“No way,” I hiss. I take Diana by the elbow and pull her a few steps away, near the city hall reporter’s desk, which is overflowing with files and probably a fire hazard. We’re out of earshot of Caroline and Rafael, who are chatting and patting each other and acting like the long-lost friends they probably are. As I watch them laugh, I idly wonder if they’ve emailed over the years and Caroline hasn’t told me.

“Don’t lie. You want him,” Diana whispers back.

“Shut up. I don’t want him. And we are not getting back together. This is strictly business.” I glare at Diana.

“Maybe not as a couple, but I’d place bets on you two getting horizontal together in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.” She turns her back to Rafael and Caroline and holds up her thumb and forefinger in a circle, and with the other hand, her index finger moves in and out of the circle.

I swear to God she has the mind of a fourteen-year-old boy. “Hell no,” I reply and sneak a glance at Caroline, who has a hand on Rafael’s cheek.

“My goodness, Rafa. You have gotten even more handsome,” Caroline gushes.

I stare and let out a snort. “Can she stop? He obviously doesn’t need any more ego-boosting. Christ. Do you see that suit? It probably cost more than my car.”

Diana shrugs. “He’s really filled out nicely. Remember how thin he was freshman year? Still sexy back then, but today? Sweet baby Jesus. Look at those shoulders.”

Now I loathe both Diana and Caroline. “Witch. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side. And I know that you haven’t been on a date since your last breakup. And you haven’t gotten laid since way before that since Jared wasn’t exactly stellar in that department, either.”

Diana’s withering assessment of my ex is spot-on. Jared Duncan, TV news personality, was a great guy. Funny, charming, and passionless. One who took his granite-carved jaw out of Florida and left a year ago for a job at a big station in Los Angeles. I’d met him at a Florida journalism event when he worked at a station in nearby Jacksonville and dated him for three years to pass the time. He was fun at parties and an excellent dinner companion, but in bed, he’d been about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

On the plus side, my father had adored him.

I grunt and give Diana a sour look. “I hate when you’re right.”

Diana grins. “I’m always right.”

I ignore her and study Rafael. Caroline gazes at him lustily. “I’m so glad Justine finally came to her senses and called you. I never liked that TV pretty boy she was dating.”

I roll my eyes so hard I can practically see my brain.

Rafael glances in my direction and tilts his head. “Justine’s dating someone?”

“No, not anymore,” I say quickly, stepping toward him and Caroline. “And I didn’t call Rafael. I called Florida Capital. Which he bought, just the other day, according to the Journal. I didn’t know that it…he’d…” My voice trails off because I see Caroline’s gazing at Rafael adoringly and not listening to me at all. I sigh audibly.

“TV anchorman. Like Will Farrell?” He stares at me, and I can’t read his expression. There used to be a time when we seemed to be able to read each other’s thoughts.

I smirk.

He breaks out into a laugh and squeezes Caroline’s shoulder, which is encased in a hot pink cardigan. “I’m here to see if I can help Justine out. I’ll be in town for a while, staying at the Casa Monica. I can’t wait to take you out. Clear your schedule, Caroline. Wednesday, perhaps?”

Of course he’s staying at the nicest historic hotel in town.

Caroline lets loose a throaty laugh. He tells her she’s beautiful in a string of panty-melting Spanish and again lifts his eyes to mine. I scowl and put on a brave, fake smile and point toward my office.

“You two can catch up later. Let’s proceed with what you came here for, Rafa.”

Caroline flutters away. Rafael doesn’t smile. “Why do you think I came here, Justi?”

I ignore him.

“Dating an anchorman. Hmm.” He says this like he’s mulling something over.

I continue to ignore him and maintain my plastered-on smile. Why does he care? I mull this while glancing at his silver cufflinks in the shape of an X. I realize they’re probably not silver, but likely a more expensive platinum.

Once inside my drab office, my cheerful facade fades. With a grunt, Diana eases her pregnant body into a saggy tan armchair.

My back is to Rafael when I reach on my desk to grab a file folder, but I can feel his gaze on me. When I turn around, Rafael is glowering. I pass the file to him. Our fingers touch, and I can’t stop myself from feeling flush. My cheeks are probably tomato-colored.

