fury roll through my veins. I latch on to it, grab on to the feeling of being bamboozled by this good-looking liar. “Afraid of telling me the truth? Afraid of telling me you’re the one that left my brother to die?” “No, Brynne, no . . .” He comes towards me, but I hold up a hand and laugh in his face. “Don’t come near me,” I seethe. My words pound into him and he takes them with every ounce of the insult I injected. I can see them sear into his consciousness, burn a hole in his heart, and I hope it hurts like hell. “How dare you? How dare you . . . I don’t even know how to put it into words!” I shout. “Are you some kind of sadist?” “Brynne, stop,” he pleads. “You stop. I can’t even process this!” Everything is rocking in my head—ideas, thoughts, possibilities, theories smashing into one side and then the other. I can’t make sense of any of it.

I watch his features fall, his shoulders slump forward as he watches me work through this information. All I know is that I hate him. I hate him in so, so many ways. I pick up my phone and type in a text to Presley. I get a reply immediately that says she’s on her way. “When did you know?” I ask, biting the side of my cheek. The pain is quick and welcome, offsetting the numbness that threatens to overtake me. “When your mother called in Vegas,” he chokes out. “You told me Brady’s story and I started to put two and two together.” “That’s why we came home?” He nods. “How could you do this to me, Fenton? How? How could you let me . . .” My lip quivers, the anger evaporated. The look on his face starts to break me and I won’t let that happen. Running into the master, I shut the door behind me. I need space. I need privacy. I need to go home. He pounds on the door behind me. I hear the words he’s saying—that he’s sorry. That he wants to talk to me. To let him in. But I don’t. I can’t. Letting him in would betray my family, and I’m not going to do that. Tears fall across my cheeks, so hot they sting, as I get dressed. I cram my things back into my bag and look longingly at the bed where, just a few hours before, I lay with him and had all kinds of silly thoughts about what might be, where this might lead. None of the options were this. I realize he’s stopped knocking. My phone buzzes that Presley is at the front door and I tell her I’m coming out. When I open the door to the master bedroom, I catch the end of Presley barreling through a Fenton-opened door, her black hair flowing behind her. Her eyes are wide as she scans the room, and once she finds me, she runs to me. All I can do is look at Fenton. His head in his hands, his back against the wall, he looks as beaten as I feel. “Are you okay?” she asks, running her hands up and down my forearms. I shake my head, the tears coming harder now. “Can we go home?” Her lips pressed into a hard line, she takes my bag and then steps in front of me. “Fuck you, Abbott.” Presley leads me out of the house, but as I walk by, Fenton touches my arm. I don’t have the power to pull it back. “I am so sorry, Brynne.” I just blink through the tears and leave him standing there, a line of wetness flowing down his face too.

My head throbs. Each pump of my blood feels like it’s going to split my skull in two pieces. Or three. Possibly four. I stare off into space at the general direction of my closet, trying to figure out how I got in this position. Nothing seems right. I’ve thought about it all day. The sun is going down, the world behind my windows sunless now. I’ve lain in bed for hours, alternating thinking with crying and doses of sobbing. How can this be happening? I flop onto my back. My body feels hollow. My soul is crushed, my heart splintered with the news that he broke my trust before he even knew he had it. How could he not tell me? How could he lure me in and make me fall in love with him and all the while know that he’s the one person I loathe more than anyone else in the world? He’s the man that won’t tell the truth about what happened that day. He probably paid off Grant and the others. My stomach rolls and I race to the bathroom and spew the three bites of Greek yogurt Presley forced me to eat at lunchtime. I rinse my mouth with water and look at my reflection. I look about as good as I feel. My eyes are swollen, my cheeks now the carriers of burst blood vessels from puking. My face is stained with tears and the agony of realizing I’ve been lied to and played for a fool . . . and that a man I trusted betrayed me. Again. I return to my room and see Presley sitting on my bed. I sit next to her, letting my head fall to her shoulder. “Heya, friend,” she says. “You okay?” “No.” “Can I get you anything?” “I have a couple of snarky comments, but none of them will actually fix anything.” “I know, Brynnie. I’m sorry.” “Me too.”

“You really liked him, didn’t you?” I nod and raise my head, feeling like a fool. “How could he do this to me? How could he not tell me?” “Brynne. Breathe.” I hear Fenton’s ringtone and see my phone in her hand. “He’s been calling you today. I took your phone when you fell asleep.” “I don’t want to talk to him. I have nothing to say.” She frowns. “Are you sure? It seems like you have a lot of questions to me.” “He won’t answer anything,” I snort. I stand, restlessness getting the best of me. My phone goes off again. “Turn it off.” Presley doesn’t look convinced, but she does it. “Ugh!” I growl into the air, tugging at the roots of my hair. “Why, Pres? Why did he have to be him?” “I don’t know. It seems so unfair.” “Unfair? How about asinine? How about the world fucking hates me again? Even after he knew who I was,” I say, still piecing everything together, “he told me he wanted to see where things went with me. He was still leading me on, making me think . . .” I still, my heart breaking again. I look at my best friend and see the pain on her face. “You really were starting to love him, huh?” “Yeah,” I whisper. “But not now. I can’t possibly love him now.” “You can’t turn love on and off, Brynne.” “Watch me.” She stands and heads to the door. “I’m going to grab a shower.” She leaves me alone with my thoughts. My phone lies on my bed and I pick it up and hold it. I know I could turn it on and call him, but the sound of his voice would break me in two. I already miss his touch, miss the smell of him on me. Miss desperately the idea of seeing him again. But I won’t. Because he lied. Because it’s possible I don’t even know who he is. I fall onto the bed and cry myself to sleep. Again.

A soft knock raps against my door. I open my puffy eyes, stinging with the tears that have burned them all day, and struggle to sit up in bed. The sky is dark outside my window and my clock tells me it’s already after eight. My body aches from being contorted in bed, my head feels like I’ve drunk a fifth of whiskey. I’d probably be better off if I had drunk a bottle of something. I try to get my bearings, to figure out if the knock was real or not, when it sounds again. “Come in,” I say, rolling over and flipping on a light. The brightness makes me squint, shielding my vision from the assault. The door squeaks open and I feel the air vibrate with his presence immediately. My body goes on alert, like it always does, when Fenton’s near. I shuffle against the headboard, knowing I must look ridiculous and not sure if I can take seeing him again. Not when the wounds are so fresh. Not when I still haven’t made any sense out of this disaster. Fenton looks awful. His face is lined, his clothes wrinkled. His hair is a mussed-up mess and I wonder how many times he’s had his hands in it. He closes the door behind him, but doesn’t move towards me. I’m glad for that. “Presley let me in,” he says. “She made me promise to not make you cry or she’d blast me with pepper spray on my way out.” I crack a smile, but barely. My face hurts too much. “Brynne, I’m so sorry.” His voice cracks with each syllable, each sound pregnant with so much emotion that it nearly drips from the words. I shake my head, not wanting to hear it. Yet, I do. I want to believe him. I want to wipe this entire thing away. I want Brady home and to have had no links with Fenton at all. I want to be at Fenton’s house, on the deck, with him wearing nothing but his smirk. The thought rips my heart, tears a part of my soul I didn’t know was reachable for another person. Fenton affects me in ways I didn’t know was possible, made me feel happier, more complete, more wanted than any man ever had before. And probably more than any man after him could. But that’s a double-sided coin because for all of the amazing things he can make me feel, he can

also destroy me. And I’m afraid he has. He takes a couple of steps towards me, but the look on my face stops him. “I swear to you, I was going to tell you,” he says, his voice broken. “I tried to tell you a couple of times, but . . .” “But you didn’t, Fenton. You just kept me in the dark.” “Can you imagine what it was like for me for just a minute? I’ve fallen in love with this girl . . .” I gasp, a shaky intake of air that does nothing to balance me. I watch his face, hoping for a smirk, one of his little chuckles, something to tell me that this declaration was a part of our ongoing joke. But I get nothing but a solemn stare that deepens the laceration in my heart. He can’t say this now. He can’t go there. He can’t mean it. My bottom lip quivers and he zeroes in on it immediately. A sharp breath falls from his lips and I can’t fight it anymore. A lone tear trickles down my face. With every centimeter it trails, so does his frown. “Fenton, I can’t do this,” I whisper. “Will you please go?” “Don’t ask me to leave, rudo. Please, don’t ask me to go.” “I can’t do this,” I sniffle. “I don’t understand any of this and I don’t have anything to say to you.” “Ask me questions. You’re always asking me shit. Do it now. Please,” he begs. “Do it now.” The pain on his face is like salt in my wound because even though I’m hurting like hell, I hate that he’s hurting too. I can’t give in and hold him, try to make him smile until I’m sure I can smile too. And I know, in the pit in my stomach, that I may never smile again. “What can I do? Please, baby. Tell me.” “Don’t, Fenton.” “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It wasn’t. I was supposed to explain it to you, break it down so you see what position I was in. That I fell madly in love with you way before I ever knew who you were or that you even had a brother. And by the time I realized it, I knew you’d want me to let you go and that felt . . . impossible.” My tears dredge down my swollen cheeks and I watch him through blurred lenses. “That’s the thing—I don’t know what it was or wasn’t supposed to be. I’m completely gobsmacked over here and I just feel . . .” I can barely see his face through the blinding tears. “I just feel so fucked over.” “I didn’t fuck you over. I’d say circumstances fucked us over—both of us.” “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” “What would you have done, Brynne? What if I would’ve told you that night in Vegas after your mom called and I started figuring it out what I suspected? What if I would’ve said, ‘Hey, Brynne. I think your brother worked for me. I think he’s the reason I haven’t slept all night in fucking months. I think it’s your brother that I’ve spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on to get back to your family. I’m pretty certain it’s your brother ’s disappearance that’s made me turn my company inside fucking out to see what went wrong, what details we’ve missed, so I can do what’s right. What then, Brynne?”

“I would’ve called a cab.” “Which is exactly why I couldn’t do that!” He paces a circle before standing to face me again. “I tried to walk away. I brought you home and told myself I was going to let you go and I’d come find you once we got Brady back.” He looks me straight in the eye. “Because we will get him back.” “You can’t say that! He’s been over there for months and you haven’t managed to do anything!” I glare. “Senator Hyland says you know more than you’re telling us. Is that true?” I snort. “Hell, I probably can’t even believe you.” He takes a couple of large steps and squats in front of me. I can barely breathe as his hands rest on my knees. “Brynne, trust me when I tell you this—I’ve told them everything that can help them get him back.” “So there is more? You fucking asshole!” “Listen to me,” he says, shaking my legs. “I’m doing everything I can, working every angle I can to get Brady home. I have some contacts in Zimbabwe, people my mother knew, people we’re related to, to try to get information on a street level. That’s why the chatter went up. I’ve been applying pressure, pushing to get whatever scrap of information I can. “If I gave that information to the government, they’d go in guns blazing preemptively and my sources would be quiet. They could be killed for relaying information. Zimbabwe is . . . it’s not America, Brynne. Things don’t work there like they do here.” “You have to trust the authorities! You have to tell them things so they can get him back!” He gives an irritated laugh. “I’d rather trust someone that can do something about it. Someone that gives a fuck.” “Someone like who? You?” I laugh, scowling. “Yes. Like me. The authorities don’t give a shit. Your Senator is just looking to look nice in the media, to get some votes. Do you think he’s going to go out on a limb to get Brady?” He watches the tears run down my cheeks again. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that.” “Tell me this then,” I say, another realization slamming into me. “Grant worked for you too, then. Did you know him?” “No, I didn’t.” “How’s that possible?” I demand. “You’re telling me you didn’t know him?” “I didn’t. Think back to the conversation where I told you about my job. I told you I have many companies under an umbrella. Nzou is the umbrella company. I run that. I have people that run Mandla, Grini, the restaurant companies. I don’t know every employee, Brynne. There are thousands of them. It’s just . . . an odd twist of fate.” I grab a tissue off the table beside my bed and dry my face. Deciding whether to believe him or not is too big of a decision right now. So I choose to keep asking questions. “Tell me the truth,” I say, raising my eyebrows in a challenge, “did Grant have something to do with Brady’s disappearance? What do you know that you aren’t telling anyone?” He sighs. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

I snort and roll my eyes, but he cuts off my reaction. “The records show their unit was supposed to be somewhere else that day. Grant and the guy with him that day both claim they were given orders to move locations. There is no proof of that anywhere. Those type of orders are detailed in writing and there’s no evidence whatsoever they were told to go into another area, especially an area where we aren’t authorized.” “But if they weren’t ordered there, why would they have been there?” “I wish I knew, Brynne. It would solve a lot of problems. There are many theories, but none of them have any proof.” I watch his face darken. “So when I was meeting Grant, you already knew who he was.” “Yes,” he admits, looking defeated. “But I had run a background check on him after he got back to the States. We’ve been watching him, trying to see if he does something that gives us some sort of idea what happened over there. But we’ve got nothing, other than he has a new car, a new apartment.” Fenton shrugs. “But I don’t trust the guy. I don’t like him. And I sure as hell don’t want you around him.” Blowing out a breath, my shoulders sag with the weight of my world. “You have to know that I’m doing everything I can to get your brother back. And I was doing that before I met you.” He kneels in front of me, his hands on my lap. I want to brush him away, push him back, but I don’t. His closeness gives me strength, comforts me, even though I don’t want it to. I don’t reach out to him, I make no effort to make him think he should try anything more. But I let him stay like he is. “Can you get him back?” I ask. “I’m doing everything I can legally.” “What do you mean?” “There are things I can’t do. It’s against the law for me to negotiate with Nekuti because they’re technically terrorists. I can’t have an open dialogue with them on the record. Everything I do is supposed to be through the pre-approved channels.” He hesitates. “If I get caught even trying to reach them through my sources in Africa, I could be put in prison, Brynne. I’d definitely lose Mandla. There’s a lot on the line. I have to try to work the system on the ground to get him out, but with the laws we have to work under, both American and Zimbabwean, it’s . . . difficult.” “So my brother just sits and rots then? Because no one can figure out how to get him back?” He lifts up to a standing position, his face somber. “I’m doing everything I can.” “Try fucking harder.” “Do you hate me now?” “Yes.” His head falls forward and I feel bad for saying that. But I’m so damn angry, so hurt, so betrayed that I don’t care enough to take my words back. “Can I ask you something?” he asks, his words floating on a bead of hope. “Sure. I, unlike you, will answer.”

