A KNOCK ON HER DOOR, Nayna no doubt having used Ísa’s security code to come up.

Figuring that was a sign from the gods, Ísa put down her phone and went to open the door, dying to fill her friend in on Cody’s unfortunate facial situation. Then she took in Nayna’s own expression.

“Hey,” she said, enfolding her friend in a huge hug. “What’s the matter?”

Nayna made a face as they drew apart. “Sometimes,” she muttered, “I get tired of being the dutiful daughter.” She shut the door behind herself. “Let me help you finish prepping dinner, and then I’ll tell you the story of my sad, sad life.”

It didn’t take them long to get everything together.

Taking their plates, they sat on the sofa in front of the television; it was currently playing their favorite trashy reality show.

Nayna began to speak halfway through the episode. “It’s Madhuri,” she said, referring to her older sister.

“Has she done something rebellious again?” Ísa asked, well aware of the big scandal in Nayna’s family history—the eldest Sharma daughter had eloped with a boy from her college when she’d been a bare nineteen years of age. Nayna herself had only been fourteen at the time.

Shaking her head, Nayna mumbled her next words through a huge mouthful of mashed potatoes. “She’s mostly the reason why my parents have been so strict with me, but today she was sitting in the kitchen at breakfast, chatting away to our parents while I helped my mom make breakfast.”

“Your sister’s been welcome back in the family for a few years.” Ísa ate a big scoop of the bean salad, made an “mmm” sound that had Nayna nodding.

“I don’t care what strange herbs and spices they put in that salad,” her best friend said, “they’ll pry my bean salad out of my cold, dead hands.”

Swallowing her current bite of sweet, salty beany goodness, Ísa said, “Anyway, I thought you loved having her around.” The family estrangement had lasted six long years, during which Nayna had desperately missed her big sister. Her parents had refused to talk to their eldest daughter even after Madhuri’s relationship broke up four years after the elopement.

“I do.” Nayna’s face fell. “But today I truly realized just how much my father loves her.” Wet in her eyes, her voice thick. “She was always his favorite—the one who could make him laugh, coax him to give us extra sweets, or let us stay up to watch TV. She was the sister with the spirit, the child full of color and joy and wildness. That’s part of the reason I’ve always loved her too.”

Personally, Ísa had always thought Madhuri an attention-seeking flibbertigibbet, but she figured everyone had blinders about something. Nayna’s happened to be about her sister.

Nayna tore off a piece of chicken with her teeth even as a tear rolled down her face. “Today I saw that, despite everything, she’s still his favorite. I don’t mind that, I really don’t. It’s just… I can’t even get him to give me a ‘well done’ hug.”

Another gnawing bite of the chicken as she sobbed. “I’m trying so hard to be the perfect daughter, Ísa, and it just struck me today that none of it matters.” She gesticulated wildly with her drumstick. “I will never be well-behaved enough, never ever follow the rules well enough, never see my father’s eyes light up with pride. I’m fucking killing myself toeing the line, and it doesn’t fucking matter!”

In all their years together, Ísa had only heard Nayna swear maybe five times. So she didn’t hug her best friend—she could tell the other woman was as furiously angry as she was sad. Instead, she said, “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but part of the reason you went the whole arranged-marriage route was to make your parents happy. Are you rethinking that?”

Nayna put down the drumstick. “This isn’t just about my father. There’s also my grandmother. I want her to be happy—she never got to have the big wedding for her granddaughter that she dreamed about while we were growing up. I want to give her that.”

Ísa scowled. “Your grandma loves you unconditionally, you egg.” Ísa had been hugged by those same soft arms, her impression of Nayna’s grandmother a fusion of textures and scent—the softness of the white sari that was her daily wear, the hint of incense that clung to her because of her early-morning prayers, the fancy perfume she loved and that Nayna gave her for her birthday every year.

“She’s had a lot of pain in her life,” Nayna countered. “A lot of loss. I want to give her this one bright, shining moment.”

“You really think she’ll be happy when she realizes how unhappy you are?”

Nayna stared at her empty plate. “I should’ve bought ice cream when I got the salad.”

“Please,” Ísa muttered. “Like I’d ever run out of ice cream. But read this in the meantime.” After pulling up Michelle’s messages, she handed her phone to Nayna. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Nayna was laughing in open glee by the time Ísa returned with the two-liter tub of rocky road ice cream and two spoons. “If you ever find the man who did this to Cody’s face—and to Suzanne’s precious wedding,” Nayna said, her eyes shining, “you need to offer him a blow job at least. It’d only be polite.”

Ísa’s face went hot red between one second and the next.

Of course Nayna caught it. “You know who it was!” she accused. “Tell me!”

“I’m not sure.” Ísa thrust the cold container of ice cream into Nayna’s lap.

Not the least distracted by the cold of the ice cream, Nayna waggled her eyebrows. “Anyone to whom you’d be happy to offer a lusty sexual favor?”