“I put this together for the VP of Florida Capital, but maybe you want it. It’s a history of the paper, starting from when my great-great-great-grandfather founded it in 1866.”

“I’m well aware of the Lavoie family history. Gracias. You can keep your file.”

“Fine,” I say sourly.

He sinks into a threadbare, brown loveseat. He looks almost comical, a broad-shouldered man on a small sofa. The furniture—actually, the entire building—smells like old printing ink and sweat and desperation. Rafael rests his hand on the sofa arm, then snatches it away when he spots a lingering stain. A features editor spilled coffee there a few weeks back, and I didn’t have the money for a professional cleaning.

Everything in my office looks cheap and tired under the fluorescent, overhead light. Rafael appears expensive and new, as if he’s burnished in a thin layer of diffuse sunshine and money.

I wheel my simple office chair from behind my desk. I refuse to look in his eyes and sit ramrod straight, my legs crossed demurely at the ankles. Projecting a cold exterior is essential, otherwise I might show Rafael any number of swirling, contradictory emotions.

Like annoyance. Like giddiness. Like lust.

I take a long, weary inhale. Taking charge of this conversation isn’t going to be easy because Rafael is staring at me in a way that makes me lose my train of thought.

He extracts a vibrating phone from the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Are you ready? Or do you need to take that call?” I ask in a cross voice.

He scowls and rises. “I apologize. I’ll be only a moment.” He stalks out of the room, and my eyes follow his long legs out the door.

Not wanting to make small talk with Diana about the thick tension in the air, I twist to face my desk and pretend to search for a pen, picking up papers and slapping them down noisily.

“Justine,” Diana says in a stage whisper. “You two need to have a serious talk. Clear the air. I don’t see this deal happening until you do.”

“I’m not talking about our past. We’re adults, here to talk about business. We’ve got nothing to discuss other than whether his company will give us a loan.” I grab a copy of the Times and place it on my lap as if it’s a childhood blanket. In a way, it’s soothing, the feel of the newsprint.

“I don’t want to talk about any of it,” I say softly.

Indeed, I have lots to say to Rafael, but this isn’t the place. There might never be enough time for me to unpack my complicated feelings for him and how we ended.

Diana’s eyebrows rise. “Why not? Maybe he’s here to apologize. He clearly didn’t have to come here today.”

I groan. “No, he sure didn’t. And I wish he hadn’t.”

“Well, he certainly looks like he wants you. Those eyes. God. I felt the tension from the moment he walked up. I can leave, you know. Give you some privacy.”

I shake my head and fold the corner of the paper. “Don’t you dare leave me alone with him.”

“Why not? You were together four years. That’s a long time. You loved him.”

I purse my lips and shrug. What can I say? What happened between us had been so complicated. One problem had morphed into another, and like falling dominoes, everything got knocked down. We were almost married. Almost parents.

We almost made it.

But didn’t.

My chest constricts when Rafa walks back in and sits on the loveseat.

He smiles, and his X-ray stare is again fixed on me. “You have my undivided attention now.”

“How gracious. Thank you. You’re a busy man, and I don’t want to keep you here any longer than necessary. I’ll be blunt. The Times is in trouble, and we need money. I’m willing to discuss partial ownership or an outright purchase of the paper, but I’d prefer a loan. I’ve already met with two other private equity firms, and they’ve turned me down. I wanted to see what Florida Capital could possibly do for us.”

Rafa smiles and blinks slowly. Is he mocking me? Is he taking this meeting seriously? Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the other two failed attempts at funding, but something in his deep gaze forces me to spill my thoughts.

We tear our eyes away from each other and watch as Diana shifts uncomfortably, hoisting her big belly from one side of the chair to another. She cuts in. “I’ve been here for ten years, and the Times had financial difficulties even before Justine’s dad died. It’s the entire industry. Not our fault. Not Justine’s fault. We appreciate your interest—”

Rafael interrupts her and turns his smoldering gaze to me. “I read his obituary in the Miami paper.”