He starts to retort something cocky, but wisely refrains. Instead, he says, “If I hadn’t had a tie with Brady, if there was no connection at all, where would you be right now?” A small, sad smile slides across my face. I wanted to be with him, in his bed, on the balcony— anywhere. Just with him. “Come home with me, Brynne,” he breathes. I look at the blankets, unable to see the grief on his face. I can’t trust him. I can’t betray Brady by being with him. I can’t. So I shake my head no. “Will you see me tomorrow?” he asks. “I won’t see you again, Fenton,” I say, summoning the courage to continue. To do what has to be done. “Ever.” The words break me, destroy me, and I grab a pillow and sob into it. My world falls apart while he watches me. He doesn’t make a move to comfort me and that’s just as well. It would only make feeling him pull away hurt even more. “I can’t watch you cry,” he says, his voice breaking. “Not knowing I did this.” “Then leave,” I hiccup. “Come with me. Come home, let me take care of you. Please, rudo.” Using the back of my hand, I wipe the tears and snot off my face. It’s not my most ladylike gesture, but I’m in survival mode. “You told me to trust you. You said that to me once. Do you remember?” He nods, dragging in a deep breath. “I did. I trusted you. Why I did, I’ll never know because you seemed too good to be true.” A little laugh rolls out, a laugh at my own stupidity. “You were like all these little checkboxes marked off in one man, and you, for whatever reason, liked me.” “I—” I hold up a hand, silencing him. “It was way too easy to trust you. To just see wherever this ended up. And now . . . I see this whole thing was built on the biggest lie—” “I didn’t lie to you!” “Omissions are lies!” I shout right back. “You just pulled me in, all the while knowing I hated you! I just didn’t know it was you!” The sobs come heavy again and I hear Presley at the door. She pushes it open and watches me fall apart. Shooting a glare at Fenton, she sits next to me on my bed and holds my hand. “You need to leave,” Pres fires at him. “Now.” He gives me a sad smile and turns to go. Before he’s out of sight, he pivots on his heels and faces me one last time. “I will get your brother back. If it’s the last thing I do, your brother will come home. And when you start to question that, feel the necklace around your neck and remember what you know about me.” He holds my gaze for a long second, his eyes telling me a million words that I can’t process. He then looks at Presley. “If she needs anything at all, call me. Please. I’ll fix this. Somehow,

I’ll fix this.” He takes a deep breath and tries to smile, but fails. “And Brynne?” “Yeah?” I choke out. “I wasn’t just pretending to fall in love with you. I really did.” He disappears and I crumble in Presley’s arms.

The steam from my coffee billows from the top of my cup. The steam rises, making a quick rise and then disappearing into the air. Anyone watching me sit at the kitchen counter would think I’m completely enthralled with it. But, in reality, I’m not really even sitting here. I’m somewhere else, mentally, anyway, trying to put the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle back together. And along with it, pieces of my heart. It’s been three days since Fenton walked out of my house. It’s been three days since I really had anything to eat and the waistband of my pajama bottoms are hanging loose off my hips. It’s been that many days, too, since I’ve been out of the house. I don’t even know the last time I brushed my teeth. I roll my tongue across my mouth and make a face. Lifting myself off the stool, I head to the bathroom and run a toothbrush around my teeth. The energy it takes is more than I have. Lifting the coffee to my mouth earlier, which only happened once because the taste repulsed me for the first time in my life, took more gumption than I could manage. The one constant in the last three days is the elephant necklace. I see it dangling in my reflection, lying flat against my sternum. I’ve tried to remove it, attempted to force myself to take it off and mail it back to Fenton, but I don’t. I can’t. The weight of it against my skin, the reassurance of it on my body brings me a bit of comfort. I hate that it does. Even so, it’s a tangible memory of a happy time in my life, even if it was under false pretenses. “Hey, you,” Presley says from the doorway. “You okay?” “Yeah.” “You work this afternoon, right?” I nod, wishing I could call off, but I can’t because I spent all of my vacation and sick days when I went away with Fenton. “I hate seeing you like this,” she sighs, leaning against the doorjamb. “What can we do to perk you back up?” “Make it all go away. Make me not lose my phone in the bananas. Make my brother listen to me and not go to Africa.” “Has Fenton called you at all?” “Nope.” I lean against the counter, my shoulders slumping. “Not that I wanted him to, but . . .”

“But you wanted him to,” she finishes. “It’s okay, Brynnie. It’s normal to feel like that.” “But I shouldn’t. I should want to gouge his eyes out with a fiery poker.” “Well, if his poker was as fiery as you say . . .” “Now’s not the time for jokes, Pres.” She laughs anyway, almost making me crack a grin. “Maybe you should call him.” “And say what?” “I don’t know. Say whatever you’re thinking.” I walk by her and into the living room. “That’s the problem, Pres. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I have no freaking clue. One minute I’m over here,” I say, motioning to my right. “And the next, I’m way over there. Like in the kitchen over there. I can’t get a grip.” I sink onto the sofa and let my head fall in my hands. “You want to know what I think?” “Do I have a choice?” “Not really,” she laughs, sitting in the chair across from me. “I think you feel so confused because you fell in love with him.” “No,” I say, jerking my face to hers. “I’ve decided that I couldn’t have fallen in love with him.” “Right,” she laughs sarcastically. “Think about it. If he was just the stepping stone from Grant to whomever, then you’d have the loathing of Cashmere that you’re trying to have.” “I’m not trying to have it.” “You are, Brynne.” I try to keep my features smooth, to not let her know she just pegged me. Because it’s true. I’ve been trying to hate him and as the days go on, it just gets harder. I think back to him saying he loved me and to the way he held me, looked at me, felt against me, and it’s just so hard to hate him. Nothing I experienced when I was with him makes me think he’s hateful or careless or distrustful. Except that he is who he is. But how can I trust him? How can I trust anything he said? “What if he really didn’t know who you were,” Presley says, feeling me out. “It doesn’t matter.” “It matters to you now because you have feelings for him.” “So you’re taking his side now?” I blurt. “No, I’m on your side always. I’m just saying . . .” I rise off the couch, my irritation with her higher than it should be, and I know it’s just because I’m a mental case at the moment. “I gotta get ready for work.” I march down the hall and shut the door to my room behind me. Blanking everything out other than what I have to do, I open my closet to grab something to wear to work. The first thing I see is the yellow dress I wore to dinner with Fenton. I can’t help it. I sit on my bed and let the tears flow.

“Y ou look like shit.” “Thanks, Pres,” I say, not bothering to even look her direction. I keep my eyes trained on the television, to some redhead that is figuring out whether the baby she had tested was her husband’s or not. It’s oddly entertaining. I feel bad for her husband; he seems like a nice guy. The other potential DNA donor is a complete douche. Of course she blames the husband for her affair, which makes me want to pull her hair out. People need to own up to their own mistakes, even if it doesn’t make any difference. The television switches off and Presley stands in front of it, hands on her hips. “Seriously, Brynne. Get in the shower and let’s do something.” “I don’t want to.” “I didn’t ask.” “Damn it, Presley,” I groan, getting off the couch and knocking over an empty carton of Ben & Jerry’s. “I just want to be left alone.” “You’ve been left alone more or less for a week now. How you’ve managed to eat nothing but ice cream and look like you’ve lost ten pounds is beyond me, by the way,” she rolls her eyes. “But I’m done watching you wallow.” “I’m not wallowing.” I toss my tangled hair over my shoulder and head into the kitchen. I rummage around the freezer for more ice cream, but we’re out. “You are wallowing, and I’m sorry to tell you, it’s pathetic.” The freezer slams shut. I glare at her. “Bite me.” “I’m not really into that, but the guy I saw last weekend would probably work a threesome.” My eyes narrow. Hers widen. “Brynne, seriously, get a grip.” I sink against the refrigerator, the cool stainless steel rippling through my robe. It’s oddly distracting and more than welcome. I play with the elephant charm around my neck, still unable to take it off. Like Fenton said, when I feel like I’m going to break, I touch it and try to find something calming in the charm. Strangely, it works a little.

“You’re being hateful,” Presley points out. “I can be a bitch too, but it’s not going to get us anywhere. So just stop it.” My best friend’s face falls and so do my spirits. Although I didn’t think it was possible for them to sink any further, the depths at which they now sit is remarkable. I feel like shit. It’s not Presley’s fault I’m in this state of despair and I’m making her pay the piper. So not fair. “I get it,” Presley says. “You’re lashing out at me because I’m the closest person to you. But I’m done with taking it lying down. This entire thing needs to be dealt with.” “How?” I sigh. “That’s the problem. I don’t know how to deal with it. There isn’t an acceptable answer.” “Being acceptable is a matter of perspective. There is no right or wrong answer, Brynnie.” “No, there is,” I groan, heading back to the sofa. I hear her steps behind me. I step over the empty carton and curl back up on the cushions. “The right answer is that he lied to me.” I watch her unfold in a chair. “You know, the first time I had dinner with him, he offered me money to go away with him. I wonder now—did he know who I was then? Was that some kind of weird way of making it up to my family?” “You’re really stretching this.” “Am I? Maybe him finding my phone was an odd coincidence, but then luring me away, offering me money, making me fall in love with him?” “Ah,” Presley breathes, leaning back in her chair. “Now we’re getting somewhere!” “No, we aren’t.” “No, we are.” “What does it even matter?” I sigh. “He betrayed me.” She bites her bottom lip and gives me her best pensive face. “I disagree.” “Of course you do.” “Think about it. What if he was just too scared to tell you who he was? What if he felt so strongly about you that he knew you’d walk away and he was too scared of that?” “So that makes it okay?” “I’m not saying what he did is okay. He should’ve told you, Brynne. There’s no two ways about that. But he messed up. We all do it. And maybe he did it for the very best, romantic reasons.” I groan, sitting upright. “You’re still forgetting the fact that he’s behind Brady being missing! Let’s not forget that, all right? My brother is in the middle of Africa, in the hands of a bunch of complete barbarians, and it’s Fenton that hasn’t gotten him back!” Presley takes a deep breath and folds her hands on her lap. I know this look. She’s getting ready to say something she thinks is going to make me fly off the handle, and she’s trying to get in her best diplomatic form. I brace myself for what comes next. “Why is this his fault?” she asks, her voice low.

“Because he owns the company!” I nearly shout. “And maybe Fenton has done everything he can, Brynne. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to not care, not after everything you’ve told me about him and what I’ve seen out of him before all this happened.” My phone rings on the table in front of me and I glare at her as I pick it up, not so much because I’m mad at her but more so she stops talking. I don’t want to discuss this with her anymore. I want her to just let me be pissed, let me blame Fenton, and not try to make things foggier. That makes them hurt worse and each time the pain goes up a bit, I think that’s the top. “Hello?” I say without looking at the screen. “Hi, Brynne,” my mother says. “Mom? How are you?” I watch Presley get up and disappear down the hall. My heart aches that we argued, but I know she won’t hold it against me. I’ll still apologize later, but I shouldn’t have lashed out at her. “Senator Hyland’s office called a little bit ago and talked to your father,” she says, her voice trembling just a touch. “He told us to brace ourselves.” “Why?” I gulp, my stomach bottoming out. “Nekuti has made demands. Money, a prisoner exchange, and a bunch of crazy foreign policy requests. And . . .” her voice breaks at the idea and I hear her crying softly. “You know they won’t be met.” The sounds are muffled, like she has a tissue over her face and the image smashes any semblance of emotional control I’ve managed to attain. “Oh, Mom” I say, trying to sound strong but failing miserably. There’s no strength left in me at all. “What will I do? How can I live without my son?” My lips tremble and I wish desperately for a set of arms around my shoulders. I feel so unbelievably alone, so stripped naked, and there’s nothing I can do to comfort myself or my mother. She sobs on the other end, a hushed racking of emotion. I hear my father ’s whispers and it relieves me a little to know he’s there with her. “I can’t live without him,” she cries. “He’s my baby boy, my first born, the one that taught me to be a mother. I just want him home.” “Me too, Mom,” I say through my own tears. “Me too.” The line jostles and my father ’s deep timbre comes through. “You okay, Brynne Girl?” “No.” He laughs somberly. “Me either. Just keep praying. Keep holding on.” “I will. Do you want me to come home, Daddy?” “Unless you need us, I think you’re better off staying there. It’s just a pit of despair here. Everything revolves around Brady all day and you need to go to work, go to school, you know? Life must go on.” “Okay.”

“I’m going to go take care of your mother. This has hit her pretty hard. Donna is staying a few more days.” His voice breaks and the sound of my father, the strongest man I know, cracking, pummels me. “We gotta make it through this.” “We will,” I say through my own tears. “I love you, Daddy.” “I love you too. I’m gonna go now and be with your Mom.” “Yes, go. I’ll talk to you soon.” I click the phone off and look up to see Presley standing in the doorway. I don’t know how much she heard, but apparently enough to get the gist of what happened. She doesn’t say a word, just marches across the room and pulls me into a huge hug. “It’ll be all right, Brynnie.” “I don’t know anymore,” I sniffle, releasing her. “The demands have been made and they won’t be met.” She sits beside me and looks at me curiously. “Could Fenton know anything else?” “I don’t know. Maybe?” I mull it over. “Even if he does, would he even tell me?” “I think you should call him. Just see.” ”You think?” She nods and hands me my phone. “Just see.” I hold the phone in one hand and dry my face with the other. I flip through the phone, my fingers shaking with anticipation. I find his name and call. It rings three times before his voicemail picks up. My spirits crash in spectacular fashion. Once his prerecorded message plays, I say, “Hi, Fenton. It’s Brynne. My mom said there’s been a development, and I was wondering if you knew anything about that. I’d, um, like to know if you do. Thanks.” I end the call. “He sent me to voicemail.” I rest my head on Presley’s shoulder, crushed. “He’s probably done with me. He hasn’t called or texted in days, anyway. I don’t know why I think he would’ve answered now.” “Maybe he’s busy.” “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe this was some big game to him.” “You know that’s not true,” she scoffs. “I saw that man’s face the other night. He was as fucked up as you about this whole thing.” “He should be. I hope he’s miserable.” Presley grins and stands, surveying the state of my existence. “Okay, you get a shower. I’ll order food and we can sit around and watch movies tonight and not think about all of this. Deal?” “Shower. Ice Cream. And Netflix. That’s a deal.” “I’ll take it,” she laughs, throwing her hands up. “Get in the shower and I’ll go get some Rocky Road.”

“I never thought I’d say I’m tired of eating ice cream,” Presley says, dropping a spoon into a container, “but the day has come.” She sits the box down and rubs her stomach. “I think I might be sick.” “You’re weak.” My lips wrap around another spoonful of Rocky Road. The chocolatey, marshmallowy goodness is probably the fourth quart I’ve put away in as many days. It’s comfort food at its finest, and comfort is what I need, although it’s not being entirely forthcoming. The movie flips off, a throwback Julia Roberts flick about a best friend getting married. I’m not sure why Presley chose a movie where the heroine doesn’t get the guy, but I eye her suspiciously. “What?” she asks. “Just wondering why you picked this movie out of all the movies in the world.” “I’ve always liked this one,” she declares. “It proves that sometimes not getting what you think you want is the best thing. That, you know, there are multiple good endings.” I toss her a look that lets her know I think she’s full of crap and reach for my buzzing phone. My body is sore from lying on the couch for however many days and it takes more effort than normal to reach that far. The number on the screen is not one I know, but I answer it anyway. “Hello?” “Is this Ms. Calloway?” A man’s voice, calm and collected, asks. It’s not a voice I’ve heard before and something about the way he addresses me makes me nervous. “It is. Who is this?” “My name is Duke Canon. I work for Fenton Abbott as the Director of Operations for Mandla.” I slink back in the chair, letting my mind run away with me. The sound of Fenton’s name makes my heart flutter. “What can I do for you?” Presley leans forward, not bothering to pretend that she’s not listening. “Mr. Abbott wanted me to call you this evening for a few reasons. First of all, I’ve sent an envelope to you by courier. It should reach you at some point within the next hour if you haven’t received it already.” “I haven’t,” I say, my throat dry. “What’s it about?”

