THREE MONTHS EARLIER

Victoria leaned in closer to Ash. What she had to say was important, but the rest of the office didn’t need to hear it. This was between them.

“I put Mischa through a lot of shit back in the day. More than he deserved,” Victoria said.

Around them keyboards clacked and people spoke in low tones on the phone, filling the real estate office with the white noise of productivity.

“Sounds like it’s a good thing you went your separate ways.” Ash spoke through clenched teeth.

That was the understatement of the century. It didn’t matter how much Victoria hated that she’d lost him, it was the right thing to do. “It was. He still doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. But he’ll go through it, because that’s who he is. A collector of pretty broken things.”

“Your point is?” Ice lined Ash’s words.

Victoria didn’t blame her. “Don’t be that person. Don’t be me. Don’t put him through hell because you can’t stand on your own.”

Ash clenched her jaw, and her nostrils flared. “I appreciate your concern for my fiancé. Was there anything else?”

“Nope. Tristan’s next on my list.” She pushed away from the cubicle and strolled away, as if the conversation was the easiest thing she’d done all day.

That didn’t mean Victoria could ignore the whispers of guilt gnawing at her gut. She didn’t know the woman. Had no idea if those scars were old.

She did know some things. Ash was uncomfortable with the marks, she was hiding something about her past, and Mischa shouldn’t have to deal with that kind of pain. Not again.

Victoria flashed the receptionist a smile, never letting the internal turmoil show on her face, and strode toward Tristan’s office.

She knew one other thing too. Mischa had never looked at Victoria the way he did Ash. With the kind of adoration and affection that said he’d restructure universes for her.

It was a good thing Victoria was over Mischa. She paused in Tristan’s open office doorway and knocked on the frame. None of that mattered, because this was the real reason she was here.

He looked up, raised an eyebrow, and turned back to his monitor. “Can I do something for you, Vicky?”

Mentally, she gritted her teeth at the nickname. Growing up as Vicky Next Door made her loathe having her name abbreviated. Her smile never wavered. “I’d like five minutes of your time.” And with any luck a couple more hours of it tomorrow night.

“You made your pitch. Check’s in the mail. I might have room on my calendar two months from never.” He was such an asshole sometimes. Breathtakingly handsome, but still an asshole.

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “This isn’t business. Not for you anyway.”

That earned her two raised brows and a longer glance.

“You owe me.” She hadn’t intended to play that card—especially since the only favor she’d done him was staying away from Mischa for several years—but he flustered her. His cool exterior. The ice-blue stare that had always cut to her core, as if he could see through her soul.

“Five minutes,” he said.

She’d take it. She settled into the chair across from him, pasted together any shards of fractured composure, and solidified her smile. “I understand you’ve got an invitation to the country club fundraiser. You need a date who will make you look good.”

“I assume that means you, so I won’t ask. What I’m curious about is how you found out, and why you think I don’t already have a date?”

She should have considered that. Of course he wouldn’t have an issue finding someone to accompany him. One of the city’s most eligible bachelors?

“I’m friends with someone who has access to the guest list. And it doesn’t matter if you have a date, I’ll make you look better,” she said. He could call anyone. And half of them would be more affluent and shine just as brightly at a formal dinner as her. But none would leave the impression she did.

“So you’re here to make sure I look good in front of a bunch of people I grew up with?”

She shook her head. “I’m here to beg you to introduce me to those people. And I mean that literally. I’m not above begging.”

She could have asked Mischa. His name popping up on the guest list earned her the call. But there was the whole fiancée thing. And Tristan did grow up with these people. She needed influence. The best kind. Tristan would give her that.

Besides, she and Tristan would look good together, and she never underestimated the power of appearance. An important lesson learned in Hollywood, especially as what it looked like ended her career.

As much as she’d never say it out loud, Tristan’s reputation would take her farther than Mischa’s. Tristan radiated his influence and upbringing. Mischa was chaos incarnate. People with money didn’t care for unpredictable. They liked to know their cash only left their wallets with their permission.

“Why this dinner? What makes it, above all others, worth swallowing your pride?” Tristan asked

“I’m not.”

He pursed his lips. “You’re literally willing to beg.”

“I am. In front of you. You’re not going to tell anyone else, because that’s not how you work. I already know you’ve got a low opinion of me. My pride doesn’t fluctuate at all.”