I nod curtly, folding the paper in my lap into a smaller rectangle. I take a deep breath. Even though he’s been gone a while, my feelings are still raw. Especially since I’m a failure at running the family’s business. “Daddy would not be happy about the state of things at the Times.”

“I’m sorry to hear about Edward,” Rafael says gently.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.

“We all are,” I say in a cold voice. Rafael’s not sorry at all. He could’ve sent flowers to the funeral. He could’ve picked up the phone. He could’ve comforted me in person instead of partying with models at a South Beach mansion. I know that’s what he’d been doing because I’d read about it in the pages of Ocean Life Magazine and cried myself to sleep that night. It had been the worst night of my life: my father had died, Jared had left for Los Angeles the month before, and I’d realized once and for all that Rafael didn’t care about me.

“Edward loved only two things fiercely: this newspaper and you,” Rafael muses, almost to himself, while looking around my dismal office. I glare at him. He’s right, of course, but the fact that he’s bringing up details about my personal life that only he knows throws me off-kilter. “He never gave anyone else a chance.”

Diana pipes up. “Well, Edward did adore Jared—”

I make a hissing noise out of the side of my mouth like a stern schoolteacher. Diana clamps her hand over her mouth. I shoot her a scowl after I notice a brief look of shock cross Rafa’s face.

“Pregnancy brain,” she mouths at me.

I turn my head and shut my eyes for a second, trying to gain composure. My father never liked Rafael. Thought he was a hustler. He’d even once told me that Rafael only wanted to mooch off our family money. His platinum watch sparkles in the wan light of my office. It’s probably a Rolex or something even more expensive.

How wrong you were, Daddy.

A sharp knock on my office door makes me open my eyes. I rise to answer.

It’s Ethan, the managing editor. He’s around my age, going bald, and annoyingly ambitious. He’s also sweating. I raise my eyebrows. “I’m in an important meeting. Can this wait?”

“No. Brian quit fifteen minutes ago. On the spot. Says he has a better job in Atlanta and needs to leave immediately.”

“Thank you. We’ll deal with this in an hour or so.” I go to close the door, but Ethan holds up his hand.

“Wait. We don’t have any photographers now. We have assignments scheduled today. There’s a protest at City Hall at noon. And the city pool is hosting a dog swim event before it’s drained tomorrow. I’ve set aside a half-page for photos of that, and the web editor wants a slideshow, too. What should we do? Is there money in the budget for a freelancer?”

I glance back at Rafael, who is listening with interest. I narrow my eyes at Ethan.

“Tell reporters to take photos with their smartphones. Tell the web editor to go to the city pool for the dog event with her camera if no one else is available. Or you go yourself. You remember how to take a photo, right?”

With a wave of the newspaper in my hand, I shoo a grunting Ethan away and shut the door with more force than I intend, then turn to Rafael and Diana with a frown.

“That’s how bad things are here. Reporters now have to take their own photos.”

Twenty years ago, this would have been unthinkable. There were five photographers back then and three times the number of reporters. There are days when I wish I didn’t care about this stupid newspaper so much. Today is one of them.

“Why can’t you hire a new photographer?” Rafael asks.

“We instituted a hiring freeze. We’re not replacing people who leave. It’s an attempt to save money,” Diana replies quietly.

I shake my head and practically fling words at Rafael, as if he’s personally responsible for the demise of the American newspaper industry. “It’s like this business is dying from a thousand tiny cuts.”

“Calm down, Justi. Let me see if I can fix this.”

Rafael’s silky voice annoys me. It’s more likely he’ll cause problems for me, not solve them.

“Right. After all these years, you’re going to ride in on your white horse and be my knight in shining armor. Thank you.”

I shouldn’t sound so sarcastic to someone trying to help me. I can’t believe any of this is happening. There’s no way he’ll give me a loan, not after how we ended. My headache is back with a vengeance, and I’m throbbing with shame. I might as well stop the presses now, permanently.

I plop back down in my chair and fiddle with the newspaper as Diana rattles on about how the Times is uniquely poised to make a comeback despite a dismal newspaper climate, words that seem hollow in light of the fact that I acknowledged we can’t even afford to replace a photographer. There are options for papers, Diana claims, and I nearly snort out loud. Ending print delivery, shrinking the number of pages, layoffs. I only half-listen. I’ve heard all the possibilities for years, as paper after paper around the country dwindled in size and scope.