“I’m not sure. He left it for me to forward. And also, I wanted to tell you that an entire, complete copy of your brother ’s employment history can be obtained on Monday, if you wish.” “What?” I choke out. My mind spins, going through a million different reasons why I would want, or need, that. “I can have it sent by courier as well, or you can pick it up. That is, if you want it.” “Yeah, I guess I do,” I stammer, still working out what this means. “Monday? Why can’t I have it now?” “Again, Ms. Calloway, I’m following orders. I will say that it’s highly unusual and potentially unlawful for us to give out this information. And between us, I would ask that you not turn this over to the authorities. Mr. Abbott could risk losing his company over this and Mandla is more of a family heirloom to my boss than anything.” “I understand,” I say, touching the elephant around my neck. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. Can you please have it sent to me?” I ask, hearing the doorbell ring. Presley jumps up to get it and I watch her leave the room. “Mr. Canon, I have a question.” “Sure.” “I called Fenton tonight and he didn’t answer. Do you know where he is?” “He’s unavailable, Ms. Calloway. That’s all I can say.” Presley comes into the room, a large envelope in her hand. She places it next to me on the sofa and takes her seat across from me. “I got your envelope,” I say, looking at Fenton’s handwriting across the package. It makes me smile. “Did you know my brother, Mr. Canon?” A long sigh trickles through the phone. “I did not. However, I know Mr. Abbott thinks a great deal of Brady. When the reports came in that he was missing, my boss was beside himself. They met, from what I understand, very randomly one afternoon when Brady was in the office signing paperwork. They struck a conversation up about the Dodgers and had lunch, I believe.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m talking entirely off the record when I say that your brother must have been an amazing person for Mr. Abbott to have done some of the things he has in order to try to secure his return. Please know that. It’s the truth.” My heart swells at the possibility, at the thought that maybe, just maybe, Fenton didn’t leave him there. I hold on to the thought for a long minute before Mr. Canon speaks again. “I’ll send the other package to you next week, Ms. Calloway. Have a good night.” “You too.” I toss the phone beside me and look at Presley, stunned. “Who was that?” she asks, her brows pulled together. “Someone that works for Fenton. He sent this,” I say, scooping up the envelope, “and told me Fenton tried . . . is trying to get Brady back.” A small smile slips across Presley’s cheeks. We exchange a look, one of hope, before she full-out grins. “I knew he wasn’t a complete asshole.”

I laugh, a drop of hesitation in my tone. “I hope not, Pres.” I rip open the top of the envelope and pull out a single sheet of paper. It’s on Nzou Ltd letterhead and handwritten. Brynne, I called to say these things to you a hundred times and a hundred times I hung up the phone before it could ring. I suppose that makes me weak, but I can’t hear the break in your voice when you answer and hear it’s me—if you do answer at all. I know you’re angry at me and rightfully so. But know I didn’t hurt you on purpose and I was going to tell you everything. You have to know I didn’t realize who you were until Vegas. I swear on everything I am, rudo. Every time I got ready to spill it, I would put it off for another day, just so I had one more day with you in case it didn’t go as planned. Because the thought of hurting you and maybe never seeing you again wasn’t one I could deal with. Remember when we talked about losing someone being the more painful part of life? Losing you is the worst feeling I can ever imagine. The world works in mysterious ways. I had never been into Angel’s until the day I found your phone. I only stopped because I checked out a new gym in that area and my housekeeper was on vacation. I never go shopping, and on the rare occasion I do, it’s not anywhere near your house. And there I met you. It’s all kismet, Brynne. Although I hate I have anything to do with Brady’s disappearance, in a way, I’m glad I do. Because that means someone—me—is involved and gives a shit about what happens to Brady. Even if this ruins your perception of me, I wouldn’t give away the opportunity to do this for you. To bring your brother home. Because I will, regardless of what it takes. Even if you won’t see me again, know I wouldn’t trade the last few weeks for anything in my life. You’ve waltzed into my life and made everything better. I hate that it couldn’t have been at another place and time so that I could still have you next to me, waiting for me when I got home, ordering bikinis from the concierge. Those were the best days of my life. Love, Fent The paper drops to my lap and I look wide-eyed at Presley. My wits are wound together in a tight little ball, everything I feel, hope, dream, hate, fear are all coiled together. It’s impossible to see where one emotion starts and the other ends. My bottom lip quivers and I wish he was here right now. I’m not any less angry, maybe even more so, but I need him. I need his arm around my waist, his lips against my forehead, his words of encouragement in my ear. “What did he say?” Presley asks. I don’t answer her. I can’t put into words what he did. I can’t make her understand his sentiments. Instead, I pick up the phone and dial his number. It rings three times and goes to voicemail again.

The fresh air feels good against my skin as I walk along the beach. There aren’t a lot of people this morning, just me and a bunch of seagulls swooping over the water. It’s still early, the sun not directly overhead yet, and I’m glad I slipped out of the house before Presley woke up. I needed this time by myself. I sat in the sand for a long time and looked across the rolling sea. The water soothed me, calmed me, brought a little peace to my battered heart. Now I walk along the waterline, a couple of runners passing me and giving me a little wave. I smile back and think I should be running too, but there’s no one chasing me, so that’s not really a possibility. “Hang in there, Brady,” I whisper, my voice drowned out by the waves. “I don’t know how, but we’ll bring you home. We’re trying so hard. We all miss you so much.” I don’t feel panicked or shaky or like crying. A bit of serenity has dipped into my psyche, a calm I went to bed with and was pleasantly surprised to find still around when I woke up. “There’s this guy, someone I think you know, actually.” I blow out a breath, letting the wind take it away. “I really like him, Brady. He’s handsome and kind and all the things I wanted in a man. But he lied to me about you. And I don’t know if I can trust him, although my heart says I can. But what does it know? You said to always trust your heart, but it’s the one organ I’m starting to question.” My fingers hold on to the elephant around my neck as I pad across the sand. The sun comes out from behind a big, fluffy cloud and shines on my face. I know I’m right. For the first time, I know I can’t trust him and things between us will never work out. Whether that’s fair or not, I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. I turn up the beach and head to my car parked in the lot on the cliff. Once there, I hop inside and see my phone displaying a missed call. My heart sinks when I see it’s Fenton. I hold it in my hands, trying to decide whether to call him back or not. I want to, the thought of hearing his voice is like a Siren’s call, yet I just decided it was better to just write him off. Before I can decide, it rings in my hand again and I can’t help myself. I answer it. “Hello?” “Brynne?” His voice is muffled, like he’s talking through a sweatshirt. “Yes. Fenton? What’s going on?”

“Hang on.” After a little rustling, everything clears. “Sorry about that. I basically have to stand on one foot to get good reception,” he sighs. “It’s so good to hear your voice.” “Yours too,” I smile. It sounds just like I remember it—smooth and warm like cashmere, although a little more tired since the last time I heard it. I wonder what he’s been doing and who he’s been with, and if he’s been happy or sad or working. “I called you yesterday.” “I got your message this morning. I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I was busy.” I wait for it to rub me the wrong way, but it doesn’t. I hope he was busy trying to find Brady, but I don’t ask. I don’t want to spoil the moment because, right now, I don’t hate him. “Will you meet me for dinner tonight?” he asks. My breath hitches in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself not to blurt out that I will. Because I shouldn’t. It’ll make things worse. “Please, Brynne,” he pleads. “I know where you’re coming from and I understand. Just . . . give me an hour to talk. I want to talk, do you get what I’m saying? I want to tell you things, explain things. And after that, if you don’t want to hear from me again, that’s up to you. But hear me out. Please.” “Okay,” I breathe before I can change my mind. “Be at Ruma at six. Unless you need a ride and in that case—” “No,” I interject. “I’ll be there at six.” “I can’t wait to see you.” “I’ll be there.”

There has been an air of urgency this evening. Presley had to basically dress me, do my hair, and put me into my car. I couldn’t function because all I could do was flip out that I was seeing him again, and then flip out again because I felt like I shouldn’t be. I’m a walking, talking, stumbling heap of confusion and I can’t force any of the puzzle pieces in front of me to go the right way. The valet whisks me inside Ruma so quickly I can barely keep up. My heart is pounding so hard and loud that by the time we reach the door to the private room, I can only see the server ’s mouth move; I can’t hear anything she says. She swings the door open, her lips moving and then twisting into a smile, and I step across the threshold. The door creaks shut behind me. Fenton’s already here. His clean, spicy scent floats breezily through the air, a complete contradiction to the tornado I feel inside. He comes around the corner and I literally can’t breathe. I force the air in and out, make myself remember that I have to have air or else I’d just pass out. Talk about contradictions—this is it. He’s in deep grey dress pants and a white button-up shirt. The sleeves are rolled up, giving him a look of casualness. But I know the look in his eye, the way they crinkle at the corners, the way his lips are pulled tight—he’s not feeling carefree in the least. He doesn’t peruse my body like he once did. He doesn’t try to remove my clothes, make me combust under his gaze. Instead, his eyes plead with mine, burn into me with all the angst he’s apparently holding inside. I remind myself not to cave. That things between us are different now and they’ll never be the same. They won’t. They can’t. And as much as I want to run to him, press my face against his chest and feel his arms wrap around me, that’s impossible now. Fenton starts to speak but catches himself. With a slight shake of his head, like he’s unsure what to say or how to act, he takes a couple of tentative steps towards me. “How are you?” I ask, my voice pitchy. “Fine,” he says, extending his hand to mine. “How are you?” “Fine.” I watch his hand dangle in the air between us. I don’t take it. Taking it would be insinuating that we are at some sort of level like we were before, that touching is okay. I can’t break that boundary.

His hand drops to his side. “Come this way.” He turns and heads to the little table by the windows. I follow a few steps behind, watching him move in front of me. His posture is rigid, his shirt slightly wrinkled in the back. He pulls out a chair and I sit before he takes the one across from me. There’s no food, just two glasses of red wine and one candle that’s been pushed off to the side. There’s nothing between the two of us besides the expanse of the table itself. He catches me noticing and clears his throat. “I didn’t order. If you want something, we can get it. I just thought . . .” “No, you’re right. I don’t want anything either.” “Did you get my letter?” “Yes.” He blows out a deep breath and the candle flickers with the force of the exhale. The exhaustion in his face, the stress in his body kills me, and my resistance crumbles a bit. I realize what Presley said while she helped me get ready is true—this is so hard because I do love him. Fenton glances at his watch and forces a swallow. “I’m just going to cut to the chase.” “Sounds good.” “Everything I’ve told you is the truth. I want you to know that.” His voice is firm, controlled, his eyes boring into mine. “From how Brady started working for me to what happened with him in Zimbabwe, to how hard I’ve worked to get him back to how I knew you were you and when I knew it —it’s all the absolute truth, Brynne. I might be guilty of omitting the truth, but I have never lied to you. My omissions may have been the wrong thing to do, they probably were the wrong thing to do, but I did it because I knew there was a chance you’d leave me and I didn’t want that. I knew it would feel like this.” He chuckles to himself. “No, it feels worse than I even imagined.” His face falls and so does my heart. “I have never felt this way about a woman. Never. I’ve never considered that I’d ever feel the way I saw my father look at my mother. And now I know without a doubt what that feels like because that’s how I feel when I look at you. I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life but that—seeing that look on your face—it’s the worst thing I’ve ever had to deal with.” “Fenton . . .” “Let me finish, please.” He looks at his watch again and takes a deep breath. “I want you to know I love you. And not because you hate me or because I feel guilty or because I feel like I wronged you or want you to absolve me of guilt. I love you because . . . my life is better with you in it. Because you make me want to be a better man. Because you blur things. Because when you’re around, I feel like things are the way they’re supposed to be.” He forces a swallow, a few beads of sweat dotting his forehead. “Because you make me want to do anything I can, without fail, to protect you and give you everything that makes you happy.” Tears burn my eyes as I watch his absolute sincerity. My resolve crumbles because I know he means it, and I feel the same way.

“I knew better,” I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “Better than what?” “Better than to fall in love with you.” My words flutter through the air and he smiles as they hit him, and I can’t help but smile back. “Even if I believe you and that you were going to tell me— because I want to believe you, Fenton, I do. Even if I do, there’s still this part of me that will always wonder about what you knew about Brady. I can’t—” A loud knock raps through the room and we both jump. My arm knocks over one of the glasses of wine and it spills off the table and onto the floor, splashing as it hits. The sound pitters through the room, an eerie, steady background to the chaos ensuing in front of us. The sweat on his forehead increases two-fold and he reaches for my hand. His eyes drill into mine. “Listen to me. I love you. Okay? No matter what happens, you have to know that.” “What’s going on?” “Brynne,” he pleads. “Do you hear me? I love you. I. Love. You—” The knock sounds again and echoes through the room again, cutting him off. My heart is in my throat, my legs shaking as I try to stand as Fenton does. The next few seconds play out in a whirlwind, and I can only stand by and watch as the door swings open. Fenton shoots me one final glance and braces himself. “Mr. Abbott? FBI.” The words come from one of three men in suits, their faces somber, streaming through the door. They make a beeline for Fenton. As they draw closer, I attempt to round the table to stand next to him. To hold his hand. Maybe to protect myself and maybe to protect him. I’m not sure. I just need to be close, but he waves me off, casting me a sad, resigned smile. I halt, a lump in my throat. The burly man flashes a badge towards Fenton, eyeing me quickly, and then faces him dead on. “Mr. Abbott, you’re going to need to come with us.” Fenton nods like he knew it was coming before placing his arms at the base of his spine. Handcuffs are swatted onto his wrists immediately, the chains rattling as they cuff him. “What’s happening?” I shriek, panic ripping through me. I take a step towards him. I’m stopped by one of the men from getting any closer. “Stand back, Miss.” Fenton looks straight ahead—not at me. Not at the man. Not at anything but the painting in front of him. “Fent!” I say, too scared to cry, too scared to ask questions. But he won’t look at me. He just stares straight ahead. My head spins, my jaw hanging open, my tears coming so fast I can’t see through them. I hear murmurs through the buzzing in my ears as I watch Fenton being led out of the room. He gives me one final glance, a look filled with such sorrow it breaks me in absolute pieces, as they pause in the doorway. “I love you,” I say, my voice shaking so hard the words are hard to make out.