When Ísa’s breath turned shallow, her face even hotter, Nayna’s smile cracked her face. “It was him, wasn’t it? The hot gardener? The one you went skinny-dipping with at the party? I knew he couldn’t be an asshole, not with the way he looks at you! And oh my God! He avenged your honor!”

“I’ll tell you when I know.” Ísa pointed her spoon at her grinning best friend. “And I thought you were depressed.”

“Hearing about Slimeball Schumer’s comeuppance has had a reviving effect.” Having opened the container, she put it between them and dug in.

One spoonful later, she said, “Ísa, seriously—if Mr. Sexy Blue Eyes punched out Cody for you, he might be a keeper.”

Ísa stabbed her own spoon into the ice cream. “He’s twenty-three.” And definitely, absolutely not anything like the kind of man for whom Ísa was searching. Even if he haunted her in her dreams. Even if she kept seeing that image of him on the stairs, a maturity to him that belied his age. Even if she kept hearing him whisper “spitfire” in her ear while promising to lock her up using handcuffs.

---

AFTER FINALLY GETTING HOME AT eight that evening, Sailor dug out a frozen meal. He showered while it was cooking in the microwave, then pulled on a pair of low-hanging shorts and, taking the meal to the kitchen table where he did most of his theoretical work, sat down to fine-tune the plans for Fast Organic.

Jacqueline’s assistant had sent him a message to say that a representative from the company would be meeting him tomorrow at three at the first Fast Organic site to go over the details. She hadn’t sent him a name, noting that she’d send through final details tomorrow, once this new project was integrated into everyone’s schedules. Given Jacqueline’s driven nature, the rep had to be someone equally intelligent and competent; they’d no doubt have countless questions.

Sailor wanted to have all the answers ready.

After he finished this, he’d have to get to work on his taxes. The problem with being a one-man shop was that he had to do everything. Which didn’t leave a lot of time for extracurricular activities. He played rugby during the season, ran for exercise during the off-season, but that was about it. Today, however, he decided that he needed to add “flirting with a cute redhead” to his schedule.

When he was around her, he felt young in a way he hadn’t felt since he was fifteen and had set himself the goal that drove him every single day. She made him realize that he’d put part of himself into deep freeze a long time ago—but there was no ice around her and never had been. His redhead had hit him straight in the gut from the first night he’d laid eyes on her.

A man would have to be very stupid to walk away from that.

Sailor wasn’t stupid.

He was also very, very determined.

The cactus was just stage one of his plan to lure his redhead into his lair.

---

ÍSA RAN INTO HER LEAST favorite person in the entire world the next morning after she parked her car in the Crafty Corners parking lot. She hadn’t slept well, tormented by dreams of a man with devil-blue eyes who teased her body without ever offering relief. What she needed was a tall black coffee. What she got was a tall, blackhearted swamp creature.

“Hello, Trevor,” she said with a tight smile and tried to walk past him.

“Hey.” He put his hands on her upper arms. “Is that any way to talk to your stepbrother?”

Not about to put up with unwanted contact, Ísa deliberately stepped back. If he touched her again, she’d break out the painful little-finger twist she’d learned in a self-defense class. “I don’t think it works that way when parents marry after their children are adults.” It wasn’t the first time she’d made the point.

Trevor laughed, his perfect white teeth gleaming in his perfect square-jawed face with its perfect salon-tousled blond hair. He was like a living, talking, walking magazine model. It was creepy. “Are you going in to see Jacqueline?” he asked. “I was hoping to have a word with her.”

“I don’t know if she’s in yet,” was all Ísa said. She had no desire to know what Trevor wanted to discuss with Jacqueline, though she could guess. Trevor had been angling for a senior position at Crafty Corners ever since his father Oliver had the good fortune to marry Jacqueline.

While Oliver Jones was a somewhat vague professor who, oddly enough, seemed to “get” Jacqueline in a way none of her previous husbands had, Trevor Jones was very much a smooth operator out to line his pockets. He’d quickly figured out that getting into Jacqueline’s good books was in his best interest.

Unfortunately, good-looking, charming men were Jacqueline’s weak point.

Except in business, of course. Nothing distracted Jacqueline in business. Not even “a nice piece of ass.”

Trevor had, so far, managed to walk the fine line between being a charming man whose company Jacqueline enjoyed and a calculating operator who wanted to wheedle his way into her business empire. Ísa wondered how long that would last. Jacqueline might have a weak spot for charming men, but she also had a razor-sharp intellect—sooner, rather than later, she’d figure out that Trevor was muscling in for a piece of the family pie.

That might’ve intrigued Jacqueline had Trevor been up to her standards, but Trevor wasn’t even on Jacqueline’s radar as someone she’d employ. While he was apparently a competent lawyer, he wasn’t a shark who could rip the competition to shreds without ever losing his smile. Jacqueline’s entire legal team was made up of sharks—which occasionally made for interesting office politics, but when it counted, the sharks worked together as a team.