Rafael extracts a small, black notebook from an inside pocket and scribbles notes with a gleaming platinum pen.

I cut in. “We’ve been playing with different revenue streams lately. New ad rates, new subscription offers…”

“Oh?” Rafa asks, his gaze hitting me head-on, so intense I falter and flail in response. I used to get lost looking into his stunning eyes and am trying to stay grounded now. Trying and failing.

“We’re…now…running a promotion so people can subscribe to the paper digitally for twenty-nine dollars a year.”

Rafael blinks once and addresses me like I’m a four-year-old. He points the pen at me. “Twenty-nine dollars? That’s ridiculous. You’re giving your product away. It’s not good business.”

I sigh and roll the paper in my hands into a baton. No shit, I want to say. If I don’t look into his eyes, I can continue to muster anger and outrage.

Diana chimes in. “I thought it was great when Justine started calling the private equity firms for help. Florida Capital really turned around the papers in Key West and Punta Gorda.”

Rafael shifts to Diana. “Before I acquired the business, I did a deep-dive into the financials of those deals. Those were much smaller papers than the Times. They were weeklies, not a daily publication like yours. They have different ad rates, subscriber bases, and revenue streams. I’m actively looking for more media properties for my portfolio, though. The Times might fit.”

I shake my head a little. Rafa had always been incredible with numbers. I, on the other hand, still use my fingers and a few toes to perform simple math.

“Why are you here?” I blurt and point the rolled-up newspaper in his direction.

Rafael looks at me, startled. “Excuse me?”

“Why. Are. You. Here? Let’s get it out in the open. You’re the owner of a condo empire. You own lots of funds and businesses and half of Miami. And we had a…” I wave the newspaper wildly in the air as if I’m Indiana Jones fending off snakes in a cave, dimly aware I’m not making much sense. “…a past. Together. Why are you here? This is a pittance to you. Why didn’t you send someone from Florida Capital to get our information?”

Rafael rubs his lips together, as if he’s trying not to laugh. With precision, he slips the pen and notebook into an interior pocket of his jacket. Then he looks down at his hands, intertwines his fingers, and glances up at me. His face is amused and a little arrogant, and part of me wants to grin in mirthful response, despite the serious situation.

“When I acquired Florida Capital, I was briefed on the upcoming potential deals. This one stood out for obvious reasons. I thought it would be, ah, intriguing, to handle this myself.”

“Lucky me.”

We stare at each other. I remember what it felt like to kiss him for the first time, and I stare at his full, beautiful mouth. My lips part and twitch a little.

“I wanted to help an old friend. I couldn’t let you suffer or fail, could I?”

My gaze plummets to the floor, and my entire body sears with a different heat. Flames of humiliation. Rafael is helping the Times and me out of pity. If there’s anything I loathe, it’s pity.

I have for years, since practically the entirety of St. Augustine pitied me when my mom and brother were killed in a car crash when I was in high school. Pity made me feel exposed and like a zoo animal, as if people were spectators of my grief.

And now, as much as I want to thwack Rafael on the head with the rolled-up newspaper and tell him I don’t need his money, I have to remain calm.

He’s the paper’s last hope.

“I have an idea,” Rafael says in a bright voice.

“Tell me.” I can’t look him in the eye, I’m so ashamed. He’d be the last person in the world I’d reveal my vulnerability to if I had a choice.

But I don’t.

Instead, I stare at his polished, black wingtips and wonder how much they cost.

“I have a list of some of the documents I’d like to forward to my analysts in Miami. Maybe Diana can begin gathering those this afternoon. And while she’s doing that, you can take me on a tour of the paper and we can catch up. We’ve got a lot to talk about, right, Justi? How does that sound?”

The fact I’m in the powerless position of needing Rafael hits me like a kick to the gut. I’d walked away from him years ago. Now, we’re sitting in the same room and I’m begging him to bail out my newspaper.

Begging for other things might easily follow, if I’m not careful.