“I love you.” A sad smile on his face is the last thing I see before they disappear from sight. My hand trembles uncontrollably as I search for my bag, unable to take my eyes off the doorway. I grasp frantically to find my purse, through the puddles of spilled wine, until I find it on an extra chair. I swipe it up and rummage through it to find my phone as I head to the door. I don’t know what to do, where to go. I have no idea what just happened. Fear and uncertainty tear me into shreds, making it hard to breathe, let alone to focus. A valet meets me at the threshold and gives me a tepid smile. “Ms. Calloway?” “Where did he go?” I cry, wiping the tears from my face. “He said you may need a ride home. Can I drive you?” “I . . . I . . .” I fall onto a settee, my sobs wracking my body. “I can take you anywhere you want.” “No,” I sputter, not wanting to be anywhere with some strange man. “I’ll call my friend to come and pick me up. What just happened? Who were those men?” “I’m sorry. I don’t know.” I bury my head in my hands and feel the hot liquid pour through my fingers. “I’ll be on the other side of the door if you need anything. Please, take your time.” The door shuts softly and I find my phone, but don’t want to leave. I don’t want to call Presley. I want Fenton and right here is the closest I feel to him. Rolling my phone over in my hand, I scroll through my contacts until I find my mother ’s name. I’ve tried to keep this from her, but I need a friend and I need my mom. I press the call button and attempt to reel myself in before she answers and I completely freak her out. The line picks up and there are so many voices on the other side I can’t keep them straight. “Hello?” I ask, trying to make sense of the chaos. “Brynne! Is that you, little sister?” I drop the phone. It smashes against the floor, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. Surely I’m hearing things. I’m so overwhelmed I’m hallucinating. Scooping it up, I put the phone to my ear again. I can hear my harsh breathing through the speaker. “Who is this?” I ask. “Brynne! I’m home!” “Brady?!” The room spins like a top and I spring to my feet anyway. I wobble on my heels, the room starting to twirl. The spinning gets faster and faster, and as Brady begins to speak, I hit the floor and darkness settles over me.

The trees zip by, the outside nothing but a blur as Presley drives like a bat out of hell. I know we’re flying faster than we should be. But still, it feels like we’re creeping along, puttering down the dark highway. I lean over and check the speedometer. “Can we go any quicker?” “Not if you want to get there in one piece and without getting pulled over,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m going as fast as I can, Brynne. How do you feel, by the way? You freaked out the guy at the restaurant with your little fainting spell.” “I’m fine. I think. I don’t know.” I rest my head against the window and glance at my phone again. My head is a disaster, swimming from Brady to Fenton to the feeling of complete and utter helplessness that I can’t alleviate. Trying to talk to my brother on the phone was useless; my mother ’s back-and-forth of wailing and cheering makes it impossible to hear. All I know is that he’s okay, he’s home, and I’ll be seeing him in approximately eleven minutes. Presley gives me a sympathetic glance and presses forward, working our way through the night. I look again at my phone, silently praying to see a message from Fenton, but there’s nothing. No call. No text. I even check my email, although he doesn’t have my address, but it’s empty too. As is my heart. Brynne, do you hear me? I love you. My throat squeezes as I force a swallow down the constricted tube. I don’t know what to think, what to believe. I try to gulp passed the tears I feel building, will them to go away, but my emotions are more powerful than my control. My lashes wet as they spill over, making their way down my cheeks. The look on his face. The way he glanced at me over his shoulder, his beautiful face crinkled, lined with concern and frustration. I can only imagine the horrified look I gave him back, and I wish in retrospect I had given him a smile or some sort of encouragement. “It’s going to be okay, Brynne.” “Brady’s back,” I smile, but the jazz that should be leeching out of my tone isn’t there. It’s dampened with the loss of another man, another one I love. “He is,” she smiles, more brightly than me. “He’s home and he’s safe and we’ll be seeing him in

just a few minutes. And Fenton will be okay too.” “You don’t know that.” “Nah, I do.” “We don’t even know why they whisked him away, Pres. Duke isn’t answering, the staff and the restaurant looked and seemed as clueless as me. No one will tell me anything.” “Just don’t get overwhelmed.” She looks at me out of the corner of her eye and snorts. “Well, no more than you already are. Just take it one step at a time. Fenton is a big boy and you can’t fix any of that, regardless of what it is. So let’s go see Brady and wait for Duke to call you back. And for the record, that’s a super awesome name.” My head lies against the cool glass again and I watch my best friend nod her head like she’s got it all figured out. It’s an act; most of Presley is just that. But it’s why I love her. She turns the car into my parents’ subdivision and I unbuckle my seatbelt, my hand already on the door. I watch the houses tick by as we near the end of the cul-de-sac. The car doesn’t hit a full stop before I’m out the door and running up the flagstone steps.

I burst into my childhood home, a small white split-level my family has lived in since before Brady was even born. It smells just like always, like I’m going to walk in and have a roast on a random Sunday afternoon. Like warmth and food and heavy doses of cinnamon and vanilla with a touch of bleach. All I need to round out the scenario is a baseball game playing on the television. Instead, I hear something even better. Robust, booming laughter from the kitchen. The door slams behind me, tears coursing down my face as I run down the hardwood hallway, slipping on the stupid woven rugs my mother buys on clearance somewhere every year. Almost falling into the wall before I can catch my feet and turn the corner, I dash into the kitchen. I run blindly to my brother, sitting in his chair at the kitchen table. I can barely even see him, to see that he’s in one piece, and too thin, and a little scarred from his journey. He’s there. And as I lunge into his arms, he stands and I almost knock us both over. “Brady!” I sob, my arms around his neck. He smells faintly of himself, of the boy that used to hold me down and dangle spit over my face. “Brynne,” he says, wrapping me in a huge bear hug. He’s much smaller than he was a few months ago and the bones in his back are easily felt beneath my hands. I pull back, laughing and crying at the same time, wiping my eyes so I can see him. “You’re home,” I choke out. “You’re really here!” Tears flow down his face too, but a smile that’s as wide as the room shows his joy. And it makes my heart burst. I shove him gently on the shoulder. “You should’ve listened to me, you fucker!” “Brynne!” my mother admonishes, a laugh in her voice. “So I’m back for a full five minutes and you’re already starting with the name calling. Thanks, little sister.”

“I can’t believe my eyes,” I declare. “How did you get here? How did this happen? Senator Hyland?” I look at my parents and they sit in their seats, smiles as wide as Brady’s on their faces. “Hi, Presley.” My brother looks past me, his eyes settling softly. He sidesteps me and encompasses Pres into his arms. She gives him a quick hug, murmuring something in his ear, before releasing. “Does anyone want anything to drink? Coffee? Wine? Water?” My mother motions for us all to sit. She looks more content, more peaceful, than I’ve seen her in so long. Even with her tear-streaked cheeks, she’s radiant. “I’m good,” I say, sitting across from Brady. Presley sits next to him and shakes her head at my mother. “So, how did this happen? Where were you? Were you okay? How did—” “Breathe, Brynne,” my father rumbles. “Let’s do this one step at a time. He might not want to tell us everything right off . . .” Brady takes a long second to look across the table. He takes my mother ’s hand in his and squeezes it, making her tear up again. “I could talk all night about this,” he points out, biting his lip. “I don’t even know where to start.” “How did this happen?” I ask. “Where were you? Why did they take you?” My brother laughs and I notice the deepened lines around his eyes. His face is more weathered than when he left, his hair scruffy, in definite need of a cut. There’s a scar along the right side of his face, near his jawline, and I’m too scared of the answer to ask where it came from. Seeing him across from me feels surreal and I keep blinking just to see if he goes away—poof!— like an apparition. But every time, he’s still there. Still smiling. Still on the verge of cutting a joke. Still Brady. His features darken and he composes himself before he starts talking. “The night before I was taken, I was looking for a magazine you guys sent me. I’d loaned it to Grant a couple of days before and figured he hadn’t given it back. So I go to his bunk and start looking through his shit and find ivory.” “Ivory?” my father asks, leaning against the table. “Yeah. Ivory. I was stunned. He comes in the room and realizes I’d found it and wants to take a walk, away from prying ears. So we do. Come to find out he was buying ivory from the locals and then trafficking it to foreign dealers.” “I’m shocked,” Dad says, shaking his head. “Why on Earth would he get into something like that?” “Because there’s money to be made. Lots of it,” Brady says. “It’s illegal, but there’s a huge demand in foreign markets. You can make a killing if you have the contacts, and Grant apparently made them. He said he did it one time and this would be the last one. He was worried he was going to get caught anyway and he said he’d quit. He’s not a stupid guy, you know, so I believed him. It was the logical thing for him to do.” “How does that tie in with your disappearance?” I ask. Brady looks around the table. “Well, the day I went missing, we were on a mission. There were

three of us and we were in a low-risk neighborhood. The other two were providing light security to the homes in the area and I was being the intermediary between the people and the organization. Doing well-checks on kids, elderly, things like that. It’s what we did day in, day out. But then Grant says we got a call to move. So we load up and take off and as soon as we roll into the area, I know we aren’t supposed to be there.” A knot twists in my gut, a clenching of anticipation mixed with dread that almost makes me nauseous. It might be the way his voice hollows as he’s getting to wherever he’s going or it might be the way his gaze has focused on Mom’s apple clock on the far wall. But my father notices it too, and he tries to comfort me with a look. It doesn’t work. “Grant and the guy with us head immediately into a building and I suspected then that this was about ivory. I pull out a map and realize we are not only in an area we shouldn’t be in, we are in one we aren’t legally allowed to be in. Boundaries and things aren’t what they are here and we definitely crossed a line.” “So I’m waiting on them to come out and a little kid races into the street after a ball. He falls and a dog comes at him, one of these feral animals that are ruthless—I’ve seen them take out grown men. So I rush out there and fire some shots and get the dog to leave and check the kid out. And before I know it, I’m face-first in the dirt and being kicked in the ribs and tossed into the back of an old SUV.” “You’re all right, though. Right?” Presley asks. “Yes,” he turns to her, smiling. “I had another doctor check me out as soon as I landed here. I’m fine. A little roughed up, but I’m okay. I was able to kind of do basic treatment on myself while in that hellhole, thankfully.” “Thank God,” my mother whispers. “How did you get back here? What happened?” I ask. “Well, two days ago, I was sitting in this room I’d been in for a few weeks. I have no idea where it was, obviously, but it was with a family, which was a first. They seemed like they didn’t know what to do with me or even want me there, really. So I’m sitting there a couple of days ago and everything is just the same as it had been. Same routine by the father, the mother, the little girl. And a bunch of men come, a few I recognize from various places I’d been, and they’re having this argument outside my window. I can’t understand any of it, but I can tell something’s wrong. The family is getting nervous. I’m getting nervous, trying to figure out what I have around me I can use for a weapon when one of them sneaks past me and tells me to be patient. The way he said it,” he shakes his head, trying to relive that moment, “there was something about his accent or the look in his eye that made me think this might be a good thing. It’s hard to explain. And, a few minutes later— thirty, maybe forty—guns start going off and Unit A, Mandla’s advanced unit, comes in and gets me out.” My father leans back in his chair, the squeaking cutting through the gush of air that I release. “If they knew where you were, they should’ve gotten you out sooner.” “No,” Brady says, shaking his head empathically. “It’s not that easy, Dad. They had no idea where I

was. I think they did come get me as soon as they knew. I was moved a number of times. Only a handful of people ever saw me. It wouldn’t have been easy to find me. And you know, there’s a good chance they’re going to be in some trouble for doing it the way they did.” “So you don’t think Nzou knew it the whole time? Senator Hyland thinks—” Dad starts, but Brady cuts him off. “Senator Hyland has no clue, to be honest. I was moved eight or nine times while I was over there. And from what I understand, as soon as Nzou knew for sure, they did come and get me. And I don’t even want to know what it cost them. I’m sure there was money in paying bribes and spies and things like that. And they had a private plane ready to get me back to the States right away. “ My heart lurches in my chest, tears stinging my eyes. Fenton did get him back. Presley grabs my hand and I squeeze it, trying to keep from breaking down at the table. I keep envisioning him being led out of the restaurant, hearing him say he loves me. And now, seeing what he did for me, for Brady, for my family, my heart splinters into a million pieces. My father has been talking, but I haven’t followed along. So when Brady responds, I have no idea what he’s responding to. “His name is Fenton Abbott,” Brady says, taking my breath away. He furrows his brow, flashing me an inquisitive look, but I don’t respond. Just hearing his name come out of my brother ’s mouth is awe-inspiring. “His mother was from Zimbabwe, so he had regional contacts there. It’s very clannish; it’s hard to explain. He told me on the way over here he was forbidden to deal with them, but as soon as he had enough concrete information, he did anyway. I’m pretty sure he’s going to lose his company because of it. The government won’t let him get away with that.” A small gasp escapes my lips and Brady reads it like a book. “Brynne?” “It’s nothing . . .” I let go of Presley’s hand and slip my phone out of my pocket. Still nothing from Fenton. My heart plummets. “Do you think your boss is going to be okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. “I don’t know. I hope,” he sighs. “He’s a really good guy. I’m not sure he’s always one-hundred percent legal, but everything he does is done so that someone else can benefit. Like, the guys were saying he’s in with some of the clans over there. That might be true. But I also know how much he gives back to people and the good he does, so what’s it really matter? As a doctor, sometimes I have to do things that aren’t necessarily going to get me a big thumbs-up by the board, but you have to do things to save lives sometimes. I don’t think he’s much different than me, really.” I can’t stop the tears. They pour down my face before I can even attempt to stop them. When Presley hugs me, the sobbing begins. They’re so forceful I’m not sure they’ll ever stop, wails racking my body so hard my mother gets up and flies around the table to be at my side. I hear her hushing me, trying to console me. But nothing will. Not until I see Fenton again. Not

until I know he’s okay. “Are you all right?” I hear Brady’s voice as my tears start to falter and I regain my composure, using a napkin off the table to dry my eyes. It soaks within a second. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” “Do you know him? Fenton, I mean?” Brady asks. He studies me in the way he always has. He knows the answer, an ability honed from years of sharing the same bedroom and eavesdropping on my phone calls. I consider lying about it because it seems so awkward, so strange that I know him. But I realize it’s pointless. They all know, anyway. And I have every intention of standing by his side as he goes through whatever he’ll face from doing this. “I do,” I answer, glancing around the table. “We met a while ago.” A haunting smile crosses my brother ’s face. “So, you’re the rudo.” I gasp. “How did you know that?” “It was a long trip from Concord,” he smiles. “Fenton was waiting when we landed to refuel and flew back with me. We had a long talk.” “Do you know what it means?” I ask. “He says it’s just a word, but I don’t think that’s true.” Brady laughs softly. “Yes, but I think he should be the one to tell you.” “I wasn’t very nice to him,” I admit. “I thought he had something to do with you being missing. I thought he left you there.” “We all did,” my father chimes in. “Is that who you went to Las Vegas with?” my mother asks, never missing a thing. “Yes,” I sniffle. “I’ve been seeing him.” “Well, you were all wrong to think he left me anywhere,” Brady says. “Because from what I understand, and from what I believe happened that day—and trust me when I say I’ve had a long time to think about it—Grant is the one that left me there.” “Grant?” my mother gasps. “Yeah. There was a window, a small one, where he could’ve done something. When he heard the shots I fired at the dog, he should’ve come running and he didn’t. Do I think I was set up because I knew about the ivory?” he shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe. I don’t know for sure. It’s possible. But if it weren’t for Grant, we never would’ve been where we were anyway.” I’m stunned, my mouth hanging open. I look at Pres and she’s as shocked as me. “Can we kill him now?” she asks. I’d normally laugh, but I don’t think she’s kidding. And I don’t think I’d be adverse to the plan either. “He’ll get his,” Brady says. “I have to be debriefed again in the morning because the guys that had me were terrorists. But between them and Fenton, I have no doubt Grant will be handled. We just need to let it play its course.” I rub my hands down my face, trying to soak in all of this information. It’s all clear now, all of it making sense. But there’s still a hole in my heart and I can’t fill it . . . because he’s not here.

