I glance over my shoulder a few more times as I make my way to the interview, but I don’t spot Pete. I even start to relax a little by the time I arrive at the huge glass and chrome monstrosity that is the InFini Headquarters building.

Still, there’s an interview to get through and I’m a sweaty, nervous, anxious mess.

It’s just like Pete to show up at the worst possible moment to ruin my day.

I’m very familiar at this point with how inept Pete is at hiding, so it’s encouraging that I haven’t seen him. Maybe he got the message, maybe he’ll actually leave me alone and let me get on with my goddamn life.

When we were dating, he would hardly even let me leave the house. He’s so controlling and neurotic that he demanded to know my whereabouts at all times.

It’s taking some adjustment to move on from him, to feel like I’m actually free to go where I want, when I want, with whom I want.

I feel a quick pang of guilt, thinking about the guy whose coffee I spilled. He seemed good-looking, tall and broad, from the quick glance I’d had. And the shirt I ruined looked expensive as hell.

Normally, I would’ve stopped and been all apologetic, offered to pay for the poor guy’s shirt, probably try to awkwardly wipe it all off of him . . . but a combination of being late and Pete the creep being in close proximity meant I had no choice but to rush off.

I hope karma isn’t a thing . . . or if she’s real, at least I hope she’s understanding.

All told, it hasn’t been a good day so far.

Bright sunlight reflects off the glass panels of the InFini building as I pull out my little pocket mirror and take a look at myself.

The curls I spent so long on this morning are all floppy and out of shape, there’s a particularly unattractive sheen of sweat all over my face, and my clothes are all rumpled from rushing around in the midday heat.

Wonderful.

I’m just starting to panic when my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text message—from Brock, of all people.

Oh, thank God. I’ve never been more glad to hear that someone’s going to be late.

My day’s starting to look better already.

Walking through the revolving glass door and into the air-conditioned lobby, I wince from the pain in my feet. Now that the adrenaline has somewhat worn off and I know Brock’s going to be late, I wish I didn’t run in my new, painful shoes.

Inside the huge and opulent space, I gape at the sculptures and prototypes of the various hi-tech gizmos that the company has created over the years. It’s all very ostentatious.

I duck into the restroom. A few minutes, some paper towels and a little bit of fresh makeup is all I need to set the world to rights, and when I come back out again, everything seems a little bit better.

You’ve got this. You’re qualified for this job, whether or not Dean got it for you. Show Brock that, and you’re in. No worries, no sweat.

I take a seat in one of the comfortable leather couches, and wait patiently. As the minutes roll by, I can’t help but wonder what Brock looks like these days, how he’s changed.

Dean told me that he’s a big-shot now. He works directly for Luke Alder of all people. Luke. Alder. One of the richest and most ridiculously handsome men in the country.

He was all over TMZ and the gossip magazines about a year ago. If I remember correctly, he’d gotten married in a quickie ceremony in Vegas to a woman nobody knew. It was all quite scandalous, but I guess things worked out, because I haven’t seen him in those magazines since.

Apparently, Brock has been taking over more and more of the day-to-day responsibilities, now that Luke is spending more time with his new family.

And I’m going to be working right under him.

If I get this right, this job could be an insane opportunity. All I need to do is not put my foot in my mouth during the interview.

Unfortunately for me, I have this habit of talking too much when I get nervous. ‘Verbal diarrhea’ my Mom always used to call it.

I’m so lost in my silly daydreams that I don’t even notice him coming until it’s too late.

Suddenly, there’s a hand clamped on my arm. Pete yanks me up to my feet, getting way too close.

“You think you can just run away from me like that?” he asks in a threatening tone. “I don’t think so, Nina. We’re not done until I say we’re done.”

My heart sinks. Just as I thought my day was getting better.

“Pete, seriously, get freaking lost. How did you even find me?” I put on my fiercest voice, glancing at the security guard standing by the revolving door—who, unfortunately, has his gaze riveted on a cute girl’s butt.

Pete sneers at me. “Guess I’m more resourceful than you give me credit for, huh? You can’t just go sneaking around behind my back. Who are you here to see?”

I try and wrench my arm free from his grasp, but he doesn’t budge.

“Get the hell off me,” I growl, even as I grimace in pain. “Or I’m going to make good on my promise from before.”

He doesn’t seem fazed. He’s got a wild, manic look in his eyes. Little, icy tendrils of fear run down my spine.

“I always knew you were a cheating whore,” he hisses, spittle flecking his lips. “Who are you here to see? Your new man?”

“I’m here for a job interview, you creep. Get off me and leave me alone.”

“A job interview? Who did you sleep with to get that?” He laughs in my face.

“I suggest you take your hands off of her. Now,” says a deep, commanding voice.

Oh, good. Guess that security guard wasn’t too wrapped up in checking out chicks in tight pencil skirts after all.

I whirl around, but it’s not the security guard I see.

A guy, tall and muscular, stands there with his arms crossed, fixing Pete with a stare that could melt a glacier.

As Pete lets go of my arm, I wince and clutch it.

That’s going to leave a bruise, asshole.

“And just who the hell might you be?” my ex spits, his face upturned to glare at the new guy, who stands a head taller than him.

My hot-as-sin savior walks over to stand next to me, and I almost jump out of my skin when he puts one of those bulging biceps protectively around my shoulders. Pete’s eyes almost pop out of his skull.

“She’s with me now,” says Mr. Tall and Handsome. “Right, Nina, sweetheart?”

I turn to look up at him. He smells good, and the proximity of his hard body is making me forget how to form words, but I try my best. “That’s, uh . . . that’s right.”

“So,” the guy says, his voice rumbling ominously, “I think you’d better leave.”

Pete looks apoplectic with rage. His face is turning a strange shade of purple and the veins of his neck are pulsing.

“Bullshit!” Pete practically shouts. “Do the two of you even know each other?”

Seeing as Pete has been tailing me for weeks, he’s probably seen me going everywhere on my own. I wrack my brain for something to say.

Luckily, Mr. Tall and Handsome saves me from having to lie.

“Of course we do. Nina was telling me this morning when we woke up—” he pauses to throw me the sexiest, panty-melting smile “—that the loser she used to date might come and try to screw up her interview, so I decided to come along with her just in case.” He gestures at the exit dismissively, then levels his sharp gaze at Pete. In a calm-but-deadly voice, he says, “So leave. Now.”

Pete takes a menacing step forwards, which is almost funny because he looks like a few matchsticks held together with PVA glue in comparison to the chiseled physique of my mystery protector.

As it happens, though, there’s no showdown because a couple of burly security guards—including the one I saw standing by the revolving door—show up out of nowhere and grab Pete under the shoulders.

“Get him out of here,” rumbles the voice to my side.

I watch, jaw hanging open, as Pete is dragged, kicking and screaming, out onto the street. He continues to cause a scene once outside, but the security guards stand impassively at the doors, arms crossed, until he eventually leaves, throwing out a few more curse words as he shuffles off impotently down the street.

“So . . . he seems like a nice guy,” says Mr. Tall and Handsome with a killer smile on his gorgeous face. “Anyway, now that that’s dealt with, shall we get on with your interview?”

I turn to face him, my jaw dropping open even wider. “B-Brock?”