Okay, so I'd told myself that I wouldn't get all upset when the one-night stand I'd initiated was over. And I wasn't upset. Not exactly. I wasn't all weepy and wondering why Dax had walked out with barely a word. After all, he hadn't pretended this would be anything other than what it was. I wasn't angry at him or anything like that. And I wasn't really angry at myself.

I just wasn't sure if sleeping with a guy I'd just met on my second night in a new city had been the best move. Still, it had at least been my decision, made free of all the pressures that came with living in DC. It wasn't upset, I finally decided, but rather regret I was feeling, and regret I could handle.

As I finally started to fall asleep, I reminded myself that at least the sex had been good. All right, beyond good. My entire body was still humming.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt better. Yes, I'd had sex. Great, toe-curling, sex with a smoking hot guy. It hadn't been pity sex or sloppy drunken sex. It'd been two consenting adults who wanted each other. A decision I'd made for myself, and one I refused to let myself regret.

First things first though. I needed a shower. By the time I got out, I felt more prepared to figure out what I should do next. For most people who moved, getting a job would be first priority, but thanks to the inheritance I'd gotten from Nana and Papa's estate, employment was only as much of an issue as I wanted it to be.

Which meant that I could focus on the other reason I'd chosen New York City as my destination. I wanted to act, but I was hoping to make it on Broadway rather than in film or on TV, so NYC made sense. What had solidified it for me, however, was the letter my mother and I had found while going through some of Nana and Papa's things.

As I worked my brush through my hair, I paced, trying to figure out how to get the information I needed without risking seeing Dax again. I wasn't angry at him, but I didn't want him to think I was a stalker or some pitiful girl who couldn’t let go. If I went back to Club Privé tonight, I was sure that's what he'd think. But I had to go back. It was the only lead I had.

My bare foot hit something, and I looked down. A wallet. I bent to pick it up even though I already knew who it belonged to. It was a sign. Now, I had good reason to go, but I wouldn’t wait until tonight. The club probably wouldn't be open on a Sunday morning, but it was as good a start as any.

The bouncer wasn't there when I arrived, so I walked around the building to look for an employee entrance. I still didn't have a plan for what I'd do if no one was there, but I wasn't in a rush. As I neared the back door, however, I saw a woman coming from the opposite direction. She was a little taller than me and probably six or seven years older.

“Excuse me!” I called out as I hurried toward her. “Excuse me, do you work here?”

She looked startled, but not alarmed. “I do. How can I help you?”

“Is Gavin Manning here?”

I felt her stiffen more than I saw it, but I recognized the look in her eyes. Gavin meant something to her. The sunlight glinted off a diamond on her left hand, and intuition told me that she was married to the man I was looking for.

“Who wants to know?” she asked, her tone a little less friendly and a lot more cautious.

“My name's Bryne Dawkins.” I put out a hand.

“Carrie Manning.” She shook mine, but I could see that she still didn't quite know how to take me. “Why do you want to see my husband?”

I was right, and my heart gave a funny skipping beat. I'd been prepared to spend weeks searching at the very least, but instead, I'd accidentally stumbled across the person I'd come here to find.

“It's...complicated,” I said, biting my lower lip, uncertain what to say or even how to begin.

A brisk wind blew through the alley, and I shivered. The expression on Carrie's face softened.

“Come on in.” She swiped a card and then punched a code into the keypad next to the door. She opened it and walked inside.

I followed and found myself in a hallway rather than the open space I'd seen last night. It was dimly lit, but enough that I didn't have a problem following Carrie to a set of stairs that led up to the second floor. I remembered hearing that the upper floor was for VIPs, but Carrie didn't ask me to wait, so I went after her.

We stopped in front of a door, and she knocked, opening the door a moment later. When I stepped inside after her, she moved to the side so I could see the man sitting behind the desk. Dark hair, deep blue eyes. His features weren't familiar, and for a moment, I doubted that he was who I'd come to find, but I'd never know if I didn't speak up.

“Gavin, someone's here to see you.” Carrie took off her coat, and I saw that she was pregnant. Probably four or five months. Her winter coat had hidden it. Her hand automatically moved to her stomach as she turned, the gesture protective.

Gavin gave me a puzzled look, but that was no surprise. Even if he knew of my mother's existence, I doubted he'd known of mine. He stood. “Can I help you?”

“I'm Bryne Dawkins.” Straightforward was probably the best way to go with this, but I had a feeling it would come as quite a shock however I worded it. “I'm your niece.”

Gavin's eyes widened, and he looked from me to Carrie and back again. “Say again?”

“I think I'm your niece,” I clarified my statement. “Is your father's name Chauncey Manning?” At his nod, I continued, “And he worked at the US Embassy in Sweden like thirty years ago?”

“Yes.” He gestured to the chair across from him. Carrie moved to lean against him, and he took her hand. “But I'm still lost.”

I sat down and took a deep breath. “My mother's name is Allison, and her parents were Nancy Lyons...and Chauncey Manning.”

Gavin gave his head a little shake. “I'll need a little more than a couple names here, Bryne. My parents never said anything about a half-sister.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out both of the things I'd brought with me. The wallet I set on the desk. The letter, I held out to Gavin.

“After my dad died, my mom and I went to live with my great-grandparents. A few months ago, we were cleaning some things out of an old desk, and we found this letter. Your dad wrote it to my grandmother about thirty years ago. In it, he says that he met someone in Sweden, that they married and had a son. Gavin.”

He unfolded the letter and began to read, so I shut my mouth and let him. For me, this wasn't really a shock. I'd never known my grandfather. Hell, I'd barely known my grandmother, and my memories of her weren't fond ones.

After a couple minutes, he folded the letter back up and held it out to me. When he looked up at me, his expression was unreadable. “I believe you, but I think I'd like a couple minutes to call my dad. He has some explaining to do.”

I nodded and stood. Completely understandable. I glanced down at the desk and saw Dax's wallet. I gestured toward it. “By the way, that belongs to one of your employees. Dax Prevot.”

One eyebrow went up, and something flashed across Gavin's eyes. “May I ask why you have Dax's wallet?”

“Gavin.” There was a note of amusement in Carrie's voice.

I folded my arms and gave him a hard look. “I'm an adult.”

One corner of Gavin's mouth twitched. “Barely.”

Carrie smacked his arm. “You've just met the girl. I think it's a bit early to be going all alpha male on her.”

“Stay away from Dax,” Gavin said, his gaze fixed on me.

I wasn't entirely sure how to take him, but I'd never been one to shy away from asking questions. “Why?”

“Some of his acquaintances aren't exactly the most trustworthy of people,” Gavin said. He glanced at Carrie, who seemed to want to say something, and then added, “And he's not exactly known for his fidelity.”

I rolled my eyes. “If I was looking for a boyfriend, that might be an issue.”

I wasn't going to let myself think about how nice it might be to go to bed with Dax again. I would probably have some other one-night stands, some casual relationships, but my time with Dax was done. I wouldn’t go there again.

Carrie broke the silence before it could become uncomfortable. “Bryne, why don't you and I give Gavin some time alone to make his phone call. If he wants to play overprotective uncle, he can do it later.”

We walked toward the door, and I glanced over my shoulder. Gavin's eyes were fixed on Carrie, and I felt a sharp, painful longing. I'd never been one of those girls who spent time on romantic daydreams, but in that moment, I wanted someone to look at me the way Gavin was looking at Carrie.

“So, Bryne,” Carrie said as we walked into the hallway, “where are you staying?”