“What will happen to Fenton?” I ask, looking at my brother. “We were at dinner tonight and they came in and took him . . .” “He expected it. I don’t think he knew when, and I don’t think he’d want them to do it in front of you,” Brady says. “But he warned me and told me they’d try to arrest him, but he’d already discussed it with his attorneys and nothing would stick. But Mandla, at a minimum, will be closed most likely.” “Oh my God,” I say, my lip trembling. “It’s his mother ’s company. He’ll be devastated.” Brady grins. “He won’t be happy about it. But he’ll come out a winner. Trust me.”

I haven’t done this in a long time, but it’s exactly what I need. The porch swing glides back, the chain squeaking a little as the wooden bench floats forward. Over and over again, the rhythm settling over my soul. The sky is a pretty blue, not a deep midnight color, but more of a light-up-from-behind kind of thing that makes it not seem quite three o’clock in the morning. Presley is asleep upstairs in my childhood bedroom. Mom and Dad went to bed a couple of hours ago, right after Brady turned in. I was surprised Mom didn’t sleep outside his door, just so she could make sure he was there every time she woke up. I can’t blame her. It still seems unbelievable. I tried to lie down, first in my bed and then on the couch, but I couldn’t find that sweet spot. Or maybe it’s that the sweet spot isn’t accessible to me right now because all I keep thinking of as I toss and turn is Fenton. I watch the clouds sweep past the moon, almost like a hand is guiding it across the sky. I think of my brother snoring in the room above and how quickly things can change—both good and bad. He was here one day, gone the next. We’re so, so incredibly lucky to have him home again, but who knows what tomorrow holds? Things can change in an instant, your loved ones sucked away, your happiness taken, never to return. My exhale breaks the stillness and I draw my legs up and wrap my arms around them. I notice the heart tattoo on my finger, my friendship token with Presley. I trace it with another finger and catch myself smiling. It makes me happy. Something so simple, so free—well, besides the twenty-four dollars it cost—means the world to me, makes my life better. I swing back and forth and think to the other things that make me happy. None of them, not one, surprisingly, is a tangible thing. The feeling of my family together makes me happy. Smelling my mother ’s house when I walked in earlier tonight made me happy. And images of a certain smirk, the scent of Fenton’s musk also make me ridiculously happy. The sound of the door opening startles me. I look up to see Brady walking outside, his flannel pajama pants and red t-shirt looking rumpled. “I thought I’d find you out here,” he yawns, slipping into the swing beside me. “Why are you awake? I figured you’d sleep for days.”

He shrugs and I realize I’ve touched a nerve and I instantly regret saying that. “Every time I close my eyes, I listen for footsteps. It’s hard to turn off that feeling of being alert all the time, you know? And I haven’t had a mattress or a pillow for months.” “I can’t imagine, Brady. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” “I should’ve listened to you, I guess.” His shoulder bumps mine, making me laugh. “You should’ve. I know everything, you know.” “So, little sister, since you know everything, have you heard from Fenton?” My spirits sink, my shoulders slumping forward. “No. I got a text from Duke—do you know him?” Brady shakes his head. “He works for Fenton. He told me Fenton was being questioned and his attorneys were with him and he would get a hold of me when he can. But what if he doesn’t?” “He will.” I sigh and sink against the wooden planks of the swing. My heart is empty and my soul full of dread. I need to make things right with him, just like he did for me. “I should’ve believed him.” “No, you shouldn’t have,” Brady quips. “You should always question everything. He’ll understand.” “I just feel so rotten. So mean, Brady. So not like me.” I nod, squeezing my eyes shut to block out the memory. “I just wish I could see him. I just wish . . .” My voice trails off as his face comes into my mind. The sincerity in his big, beautiful grey eyes as he told me he loves me. The playful smirk as he gave up the location of my bikinis. The genuineness when he handed me his mother ’s necklace and told me to remember where my loyalty lies. I clasp my fingers around the charm. My loyalty lies with my family, but it also lies with Fenton. He’s proven his love for me in a way I can barely wrap my head around. I’ll do whatever I need to do to show him it was worth it. “Do you love him, Brynne?” Brady asks, watching me carefully. “Yeah, Brady. I do. Whether I should or I shouldn’t, I can’t deny it. I don’t want to deny it.” He stares at me, a blank look on his face. “Why shouldn’t you? He just saved my life, Brynne.” “But he didn’t tell me who he was at first,” I sigh. “That gave me serious pause before. You know —could I trust him? Did he betray me? But I don’t think so now. Now having you back and hearing your side of things. But really that was the only way I’d ever know.” He blows out a breath and stands, a limp to his stride I haven’t noticed before. He walks the few steps to the railing and leans against it, facing me. “People make mistakes. You know that; you’ve made your fair share. I’ve made mine. I’m sure Fenton’s made his own too, and I know he’s not some Prince Charming.” “Oh, he’s charming,” I assure him, making him snort. “I don’t want to know. He’s my boss and you’re my little sister.” “Does that bother you?” I ask. “You know, there was a day, a particularly hard day, where I sat on

the beach and told you about him. I told you how I felt about him and that I needed your advice on what to do. And now you’re here,” I say, still almost unable to believe it. “So you wanna give me some?” “He’s a good guy,” he says, moving his shoulder and wincing. “And one I think you’d be really stupid not to get to know a little bit more. Just see what happens. I feel like I know him pretty well after all this,” he laughs, “and his friendship and loyalty is like no other.” My hand goes to the elephant around my neck. “What’s that?” Brady asks, peering through the darkness. “It’s a necklace Fenton gave me. It’s an elephant.” Brady smiles knowingly. “An elephant means family and loyalty in Zimbabwe. That’s why he gave that to you. He was telling you without telling you he would be loyal to you.” I press it between my fingers and start to speak when I hear the faint jingle of my phone. “Oh my God! Where is it?” Brady laughs, stepping out of the way. “In the kitchen on the table. I saw it when I walked by.” I race inside and pick it up, my fingers flying over the keypad when I see Fenton’s name. “Fenton!” I breathe, my voice shaky. My heart is beating so hard I’m afraid I won’t be able to hear his voice. “Fenton! Are you there?” “Hey,” he husks, his tone full of exhaustion. “How are you, rudo?” “Where are you? Are you okay?” “I’m fine. I’m home,” he says, and I know he’s grinning even though he’s demolished. The tenderness in his voice makes me weak, and I collapse into a chair as Brady walks back in the room, the little hole in my heart starting to fill up. “I’ve been worried,” I say. “I’ve been trying to find out where you are. Just . . . it’s so good to hear your voice.” “Did you see your brother?” “He’s right here,” I smile, my heart flickering in my chest as I watch my brother limp to a chair and slide in. “Fenton, I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am,” I say, my voice breaking. “I can’t thank you enough. You brought him back, even when I said those horrible things to you.” The line is quiet as I wait for him to respond. He doesn’t. “I’m so sorry,” I cry. “I should’ve believed you. I—” “It’s okay, rudo. I understand.” “No, you don’t. I just . . .” I push away from the table, my blood pulsing in my veins. “I need to see you. Can I see you? Now?” He chuckles, the weariness heavy. “It’s late. You don’t need to be out driving this time of night after the day you’ve had.” “After the day I’ve had, all I need is to be with you. If you’ll have me.” I hold my breath, waiting on his response. It occurs to me he might not want to see me and that slays me. “If I’ll have you? You know I always want you, Brynne.”

I grin, releasing the breath I’m holding. “But you should wait till morning. It’s a long drive from your parents’ house and it’s late and—” “I have Presley. She’ll bring me. She’s a terrible sleeper anyway and such a romantic. She’ll love this.” He groans and I know he isn’t thrilled with my compromise, but I don’t care. I need to see him. Now. “I’m coming over, Fenton.” “Maybe I should—” “I’ll be there as soon as I can!” I interject before he can finish. I click off the phone and look at my brother. He’s watching me with an amused look on his face. “Is it okay if I go, Brady? Maybe it’s rude for me to leave you right now?” I bite my lip and plead with my gaze for him to give me the go-ahead. He laughs and stands, heading towards the living room. “It’d be easier, probably. You’re stressing me out.” “Shut up,” I laugh. He chuckles and gets comfortable in the recliner. “Go. Have fun. Make peace with Fenton, but don’t tell me how you plan on doing that,” he snorts. “I have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow, and honestly, I want to try to sleep and eat and just be as normal as possible. So don’t worry about me, all right?” I jet up the stairs to wake Presley, but remember something. I pause on the steps whip out my phone again and press redial. “Brynne?” he asks, his cashmere wrapping around me. “Everything okay?” “I forgot to tell you something.” “What’s that?” “I love you,” I whisper. “And I’m not pretending. Not one bit.” “Do you now?” “I so do.” “Then get over here and show me.” “On my way.”

The engine purrs as Presley slides the Mercedes up Fenton’s driveway. The headlights bounce off the stucco front and I see the curtains by the front door rustle. “Thanks, Pres!” I shout, jumping out and slamming the door behind me. She honks as I round the front and starts to back down the driveway. Quicker than I’ve ever sprinted in my life, my heartbeat matching my steps, I fly around the garage and up the front steps. The door opens as soon as I reach the top and I fling myself, breathless, into the arms of the man of my dreams. He pulls me in tight, nestling his face in my hair. My face burrows into his white t-shirt. I feel at home. Like everything in my life has finally come together. We just stand in the entryway, locked together, absorbing the moment. There are so many things I want to say, but the moment is so pure, so perfect that I’m afraid to spoil it with words that I’m sure won’t come out right. “Fenton,” I whisper, pulling away just far enough to see his face. His eyes are creased, his forehead marred with the stress of dealing with everything these past few weeks. I run my hand down the side of his face and when he leans into it, I break a little bit inside. “I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be.” His tone is crisp, his words definite. He lowers his face so he can peer inside my soul. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” “No, I do. I should’ve believed you.” He chuckles, the sweet sound of amusement making me grin despite my guilt. “You should’ve. But,” he says, lifting his chin when I start to respond, silencing me, “I understand why you didn’t.” “It was all too much, you know?” His eyes, already heavy with stress and lack of sleep, crinkle even more as he grins. “It was. And now it’s over.” Tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision. “I can’t thank you enough for going after Brady. You brought him back to us, Fenton.” “It was my responsibility to do that. I’d been trying to do it since the day he was taken. You have to believe that.” “Brady believes that.”

“He’s a good man.” “So are you. And Fenton, I believe that too,” I whisper. “I want you to know I can never repay you, but I’ll prove to you how much I appreciate what you’ve done and how sorry I am for not believing you. I have so much to make up to you and I will. I promise.” He takes my hand and leads me into the living room. We sit on the sofa, the moon hanging low in the sky. The only light comes from it, swamping the room with a hazy glow. There’s no sound, just our breathing. “How’s he feeling?” Fenton asks, his eyes shining. “He was a little sore on the plane.” “He’s going to be fine,” I laugh. “He’ll get checked out again tomorrow, but he’s a doctor, you know.” “I saw something about that,” he winks. “I told him about you and I . . .” Fenton’s face darkens. “You did?” I nod. “What did you say?” “I just told him I’d met you and didn’t know who you were. And then I found out and was pretty shitty to you. But somehow, in the meantime, I kinda fell in love with you. I do love you, Fenton. I’m not saying I want to marry you tomorrow or anything,” I grin, making him laugh, “but I want to be here for you in the way you were for me. I want to make you laugh and smile and go with you on your trips and wear bikinis and make you mad so you’ll remind me who my man is.” “No bikinis without me. That’s a deal breaker,” he says, trying to look stern. “But I want to try this with you. For real this time. Starting over, me and you. Nothing lurking out there we haven’t said, no surprises. A real try.” He laughs and drags me onto his lap. His hands lock around my waist and I can’t help the silly smile on my face as I look into his eyes. “You make me believe in love,” he says, his voice soft. “I can see years of being together, taking trips, maybe even starting a family someday. I’ve never felt that way before. I’ve always felt like being with someone would be a compromise, that I would have to give up being me to be in that relationship. But with you, I want to do that. I want to make sure we figure this out so we are both happy. Together.” I press my lips against his, the softness reducing me to a heap of mush. Our mouths fit together like they were made for one another, the dips and curves of our lips melding into the others’ perfectly. “I don’t want you to have to give up being you for anything, especially me. I like you just the way you are.” “I like me better when I’m with you.” “Me too, Fent.” “And I like when you call me that.” Tossing my head back, I let out a laugh. For the first time in so long, happiness pours from my

heart unbridled. When I look at him again, his face is cracked with a smile of his own. I kiss him once more for good measure and because I can. Because I’ve missed doing it. “Will you stay with me tonight?” he asks. “Yes. Presley left. So unless you’re going to take me home, I have no other choice.” “Good thing because it really wasn’t a question. I wasn’t letting you leave,” he winks. “I’m supposed to work tomorrow afternoon, but I’m going to call and see if they’ll give me the day off. I really want to spend the day with my family if I can. I know Brady has a bunch of things to do tomorrow,” I yawn, glancing at the clock. “Or today, I mean. But I’d like to hang out with him some if he’s able.” Fenton nods, his face sobering. “I have a few things tomorrow afternoon too.” “Oh, yeah? Work?” “Sort of.” The way he says it piques my interest. It’s in his tone, the way he clearly didn’t mean for it to be a lead-in for a follow-up, which is exactly why I want more information. “Such as?” “So nosey.” “Like you’re surprised.” He glances away from me, his jaw ticking. “Mandla is now defunct.” “What? What’s that mean?” “It doesn’t matter.” “Oh, it does matter!” I say, taking his chin and pulling his gaze towards me. “What’s going on, Fenton?” “I didn’t have authority to go in after Brady. There are laws about those types of things and I broke quite a few of them.” “Fent . . .” “Yeah. So in my little meeting tonight with the FBI, I was told to start shutting it down.” “Oh, no,” I say, pulling him in close for a change. “I am so sorry, babe.” “Don’t be.” He pulls back, the tilt of his lips catching my attention. “I mean, I hate it. It was my mother ’s thing. But you know, I ran that company out of obligation, really. Because it was the right thing to do. Don’t get me wrong—I wanted to do the things I was doing. But it had become more of a routine thing than an intentional thing. I need to do things with the right spirit, like my mother preached, with a servant’s heart. And I wasn’t doing that, anyway. Not really.” “I still feel terrible you lost Mandla.” He leans back on the sofa, putting some distance between us. He studies me in his way. “I think my mother would approve.” “Do you really?” “Uh huh. She would’ve wanted me to do what’s right for family, for the one I love. And I did that. So, by all accounts, this was the right thing to do—losing Mandla or not.”