They’d chew Trevor up and spit him out without so much as pausing in their work.

“I hear Jacqueline’s made you acting vice president.” Trevor’s smile was so dazzling that she half expected to see a glint off one pearly white. “Congratulations.”

Ísa settled the strap of her satchel and gave him the same tight smile as earlier, hoping he’d get the message. “It’s only for the summer,” she said. “I’m sure she’ll find someone permanent during that time.”

“Oh, don’t be modest, Ísalind.” Trevor’s smile rang hollow. “We all know you’re a genius. You’ve got your mother’s instincts.”

Now what the hell was he up to? “Um, thanks,” she muttered. “I’d better go in. There’s a lot to do.” She had an evening class to teach tonight, the reason why she’d arrived at Crafty Corners so early. She wasn’t about to do extra hours for Jacqueline, but neither did she plan to shirk on her part of the blackmail bargain.

Trevor fell into step beside her. “I don’t want to keep you. I know how important this is to Jacqueline. She looks to you as her successor you know.”

That was hardly a state secret.

“I want you to know,” Trevor added in a tone that dripped sincerity, “that if you ever need a hand, I’m here. Being thrown into the vice presidential position at only twenty-eight has got to create an immense amount of stress on you. I’ve got the legal know-how to give you backup anytime you need.”

It was a good thing no one from Crafty Corners’ in-house crack team of sharks was present to hear Trevor’s offer—she wouldn’t have given him high odds of survival in that situation. “Thanks,” she said, deciding to take his words at face value. It was possible he was genuinely trying to be helpful and nice. Maybe she shouldn’t think of him as a blackhearted villain just because he checked all the boxes.

Probably she should feel bad about mentally naming him Trevor the Creeper. But just like ivy crept over a wall until it smothered it, Trevor was on a campaign to creep all over Jacqueline and Crafty Corners.

He touched Ísa on her lower back.

She elbowed him hard enough in the gut that he spluttered out an “oof” of breath. “You shouldn’t startle women,” she said calmly instead of apologizing, because she was Jacqueline Rain’s daughter and her mother had taught Ísa never to apologize to men who were attempting to force their way into her space.

Every so often, when meetings or conferences or networking events didn’t interfere, Jacqueline had been one hell of a mom.

Still a little breathless, Trevor held up his hands. “Sorry, my fault,” he said with a dental-commercial-worthy smile. “I was just going to suggest we should have dinner together. Our parents are married, and yet I feel I don’t know you at all. How about it, stepsister?” He made the last word sound vaguely incestuous.

Ew.

“I’m sure we’ll get to know each other over the summer,” she said rather than answering his invitation. “Mother’s been talking about having more family dinners.” Actually, it was Ísa who’d been talking about family dinners—but she hadn’t been thinking of Trevor at the time. She wanted her mother to pay attention to her other two children.

Catie, the child to whom she’d given birth.

Harlow, the son whom she hadn’t birthed but into whose life she’d blasted at a critical point.

When Trevor opened his mouth again, Ísa beat him to the punch. “I’ve got to head up and make a start on work. Have a great day, and I hope you manage to catch up with Jacqueline.” She deliberately made sure the door locked behind her after she entered.

With it being so early, there was no one else around to let him in.

And oh, oops, she’d developed temporary hearing loss and couldn’t hear him knocking.

Devil Ísa grinned.

After reaching her office, she got immediately to work. It was about an hour and fifteen minutes later that she got up and went to see if Ginny had arrived; she needed the other woman to find some records for her.

Ginny’s computer was up and running, but Ísa couldn’t spot her.

Detouring to the staff room, Ísa grabbed a mug of coffee before wandering back into her office. A little potted plant sat in the center of her desk. She blinked, glanced over her shoulder—and saw Ginny coming back from the photocopier.

“Did you see where that potted plant came from?” she asked her assistant, her heart thumping triple time.

“Apparently it was dropped off at reception by that hunky blue-eyed contractor. Looks like he wants to make nice with the boss.” Mischief in her expression, she added, “James said he was wearing khaki work shorts and a sand-colored T-shirt. There was also mention of a thigh tattoo.” She pretended to melt into her chair. “I wish I’d seen him. Such a dishy sight to start off the day.”

Cheeks threatening to blaze, Ísa made some vague statement before shutting herself in her office. And surrendering to memories of the first time she’d seen adult Sailor—he’d been wearing his work shorts then too, a gorgeous, sweaty man who looked good enough to lick.

Ísa shivered as she made her way to her desk. The potted plant was another miniature cactus, this one tiny round balls with a thin “fur” of spikes. Tiny yellow flowers erupted from the tips. It was adorable.

But what she was really interested in was the message.