“I don’t have—”

“Don’t go down that path.” She refused to let him lie and insist he didn’t think poorly of her. Nothing about their interactions said respect.

He sighed. “Then why me? And why does this dinner mean so much to you?”

“I’ve already told you that. You know these people. I need them to take me seriously. And it has to be this event because it’s the one happening now, while we’re trying to grow.”

She wouldn’t give him more information. Refused to admit how much failure would hurt, fi she couldn’t bring these kids more. This job was her way of ensuring the kids were more prepared to face the world than she and her colleagues had been. It was preserving their appreciation for life, while teaching them not everyone was interested in doing so.

And Tristan still hadn’t answered her. “Please?” She rose, prepared to actually kneel and beg.

*

EMBARRASSMENT ON VICTORIA’S behalf tickled Tristan’s senses when he she actually meant she would beg. “Don’t do that,” he said.

There were a few situations where he wouldn’t mind seeing her on he knees, but only if she wasn’t her, and never if she thought it was required to get what she wanted.

She sat again, smoothing he skirt over long legs. “You’ve peppered me with questions, but you haven’t said no. Tell me what’s holding you back, or kick me out of your office.”

“I’m just trying to figure you out.” And keep his gaze on her face, rather than letting it drift lower, over the way her suit jacket highlighted the curve of her breasts and narrow waist. Then again her pale eyes were just as captivating and distracting. He shook the thoughts aside.

She was still Victoria. The woman who was willing to let her demons destroy his best friend, and who had never shown appropriate remorse. Except maybe the afternoon he’d visited her in rehab, years ago, and given her an ultimatum—stay away from Mischa on her own, or Tristan would use every connection he had to make it happen on his terms.

She’d pleaded for a chance to apologize then, but the desperation made the request lack sincerity.

Her enthralling beauty didn’t change the past.

“I don’t know what else you need me to say.” She sounded sincere today.

This wasn’t the same woman he talked to back then. He knew that the moment she walked into their offices and asked for a lunch meeting a few days earlier.

“Whether or not you believe it, for me this is about the kids I help,” she said. “Those men and women you’re rubbing elbows with tonight? They have influence in this town, and I want to get in front of them with someone they know and trust. You can make me those connections.”

“This is about contacts? I can hook you up with out the dinner. Scott McAllister—always good for a cause.”

She gave a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I need real estate contacts. Contractors. Builders. Financers. Not video games. Besides, Rinslet is already a top donor. They’ve given us a computer lab, and set up annual scholarship fund.”

Of course they had. “That’s still not the same as an entire building, with ongoing upkeep.” If he did the math in his head, it was close. “How about Dean Rice Jr.? His dad’s a prick but he’s in the family business.”

“And he’ll be there, and you can introduce me.” She didn’t miss a beat.

“After this you’ll go back to keeping your distance from Mischa?” Tristan wanted to say yes. The annoying chant of if she were anyone else, you’d yield ran through his head.

She wasn’t anyone else, though. She’d almost destroyed Mischa—not that she minded until he stepped back enough to see clearly—and even if the split had been amicable, she was his best friend’s ex. That violated all sorts of bro codes.

And makes you her second choice.

He ignored the mental taunt, which sounded oddly like his Olympic snowboarding coach. “Would you have asked him to go with you, if it weren’t for Ash?” Not that the invitation would exist in that case, since Ash’s father extended it.

Victoria shook her head.

“All right.” Tristan would make sure Mischa knew this was just business. He boxed away past and prejudice, and replaced it with cool and professional. “I don’t have a date for the country club charity dinner. If you’re free, would you join me?” He kept his tone smooth and kind. Now was as good a time as any to start playing the part.

Her smile, the only genuine one he’d seen from her today, pinged in his chest.

“I’d love to,” she said. “Pick me up at seven thirty?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Is there anything else I can get you while you’re here?”

“No.” She rose and shook his hand. “Thank you for your time.”

He was glad to see she slid into the role of cool and reserved as well as he did. Not that he expected otherwise. He came around the desk and saw her to the front exit.

Mischa’s door was closed, which meant he was heads-down in design work. This news would wait until later.

In the meantime, Tristan would pray this wasn’t a bad idea. Not because he was worried about how Victoria would look or act. When she was sober, she was a picture of perfection. The perfect actress.

A nagging behind his ribs said this was a mistake, though. Despite all the reasons it should be okay, he couldn’t shake that feeling.

The story continues in Chapter Two.

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