I shouldn’t smile, but I do. “I love you.” “I know.” I roll my eyes, making him laugh. “What other questions do you have before I take you into my bedroom and ravage you?” “Just one more,” I say, my body humming at his words. I have to ask the one question left so it’s out of the way. Because it’s worrying me like crazy. “Are you going to be in any trouble for this?” “I don’t think so. I could be thrown in prison, but I think the government is probably going to spin it like they did some big, grand thing getting your brother back. When in reality, they did nothing but throw up roadblocks. If they try to arrest me, they’ll look like complete assholes. That’s what my attorney says, anyway. Once the media gets wind of this, we’ll know for sure. Probably morning.” “What if they do?” I bite my bottom lip instinctively. His thumb catches it, pulling it away from my teeth. “Then they do. And I bail out and fight it and I’ll win. I always win, rudo.” “You won me,” I whisper. “I better have. Is that all of your questions?” He swivels his hips, his rock hard cock brushing against my leg. “Nope. One more,” I say breathlessly. “Make it quick,” he groans. “What’s rudo mean? The truth, Fent.” “Love. It means love.” He kisses me reverently, his lips searing mine. “I’ve always known you were my rudo, or going to be, anyway.” My cheeks ache from the wide smile on my face, but it disappears as he rubs his cock against my leg again. “Anymore questions?” he asks, his eyes darkening. I gulp. “That’s all.” He lifts me in one fluid motion and sets off towards his bedroom. I pull his head to mine and run my tongue over his bottom lip. He growls in response, squeezing the back of my thighs as we enter the room. We’re to the bed in a couple of seconds and I’m on my back, his body on top of mine, his breath hot against my mouth. “This is where you belong,” he whispers. “Well, mostly. If your cock was inside me, it would be perfect.” Through the moonlight streaming in from the pulled back curtains, I can see him shaking his head. “Never a dull moment with you.” “I don’t like dull. I like . . . hard.” I palm his cock through his pants. “That kind of hard.” His mouth meets mine, our tongues winding together, and I relax completely in his arms.

The blinds didn’t get pulled last night. Or earlier this morning, I suppose. So when the sun breaks through the windows, it awakens me. Fenton’s arm is curled around my hip, his body pressed against my back. It’s the most heavenly way to wake up, wound around him and enveloped in him in every way. I lie there awhile, soaking in the feeling of waking up for the first time in months and not having a tick of anxiety sitting in my gut. I gently, so as not to wake up Sleeping Beauty, slip off the side of the bed. I’m naked, too exhausted after making love not more than a few hours ago to get up and find something to wear. I pad across the room and into the closet and find a heavy black robe of Fenton’s to put on. I close the curtains so he can rest before heading into the kitchen. After making a cup of coffee, I grab my phone and head onto the deck. The sea breeze dances over me, the salty air the perfect accompaniment to a perfect morning. I kick back and take it all in before calling my parents’ house. “Hi, Brynne!” my mom answers. I can hear her smile through the line. “Where did you go? Brady said you and Presley took off to meet a friend, but that had to be late, sweetheart.” “It was pretty late,” I laugh. “But I’m fine. How are you guys? How’s my big brother?” “We’re great. He’s getting a quick check-up this morning and then has a few appointments with the FBI. They want to debrief him some more, but he didn’t want them coming here. The media has been outside for a few hours now. It’s crazy.” “Don’t let them onto the lawn, Mom.” She laughs. “I know. Your father has already taken care of it. They’re on the sidewalk, which we have no control of. But we’re going to make a family statement later and then ask for privacy.” “Sounds good.” “Are you coming by today?” “I’d like to. I don’t want to overwhelm Brady though, you know?” “I’ll see how he’s doing when he and your father get home. He was great this morning though. A little scuffed and a little jumpy, but he seems so good, Brynne. It’s so, so nice to have him here. To see him in his room, even if he was on the floor,” she laughs. “To make him breakfast and see his stuff all over the place. He wants to go to his apartment tonight,” she sighs.

I can hear the sniffle in her voice, the gratitude she feels having her family together again. My heart swells, knowing I have the man I love to thank for that. I can never repay him. “Call me when they get back. I’m going to call work now and try to get off. I’m supposed to work today.” “For the first time ever, you’re going to hear me say this—don’t work,” she laughs. “I want things to get back to normal. Go back to school. Focus on that now. If you lose your job, your dad will pay your rent. It’ll be fine. I just want . . . I want everyone happy right now and I want my kids all at my house today. Call me crazy or call me greedy but I do. I need it.” “Okay, Mom,” I smile. “I’ll call in again. You twisted my arm.” “Good girl. I’m making a bunch of food today because I expect we’ll have visitors whether we like it or not.” “Relax! I’ll come and help you.” “No, no, you won’t. This is my job. This is what moms do and what I’ve been dreaming of doing for a long time now. But Brynne? I have one question for you?” “Yeah?” “Are you with Fenton?” I bite my lip, unsure as to what her reaction is going to be. “Yeah. I am.” “Bring him with you today, sweetheart. Okay?” “Are you sure?” “I’m absolutely sure. I don’t know what he is to you officially, but he’s a friend of the family at the very least.” I hesitate and then make a decision. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do this. “I love him, Mom.” She doesn’t say anything for a minute. “If that’s the case,” she says finally, “he’s family and I fully expect him here this afternoon unless he has . . . other things.” “Let’s hope he doesn’t,” I whisper, afraid to even think about that. “We will pray that he doesn’t,” she says, understanding my fear. “Call me later and let me know. I love you.” “I love you, Mom.” When I click the phone off, I hear the door opening behind me. I don’t move, just wait on him to come up behind me. His hands land on my shoulders and I see the cuffs of a grey robe just like the one I’m wearing on his wrists. “I like having you out here when I wake up,” he says, his voice heavy from sleep. “I like waking up and coming out here.” “We should make this happen more often.” “Well, my mom just told me to quit my job. So if Presley kicks me out, I’ll be looking for a place to crash,” I joke.

He laughs, coming around and sitting in the chair beside me. We both gaze across the water, watching the waves roll in and out. We are silent for a long while and I wonder what he’s thinking. “Can I ask you something?” he finally says. “Sure.” “What would you say if I asked you to take a few weeks off with me.” “For what?” I ask, twisting in my chair to face him. He tilts his head and watches me. “After this whole thing is settled, I want to get away.” “And go where?” He shrugs like he’s not thought about it. “I don’t know. Where do you want to go?” I shrug too. “You sprang this on me. I don’t have a ready-made answer.” “Let’s just get a boat and go.” “Are you serious?” I smile. He nods slowly, a grin slipping across his face like he’s becoming more sure of the idea as the moments pass. “Yeah, actually. I am.” He leans up, the robe slipping and showing a lot of his chest. It’s hard not to be distracted. “Let’s just go. I’ll get a boat and a captain and we can just float away. Eat. Sleep. Fuck. Swim.” His eyes dance like a little boy on Christmas morning. “Come on. Let’s do it.” “Fenton,” I start, sitting up myself. “I have school. I’m supposed to go back in a month.” “Think about everything that’s happened, Brynne. With Brady, with me, with . . . life. Everything can be over in a minute. Everything can change. What happens if you never enjoy it?” “I have to graduate at some point. I’ve already taken a semester off and now I have to basically quit my job. They’ll probably fire me today if I don’t quit anyway. I’m not a stellar employee,” I laugh. “Fine. Skip a semester and I’ll pay you full-time wages to go with me.” “We are not back to this again!” He grins. “It worked for me before.” “No, that part of it almost got you thrown out.” “You were always going to go,” he teases. “I really wasn’t.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re so full of shit.” I can’t help but laugh, my heart light with playful Fenton back. “Full of shit or not, I don’t really think I can.” “Please?” “Can we talk about it later?” He shrugs and I can tell he’s disappointed. His shoulders fall forward and his gaze drifts to the sea. What would happen if I didn’t go back to school? He’s right, I know that. Life is so damn unpredictable. What would happen if something happened to me tomorrow? What would be more important—that I had another history course under my belt or that I spent a month at sea with Fenton?

“Hey, Fent,” I say, licking my lips nervously. I’m not sure this is the right answer, but my heart says it is and I know now, one-hundred percent, that’s the one thing I should trust. “Yeah?” He draws his gaze towards me and sighs. “Let’s do it.” “Let’s do what?” I groan, standing, trying not to trip over the length of the robe, and straddle him on the chair. I maneuver so that his robe drapes off the sides and my pussy is sitting on top of his cock. It springs to life, thickening under my body. I smile. “Let’s go drifting away.” “You mean . . .” He grabs my hips, his fingers searing my skin, and I move myself over him. “Yeah. I mean. Let’s get a boat and a skipper or whatever you call it and go see shit.” “Language, rudo.” “Exactly. It’s just language,” I tease. “But I’m going to wear bikinis, so if that’s going to be an issue . . .” His eyes light up again and my heart dances. I lift up on my toes and he grabs his cock and guides it into me. I sit down, the fullness taking my breath away. “I’ll get a female captain,” he says roughly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You do that,” I breathe. I begin to move, my clit rubbing against his hardness, and his gaze doesn’t bend from mine. It’s different this time, in the bright sunlight. Besides a couple of cotton robes, there’s nothing between us. And it’s never felt better.

“Turn here.” I point to my right and Fenton pilots his car onto my parents’ street. “I’ve never been so grateful for window tint before.” Lining both sides of the street as we get closer are media trucks. Reporters stand on the sidewalks, along with some neighbors, old acquaintances, and other busybodies wanting to get a glimpse at Brady. I send a quick text to my father and watch as almost immediately the garage door pulls open. “Dad opened the door. Just pull in the second bay.” As the car slows, people try to peer in and see who we are. Brady is already home, but they apparently don’t know that. I glance at Fenton to see his jaw pulsing. “Are you okay?” I ask. “Yeah.” “I don’t quite believe you.” “I’m just nervous.” “About what?” I laugh. “Seeing my family?” “Uh, yeah,” he says, hitting the driveway. “This isn’t a normal ‘meeting the family’. I was your brother ’s employer. Your brother went missing. Are you sure your father isn’t going to try to slice my throat?” “I’m sure, babe.” The car stops inside the garage and the door closes swiftly behind us. We wait to open the doors until it hits the ground. “It’ll be fine,” I whisper before opening my door. I’m at the front of the car before Fenton gets out, his hands shoving in his pockets. “Relax.” “I’m trying.” I pull a hand out of his pocket and lace my fingers through his. We take the couple of steps into the house. My entire family is in the kitchen, crock pots and cookie sheets lining every available spot. “Geez, Mom. You weren’t kidding,” I laugh, taking a quick inventory of the dishes. “Did you make everything you have a recipe for?” “Just about,” she laughs, whirling around and coming towards me. She takes a stutter step when

she sees Fenton, but recovers quickly, pulling me in for a quick hug. “How are you, sweetheart?” “Good,” I say. “This is Fenton. Fent, this is my mother.” Mom wipes her hands on her apron and starts to stick her hand out to shake, then tosses it in the air and brings him into a hug. He looks at me over her head, patting her awkwardly on the back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, her eyes brimming with tears. “I mean that. I want to thank you—” “Ah, Mrs. Calloway—” “Don’t you dare call me that!” she grins. “Call me Mom or Andrea or something but there will be no formalities. You are family.” His boyish smile slips across his face as he looks at my mother. My heart bursts with happiness, all of my people together. Finally. “Andrea,” Fenton tries again, this time with a smile, “it’s not necessary to thank me for anything.” “The hell it isn’t!” my father booms, rounding the corner. He extends a hand and Fenton takes it. “We can never thank you enough for what you’ve done.” “I . . .” “A damn hero. That’s what you are,” my father boasts, seeing me for the first time. “Hi, Brynne Girl.” “Hi, Daddy,” I blush. “Your brother filled us in.” He looks back to Fenton. “And I couldn’t be more proud to welcome you into our family.” “What?” Fenton’s eyes go wide and he looks at me. “Daddy, we’re just seeing each other. We didn’t get married overnight!” “And I know what kind of girl you are and I know what kind of man he is,” he says, his hand going around my mother ’s waist in a move that now means more to me because I know what that feels like, what it means. “So I know there’s no way he’ll let you go and vice versa. It’s a matter of time.” “Well, let’s have a summer wedding,” Presley exclaims, coming in from the back porch, Brady on her heels. “Because the summery dresses are prettier as bridesmaid gowns.” “Will you shut up?” I laugh. Brady grins a shit-eating grin. “How are you, Fenton?” “Good, my man.” He shakes my brother ’s hand, his posture relaxing tenfold. “How ya feel?” “Not bad. Kinda sore where the AK hit me in the face, but otherwise, I’m all right. How are you? I heard about Mandla. I’m sorry. Truly.” “Don’t be,” Fenton says, eyeing me out of the corner of his eye. “I think everything’s going to work out just fine. Just the way it should. You know, like we discussed.” “With the rudo,” Brady grins, looking at me. “I’m starving,” Presley whines to my mother, saving me from embarrassment, and heading into the kitchen. “Can I have a taste of that artichoke stuff we made earlier?”

“Absolutely, doll.” We all trickle into the kitchen, my father behind me and Fenton and Brady taking up the rear. They’re talking like old friends, the ease in the room better than I ever imagined. I exchange a small smile with my mother who I know feels the same thing. “The world works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?” Mom whispers, handing a plate to Pres. I watch my father, brother, and my love discuss some baseball statistic, filling Brady in on the homerun race. My cup overflows. “It sure does, Mom. It sure does.”

Fenton 2 weeks later

The water ripples, swirls, trickles past the boat as we drift in a nameless harbor in a nameless country. I’m sure they have names. I’m even more sure Ivan, the captain, told me what they were . . . and I’m one-hundred percent confident that I don’t give a damn what they are. The cool drink, some fruity concoction that tastes like rum and strawberries that Brynne proudly whipped up in the galley, melts in my hand. The sun warms my skin, an occasional bird calling out the only sound other than some pop band my girl has playing over the speakers. All in all, it’s perfect. And it would be perfect without the drink, without the bird, without the music. It would be beautiful without any of it, as long as Brynne was around. She rearranged my life. I don’t know how, but that twinkle in her eye I saw the first time I saw her lock screen was a calling to my soul and I didn’t even know it. She changed everything, making things clear, bringing things full circle. Someone told me once that love blurs things and I get that now. It makes things that were once important not so much anymore. It makes things that might’ve been on the back burner now the most important thing in the world. It reinvigorates you, puts passion back into your work. It refills your tank, pours fuel into your reserves and with it, you realize how many holes you had draining it. She’s that for me. Brynne Calloway is the love of my life. She comes around the corner, a drink matching mine in her hand, a tiny pink bikini tied around her. It covers basically nothing and I know she’s wearing it just to rile me up. It works. I’m getting better about it, but I can’t help it. I pull my sunglasses off my nose and peer up at her. “How’s your drink?” she grins. “Did you walk around the entire boat like that?” “Like what?” She looks down at herself, running a finger dampened with the sweat from the glass down her stomach. “Like this?” “Yes, like this.” I pull her onto my lap, catching her lips with mine. I remind her she’s mine, that

regardless of how much she taunts me, plays with me, regardless of who she lets see her in a fucking string bikini, at the end of the day, and every hour in between, she’s my girl. “I like it when you’re all pissy,” she giggles, bringing the glass to her lips. She toys with the straw with her tongue, making my cock harden. “You’re going to get fucked.” “What’s new?” she sighs, but ends it with a laugh. “How much more do I have to do to get you to lay me out right here again?” “Well, being that lunch is just about to be served, that’s not happening. No one is seeing what’s left of you behind that scrap of fabric.” She sweeps her lips against mine and settles back against me. We watch the boat float along the waves, the beach of the island just in sight. “It’s been a great couple of weeks,” she breathes. “I’m so glad I came with you.” “I wouldn’t have come without you.” I kiss her shoulder, her skin hot against my mouth. She smells all vanilla-y and I want to lick her, suck her, eat her like a fucking dessert. “And you’ll never come without me again.” She laughs at my innuendo. “They always said you know when you know, you know?” she grins. “What? You lost me.” “People. They say that. That when you meet The One, you know it.” “I knew it when I saw you.” “Did you?” I nod, kissing her shoulder again. “I didn’t know I knew it, but I did. I know it now.” She laughs, the sound music to my ears. It always will be. It’s the sound of fulfilling my goal, of making her happy. It’s all I want, really, at the end of the day. “I knew it, too. Maybe not that first day. That day I just wanted to fuck you.” “Language, Brynne.” “Yes, it’s language,” she winks. “But in Vegas, I knew. You were just so kind and smart and sexy.” “You just want me for my body, don’t you?” Her fingers dip down my chest and over my abs. I flex them under her touch, just so she sees how ripped I am. I didn’t do a hundred pushups this morning for nothing. “No, not just for your body. But it doesn’t hurt.” She settles against me again, her hair draping over my shoulder. I draw little obscure pictures on her stomach and listen to her little breaths. “How long are we staying at sea?” “As long as you want.” “When do you have to go back to work? You said a couple of weeks when we left.” I shrug. “I hired Duke full time at Nzou. He can handle most of the shit. I check in every morning while you’re asleep. So as long as nothing catastrophic happens, I could stay here forever.” “I don’t know about forever.” “I could stay wherever you are forever.”

“Now that I could do,” she grins. She locks her hand with mine and rests them on her stomach. We feel the anchor being pulled up and we will be starting our departure for the next island. “Where do we go now?” “Such a loaded question.” “I know,” she laughs nervously. “You can take that to mean either thing—where are we going in this boat or, you know, where are we going in life?” I think about it before responding. I know what I want to say, to the last part of that specifically. I want to go into the rest of my life with her by my side. I can’t see it any other way. I won’t have it any other way. I wait until she almost gets antsy before answering. “You got one thing right.” “What’s that?” “It’s where we are going in life.” I watch her face light up and it makes me stupidly happy. “Me and you, Brynne. Wherever one of us goes, the other has to go too.” She kisses me gently, her hand playing in my hair. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Her eyes shine almost as brightly as the smile on her face. I take a deep breath before tossing my next words into the world. “I’d like to try that.” Her brows pull together. “Try what?” “Try . . . forever.” “Fent!” She scrambles into a sitting position, a hand clutching her heart. “Are you serious?” I nod slowly. I hope this is a good reaction, but I can’t tell. My hand shakes slightly as I brush a strand of hair out of her face. “I’m completely serious. I know we haven’t known each other a long time and you’ve been pissed for a lot of what we have—” “Fent. Shut up,” she giggles, pressing her lips against mine. When she pulls back, she locks our hands together. “I love you. Of course I’d like to try forever with you. But I have to admit one thing.” “What’s that, rudo?” “I thought we already were.” Pulling her into me, I kiss the top of her head. “I think we have been since that day in the market. There’s been something about you from the start and it’s just gotten deeper and deeper. I kept thinking it would go away or I’d get distracted or see the foolishness in my thinking, but I didn’t. Instead, I fell farther in love with you.” Squeezing her tight, I can’t fight the grin on my face. “But, yeah, we are. I just needed you to know it officially.” We sit together for a long time, the yacht starting to move again. Brynne’s hand splays across my chest, right above my heart. I almost tell her how fitting it is, that she holds my heart in the palm of her hand, but I don’t. I figure she already knows it and, if she doesn’t, I’ll make sure to show her every day for the rest of my life. “So . . .” she says, tilting her chin to face me. “Forever means forever.” “It does.” “Does this mean, you know, you’re going to ask me to marry you?”

I laugh. “It means you shouldn’t be so nosey and try to spoil surprises.” “So there are surprises?” She squeals like a little girl and it makes me laugh harder. “Do you have a ring already? Do you have a spot picked out?” “What part of surprise do you not understand?” “The part that means I don’t know! Presley doesn’t know, does she?” she gasps. “She better not!” “Will. You. Relax?” I pull her on top of me so that she’s straddling me. “Let things work themselves out.” “But what if they don’t? What if something happens and—” “They always work out, don’t they? All the bad things that have happened to you—they got you here. With me. Right?” She nods, still unsure. “You have to have some trust in life, Brynne. A little hope that things will work out as they should. Look at Brady. He’s off banging your best friend—” “What?” she shrieks. “I talked to him today. He and Presley are having quite a little getaway in Lake Tahoe. It’s been a long time coming, I think.” “I . . .” She’s rendered speechless. Her lips pout together and I can’t help but kiss them. “So have a little faith in the world, rudo. Have just a little faith that the current will take you wherever you’re supposed to go, that wherever it leads is where you’re supposed to be.” “Is that like following your heart?” she smiles. “Yeah. Kind of. Someone told me that once—to follow my heart.” “Did you do it?” “Yeah. I followed it right to you.” She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Her eyes blur and it looks like she’s going to cry. “I just . . . I can’t wait to be your forever.” “You already are.” The End

Before anyone or anything, I’d like to thank the Creator for all the blessings in my life. Sure, sometimes things go bad. But I’ve come to learn that there’s always a reason and, more importantly, He’s always there and has my back. I would like to thank Mr. Locke, the love of my life, and the Littles, Alex, Ares, Achilles, and Ajax, “The A-Team”, for being my biggest cheerleaders. They root me on endlessly, even when I’m holed up in my office trying to meet a deadline. I’m not sure why I have been blessed with the best family ever, but I’ll keep them. My mother talks with pride about my books, even though she claims she wishes they were ‘a little less dirty’. She makes me laugh and encourages me to follow my dreams and I could never tell her what that means to me. The inspiration behind Max Quinn’s mom in The Perception, she’s pretty great. Thanks, Mama. The support I receive from my in-laws is overwhelming. They never fail to cheer me on and spread the word and I’m eternally blessed to call Rob and Peggy family. My sister-in-laws have always treated me like one of their own. Jami’s notes of encouragement always make me smile. Fawn is always there to answer questions and to take brilliant photographs of my books. Aimee is as excited about my venture as anyone. I may not have sisters by blood, but I couldn’t love any as much as I love the three of you. I’m blessed with the best friends a girl could ever ask for. Kari March gives me advice straight on, no bells and whistles, just like I need it. Jenn Costa answers the phone and listens to me ramble, even when I expect her to have had enough. Mandi Beck keeps me on schedule with our sprints and sane with her filterless antics. I’d like to thank Michele for checking the hotness level, Susan for loving Fenton early, and Joy for taking on a job she wasn’t sure she wanted. Ninfa loaned her sweet heart, Jen P gave me her valuable time, and Yvette stepped in without even knowing me and gave me her all. Thank you all madly. Once again, my team came through for me in a spectacular fashion! Thanks to Kari with Kari March Designs, Christine with Perfectly Publishable, and Lisa with Adept Edits for making my book come alive. Hugs to Jillian at Jillian’s Polished Proofs for making sure we didn’t miss anything! Thanks to Jen at Kinky Girls Book Obsessions for helping me with my pre-release teasers. And, last but certainly not least, thank you to Kylie at Give Me Books for organizing my release events. I’m in

awe of each of your talents and humbled you all continue to work with me. Candy Collins (The Locke Librarian) and Brandy Castenada took my plea for help late one night and answered. Thank you both for giving me information I needed; you made such a different in the final product of this book. I appreciate your kindness. Speaking of kindness, thank you to Stephanie Gibson, Dawn Costiera, Karen McVino, Kiki Amit, Robin Bruce, Jen Lynn, Serena McDonald, Robin Keck, Lisa Gandy, Jade Hyland, Lexy Storries, and Chandra Gillig. You make me smile each and every day. To my peers—SL Scott, Heidi McLaughlin, Staci Hart, Seraphina Donavan, Angie McKeon, K. Langston, Randa Lynn, Olivia Evans, and Brooke Cumberland: Thank you for always being available to answer questions and give advice and, most importantly, for your friendship. My Facebook group, Books by Adriana Locke, and Goodreads group, All Locked Up, give me more support than I can articulate. Thank you all, each and every one of you, for your participation, excitement, energy, and love. You keep me going. My eleventh grade English teacher, Mrs. Mitchell, made me a writer. She took my papers and pushed me, encouraged me, and gave me the tools to use later in life. She made such a difference and, although I haven’t talked to her in decades, I’d like to put good karma into the universe for her. And, of course, my Instagram girls! How could I forget you? book_ish_life, kinkygirlsbookobsessions, abwobookblog, henrycavillorg, d1mpld1, innergoddess_booklover, ktreister, mixlovesbooks, caramaterowski, 73jem, booksandbandanas, tiffany.the.bibliophile, readsbyrose, thereadingruth, fictionxfreak, lovekellankyle, charliehunnamforever, cozy_dita, jangare, most_beautifulmen, virginiacny, emmbooks, lakel24vr, bookobsessedgirl, rentasticreads, maciereads, ig_kayla, bookangels_, kshadows, heatherlynb1988, jenifrmthebloc, mg_herrera, love50shadesx, bookit18, smuttybooklover Thank you to the blogs that jumped on board for my release day events and to those that have supported me in the past. You allow me to write and get my words to the world. You are so appreciated. And, of course, thank YOU. I appreciate you picking up my book and giving it a chance. I’d love to hear what you think! My contact links are on the next page—please find me and let’s chat! xo, Addy

USA Today Bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other authors, Adriana has created her own. She resides in the Midwest with her husband, sons, and two dogs. She spends a large amount of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. You can find her outside if the weather ’s nice and there’s always a piece of candy in her pocket. Besides cinnamon gummy bears and random quotes, her next favorite thing is chatting with readers. She’d love to hear from you. Contact Adriana Website | Facebook | Twitter Pinterest | Instagram | Goodreads | Spotify Join Books by Adriana Locke for sneak peeks, giveaways, and more: www.facebook.com/groups/booksbyadrianalocke Subscribe to Adriana’s newsletter: Subscribe Here Continue on for an excerpt from Sacrifice, as well as the first chapter from Staci Hart’s newest release, Last Call, available now!



Crew The slush crunches beneath my boots, my breath billowing away from my body. I bow my head deeper, pulling the hood of my sweatshirt out from under my jacket to cover more of my face. I toggle the paper sack in my other arm, hoping nothing spills out on the wet asphalt. Remnants of the last snow are piled beneath the trees and mound in the shadows of the large apartment complexes looming above. The neighborhood is alive despite the bitter cold. People sit on the porches of their apartments and duplexes, some toking shit that sure as fuck isn’t tobacco. Smoke rolls from the chimneys of the few single family houses in the area. Most of them are dilapidated, nearly rotting to the ground. I grit my teeth. I hate that they live here. The apartment comes into view. A wooden chair is placed at the right of the door, a faded red and yellow striped pillow sitting on it. The steps of the porch are piss-poor and I have to sidestep the second one. The right side has a gash splitting the wood and I’m pretty certain if I stepped on it, I would fall through. I grimace and make a note to call her landlord. Piece of shit might not give two fucks about this place now, but he will. I’ll make sure of it. I bang against the door with my knuckle. It is a cold fucking day, even for Boston at the end of February. It made for a long day unloading cargo at the shipyard. The afternoon warmed a little, but now that the sun is going down, the chill is biting through my Carhartt jacket. I bring my hands to my mouth and rub them together, blowing on them to warm them up.

I knock again, getting impatient. I hear music playing on the other side of the wood, the John Mayer stuff she’s always loved. A loud commotion, something like a piece of wood smashing something followed by a scream, comes from the apartment next door. Cold and irritated, I turn the handle to give it a flick, thinking the jingle will make her give in and open it. My jaw tenses when it begins to swing free. A chip of paint from the door falls to the tile below. What the hell is she thinking? I walk in, brushing the hood off my head and scan the kitchen. The music is playing from her phone on the counter and a pot of something bubbles on the old gas stove. I notice that she’s got a sink full of dishes, which isn’t like her. She’s normally spot-on when it comes to details, taking care of everything she can control. It can be annoying as hell, but I figure it’s some kind of reaction to all the shit she’s not able to control in her life. I plop the bag down on the table, rattling the basket of apples that sat upon it. When she comes around the corner, her brown eyes go wide as she grabs at the doorframe, obviously not expecting me. “Damn it, Crew!” Julia says, clutching her chest with one hand. Her shoulders relax and a small sigh escapes her lips. I’m cautiously optimistic that maybe she’s relieved to see me, but it’s shortlived. She throws her shoulders back and narrows her eyes. I don’t know exactly what effect it was supposed to have on me, but it’s a good thing I don’t really care. “Lock your fucking door,” I growl, returning her glare. “You’re lucky it’s me and not some asshole from one of the apartments across the street.” “Lucky it’s you.” Sarcasm is thick in her voice as she shakes her head, her long black locks swinging side-to-side. She walks toward the stove and shuts off the music. I crack the paper bag with the back of my hand, making her flinch. “I brought you some stuff.” “Stop bringing me stuff.” She keeps her back to me, picking up a lid and slamming it on a pot. I know she’s not happy to see me because she never is. Tough shit. “Where’s the monkey?” I ask. “In the living room.” Her words come out flat, but I’m used to it. I don’t expect anything more from her. I can’t. “Everleigh! Come here, baby girl,” she calls. It’s such a natural thing, a mother calling her kid in for supper. It seems like just a normal part of an ordinary life. But I know the truth. Appearances can be deceiving, but I enjoy the moment of deception. I’ll take what I can get. A few seconds later, the sound of little feet come running into the kitchen. “Uncle Crew!”

I kneel on one knee as she runs to me, her black hair flowing behind her. “Uncle Crew!” she yells again and falls wildly in my arms, nuzzling her face into my cold jacket. I grab the zipper and yank it down, afraid the frozen metal will sting her little face. My lips find her forehead as she wraps her arms around me. I hold her close, brushing back her hair, breathing in the smell of bubble gum that I’ve come to associate with my little niece. “How are ya, monkey?” “I’m good,” she giggles, pulling back and looking at me expectantly. “Did you bring me something?” “Everleigh Nicole!” Julia reprimands her. “Have some manners!” “But it’s Uncle Crew.” She bats her eyelashes at her mother, who rolls her eyes in response. “You did bring me something, didn’t ya?” She looks at me again, a grin splitting her cheeks. I could never say no to this kid. She could ask me for the fuckin’ moon and I’d figure out a way to get it. “Come on. You know I brought ya something.” Everleigh giggles and bounces up and down, her arms folded across the front of her Tinkerbell shirt. I reach in the bag and fish through the groceries and pull out a coloring book and a box of crayons. I really have no idea what the pictures are about, but it’s the only one they had at the store. “Yay!” she squeals, holding them up in the air so Julia can see them. “Thank you! I’ll color you something beautiful and you can hang it at your house.” “You’re welcome.” I hold her gaze and give her a little nod to let her know our routine was still on. She tries to wink at me, but both eyes just flutter a few times. It takes everything I have not to laugh. As soon as Julia turns her back, I slip her a banana Laffy Taffy and she kisses my cheek. She does her best sneaky walk back into the living room to avoid being caught with candy before supper. I watch her go. Her long dark hair, just like her mother ’s, almost touches her waist. She’s so much like Julia. She has the same heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, and the same graceful way about her. Even so, there is so much about Everleigh that is like my brother. She’s tall, like Gage, towering over most of her five-year-old friends. Her eyes are the same color, like the sky over the harbor on a really clear day. But the thing about my niece that reminds me most of my brother is her soul. Just like Gage, Ever is wise beyond her years. She’s ridiculously smart and more mature than I probably was until I was in my twenties. My brother loved her so damn much. I release a sigh and lean against the battered refrigerator and feel it settle against my weight. Julia ignores me, working at the stove. She’s tied her hair back and I can see the stress in her shoulders, her posture defiant. She used to look that way in high school when she’d come to the house after a fight with her asshole parents. I hate seeing it now as much as I hated seeing it then. The only difference is now I have no one to blame but myself.

“You okay?” I ask, wondering if she will even respond to me. Sometimes she does. Sometimes she doesn’t. It’s been a long two years since our worlds fell apart, but we’ve come to some sort of unspoken understanding. I’ve accepted that she’s gonna hate me for the rest of her life. She’s accepted that I won’t go away. We’ve made some progress over time. She doesn’t threaten me with a restraining order anymore. I don’t get pissed at her refusal to cooperate. I just do what I’m going to do and she huffs but accepts it. Progress. “Jules?” I ask again, watching her warily. I normally don’t press, just drop off what I have and dash. Today, though, she seems more beaten down. I know she’s probably missing him this week even more than usual, because I am, too. That makes me want to go get a drink, but I can’t leave her without making sure she’s all right. I owe her that much. “You okay?” I see her set the spoon down and bow her head, and I brace myself for the unknown. “Peachy.” Her voice is so low that I can almost not even hear her. She grasps onto the counter on either side of the stove and doesn’t move. I chew on my lip and watch her, wait on her to give me some indication as to what she’s thinking. She gives me nothing to go on. “Need anything?” “No, Crew,” she said, whirling around on her heel, “I don’t.” Her eyes are on fire, blazing with some emotion I can’t pinpoint. “And I didn’t need my tires changed this morning either.” “What are ya talkin’ about?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I know she’s gonna bust my balls, but it’s not like I had a choice. I couldn’t take the chance of her driving Everleigh around on the roads with bald tires. “So you didn’t send Will to my office this morning to get my car? Nice of him to ask for my keys in front of half the department. Well played. How was I supposed to argue with him without causing a damn scene?” I shrug. “Stop doing this. Please. I can take care of myself.” We have a standoff, our gazes having the conversation neither of us wants to have. She’s telling me she’s not the little girl I once knew. But it’s not like I don’t know that. She might’ve grown up, but the woman she’s turned into has a helluva lot to do with the decisions I’ve made. There are so many mother fucking things I’d change if I could figure out how. But I can’t. “How is she?” I ask with a nod to the living room, trying to change the topic. Julia sighs, exhaustion flashing across her face. “She’s okay. She wasn’t feeling good this morning, so she stayed with Mrs. Bennett.” “Olivia? The neighbor lady?” “Yes. She seems better tonight, though.” She gives me a hint of a smile before her gaze drops to the floor. “Ever loves when you come by, so I’m sure she’ll be happy tonight. She likes you.”

The insinuation smacks me hard in the chest. “She’s been missing him a lot lately.” Our conversations don’t normally make it to discussing Gage unless we’re already arguing. The fact that she just brought it up shocks me and I’m not comfortable with it. I don’t know how to take it. I feel my jaw pulse with frustration and scramble to change the subject again. “Why is it so chilly in here?” Julia’s smile disappears and she tugs her sweatshirt nervously. “I didn’t know it was.” “How can you possibly not know?” I start to the thermostat across the room when she clears her throat. “The heater isn’t working right. I asked my landlord to come by and look at it earlier this week.” “And he hasn’t been here yet?” I shoot her a look and she shakes her head. “He’ll be here tonight.” I dig my cell out of my pocket. “Crew, don’t. Please. The last time you called my landlord he was a complete jerk to me for a couple of months. I just got on good terms with him again.” I scroll through my contacts list, looking for his name. “Crew . . .” I know her doe-eyes are pleading with me. I also know if I look up at her, I’ll be somewhat inclined to give in. So I don’t.

LAST CALL by STACI HART MEOW Rose MY BREATH CAME IN BURSTS, heart pounding as Patrick’s long body pressed me into the bed. There wasn’t an inch between us—we were a tangle of arms and legs, lips and hands, and any will I had to stop him was long gone. I didn’t care that I should. I didn’t care about anything, not with his fingers stroking my skin like a match, trailing heat in their wake. He was even better than I remembered. I opened my heavy lids when he backed away to pull off his shirt, taking a quick second to catch my breath as I skimmed my fingers down his tattooed chest, my eyes roaming over the art that covered every inch of his skin as he watched. It was his soul laid bare—the good and the bad, the happy and sad, all chronicled in black ink so he could remember. As if he could ever forget. It was a sight I’d missed more than I’d ever confess. He bent to kiss me, breathing until his breath was mine and mine was his. It was fevered, frantic— my hand against the sharp angle of his jaw, his lips hard, my eyes pinned shut—erasing everything that had happened between us. As if it had never happened. Patrick broke away to kiss my neck just as a black cat jumped on the bed, and I glanced over with bleary eyes to meet the cat’s. He meowed, teeth like tiny white needles against the jet black of his fur. Patrick didn’t stop or seem to notice. His hands slipped up my thighs, tongue brushing my skin, wet lips closing, and my lids fluttered, a sigh slipping out of me as I twisted my fingers in his black hair. An orange tabby hopped onto the bed and strutted across to sit next to the black one, tail twitching. He blinked at me and meowed. “What the hell?” I muttered, confusion on my face as another one—this time smoke gray—found its way onto my bed, sat next to the others, looked right at me, and meowed like an absolute bastard. My face fell as flat as my hope. “I’m fucking dreaming.” This was the moment when my eyes flew open, and I gasped as I woke unwillingly. Patrick was gone, and so were the cats. My clothes were sadly in place, the room chilly and dark, and my phone alarm meowed at me from my nightstand. “Son of a bitch,” I huffed, heart still chugging as I rolled over to swipe blindly at the screen to stop the noise. The phone was still in my hand as I flopped back in bed, reminding myself again to change the ringer when I could open my eyes. My roommate, Lily, had set it as a joke weeks ago, and I could never remember to change it back. Instead, I considered options for a payback ringer, top of the list being broken glass, crying baby, and angry hen. I cracked one eye to glance at my screen. It was eight in the morning, an hour that normally didn’t exist in my universe. I’d never been a morning person, which was part of the draw in bartending. Of

course, it made adulting kind of hard when you didn’t get up until two, but luckily, I didn’t have to adult very often. Jury duty being an unavoidable, annoying, and despicable exception. I thought real hard about the two-hundred-fifty dollar fine I’d get nailed with if I didn’t show up. Real hard. But it wasn’t worth it. I’d get out of bed for two-hundred-fifty bones. Hell, if you fed me enough tequila and I had on a pretty bra, I’d probably take my shirt off for that kind of money. I sighed and flipped off my comforter before reaching over to turn on my lamp. My room was always dark thanks to blackout curtains that aided and abetted my reverse sleep habits. The only time they were opened was when Lily wanted to torture me out of bed before lunch. She was spared a sudden, gruesome death only because she’s my best friend. I peeled myself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom in nothing but a Cub Scout T-shirt and panties, rubbing my face as I yawned, trying not to think about how warm my bed had been. Definitely trying not to think about Patrick’s lips—or his hands, or jaw, or tattoos or his— He dumped you more than seven months ago, Rose. Get over it. Stupid asshole dreams. Let me give you some relationship advice. Don’t date the guy down the hall, because when he dumps you, you can’t get away. Definitely don’t date a guy in your group of super tight-knit friends, because then you really fuck yourself. Especially if he was your best friend, and especially if he never stopped looking at you like he’d devour you if you’d say the word, even months after he dropped you like a bad habit. Really makes it hard to stick to your guns. But stick to my guns I did. Patrick and I were an unwieldy, knotted up mess, so when it ended for good, that was it. I didn’t even know how to approach fixing it because it was fucked up beyond all repair, so I threw up the wall. And once the wall is up, there’s no scaling it. It’s like nuclear lockdown —gates don’t open for two-hundred years, so go get yourself a Snickers and pull up a chair because we’re going to be here for a while. I glanced in the mirror and yawned again, hazel eyes watering as I twisted my long, shaggy black hair into a rope and tossed it over my shoulder, feeling grumbly as I washed my face and hands. I needed to at least look presentable, wear something professional-ish, which was a problem since ripped up jeans and combat boots made up a large sum of my wardrobe. So I sighed heavily and made my way into Lily’s room to find something ‘normal’ to wear. She was the light to my dark, the optimist to my cynic. The ‘normal’ to my ‘not.’ I stopped dead when I stepped into her room. A body shaped lump was stretched out in Lily’s bed under her covers. The problem: Lily hadn’t slept at home in months. My pulse exploded in a burst as I tried to figure out who it was because that lump was too big to be Lily. Obviously the logical leap was that a homeless guy wandered in and crashed in her bed. Or maybe it was a tired burglar. A lost little old man? Maybe the nursing home was looking for him. Or the police. Or his kids, looking for their inheritance.

I stood frozen next to the bed with my brain tripping over what to do. Call the cops. Scream. Run. Fight. I blinked and looked around for a weapon, eyes lighting when I landed on Lily’s nightstand. My lips pursed, eyes on the lump as I opened the drawer silently and grabbed Philmore Dix. I stepped closer to the pile of bedding, breath frozen in my lungs as I extended it slowly to poke the lump in what I thought might be its shoulder. The covers flew up with a yelp of the man underneath, and I screamed as the lump rolled off the bed and hit the floor. Patrick was wild-eyed, black hair a mess, tattooed chest heaving as he blinked up at me. My heart kickstarted with a thud, and all the blood rushed to my cheeks and ears. “Tricky! What the fuck?” I yelled as I threw the hot pink vibrator at him. He put up his hand to stop Phil from hitting him in the chest. “Fuck, Rose. You scared the shit out of me.” I gaped. “I scared you? What the fuck are you doing here?” “Sleeping.” “Obviously,” I shot as I hung a hand on my hip, trying to keep my eyes on his instead of his body. I wondered briefly if he was naked. My heartbeat ticked up a notch. “Why are you sleeping here?” He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair, putting it in place elegantly. “Ever since Lily started sleeping over, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep. Three in the morning, every morning, like clockwork. First the moaning. Then the headboard banging. I’ve tried everything, Rose. You’ve gotta know this was the last resort. I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t desperate for sleep.” I regretted the fact that he had a key to our place, along with regretting a hundred other things as I glared at that beautiful asshole, sitting on the floor of Lily’s room, wrapped in pretty, frilly bedding as he stared up at me with sad, intense eyes, eyes that begged me to understand. The pissed me off the most was that I did understand. I felt that pull to him, in the moment. His eyes always did that to me—I swear if he looked hard enough, he could see straight through me. I shoved my feelings on the matter back down into that dark corner of my heart and kicked its door closed. My eyes narrowed, teeth clenching once. “How long have you been sleeping here?” His face tightened in the smallest increment, but I saw it just the same. “Over a month.” I ran a hand through my hair, not even sure what to say. “Jesus Christ, Tricky. You should have asked me.” “Lily suggested it. I told her we should ask you, but she said you’d flip out.” He smirked a little, since she was right and all. “That bitch,” I breathed, only like forty-two percent serious, but that forty-two percent was really serious. He was still smirking just a little, that dick, even though he had those eyes of his on me like sexy lasers. “Come on, Rose. I mean, I’ve been here for a month and you didn’t even know. I’ll stay out of

your way, I swear.” My jaw was set, but I was torn. Everything pointed to picking him up my his scruff—naked or not —and tossing him out. I just wasn’t sure how much of that was irrational. So I put on my hardass, scowling a little for effect. “It’s way too early to have this discussion. I need coffee, or whiskey. Or both. You work today?” “Yeah, until six.” “I have jury duty, but meet me here after and give me the day to think about it.” “Fair enough.” The shadow smirk bloomed into a full blown crooked smile. He picked up Philmore, turning it over to inspect it as his brow climbed. “You were going to assault me with a pink vibe?” I shrugged. “It was the closest blunt object.” He snuck a glance down at my legs. I’d forgotten I was nearly naked, and another little burst of adrenaline shot through me as I watched him look me over. I was all of a sudden very glad I’d done laundry a couple of days ago and had my top-shelf undies on instead of the days of the week panties I reserved for periods and trips to the laundromat. I turned for Lily’s dresser to rummage through her clothes with clumsy hands, hiding behind my dark hair to cover the flush in my cheeks. When I turned around, business casual in hand, he was still staring at my body. I ignored the shot of heat that ran through me and made a face somewhere between a scowl and a glare. He looked up at me without the least bit of remorse. The light streamed in through a crack between the curtains, a slice of sunshine across his angular face and curves of his shoulders, illuminating his blue eyes as tiny specks of dust danced in and out of the beam. I realized I wasn’t breathing and clutched the clothes in my hands with sweaty palms, needing to get out of that room before I suffocated. “All right . . . well, I’ll see you tonight, Tricky.” “Sure.” His voice was tight, the smile somehow gone from his face without me realizing when it had left. I wondered if he was as affected by me as I was by him, just before walked away from him with only one other thought. This cannot be good.