Something in his makeup made him an utter bastard, but I owed him my life.

It's my heart I refused to give up without a fight. If only I'd known from the very start Calvin Randolph never backs down.

Not in love. Not in business. Not in any corner of his battered existence.

I'll never understand it.

Maybe he's missing the gene that stops a normal man from sinking his hands into the earth and ripping it to messy, screaming shreds until he gets his way.

Perhaps defeat just never made sense in his head.

Or possibly it's because this was just meant to be. There's a natural mischief in every heart that loves bringing together what's complicated, dangerous, and totally incompatible in a blinding impact.

Oh, but I still wish I'd known, before our blind collision became love.

We would have prevented so much suffering.

* * *

I'm in no mood to pull a jet black envelope out of my mailbox. Not after an exhausting day dealing with corporate legalese and a language barrier that's like a migraine prescription. Especially when said legalese is a hodge-podge of English and Mandarin bullet points outlining bewildering trade concepts that make me want to pop aspirin like Junior Mints.

But the coal colored envelope isn't what ends me. It's a single word, the one and only scrawled on the front in bright pink, without so much as a return address or a stamp to accompany it.

DOLL.

No one's called me that in years. Seven, to be precise.

I have to steady myself against the mailbox when my heartbeat goes into my ears. For a second I'm afraid I'll faint.

It's incredible how the only man who'd ever call me a name I haven't heard since high school still has a freakish ability to reduce me to a knee-shaking, cement lunged mess so many years later.

My fingernail slides across the seal, digs in, and splits it open. I tear gingerly, like I'm expecting a snake or a tarantula to jump out. There isn't enough room for creepy crawlies, I suppose, though I wonder about the hard lump in the corner, rubbing it against my palm.

The constant noise in the hall of my cramped Beijing flat has faded from a roar to a whisper. It's hard to focus on the slim white note I pluck out when I'm trying to remember how to breathe. There's no mistaking the handwriting.

They're his words. I'd recognize them anywhere, even after so long.

Blunt, mysterious, and taunting as ever. He keeps it short and sweet – assuming there's anything sweet about reaching down inside me, and yanking out a dozen painful memories at once.

It's been too long.

You still owe me that favor, doll, and I'm cashing in.

Marry me.

-Cal

“Marry me?” I read it again, shaking my head.

If this is a joke, it isn't funny. And I already know it isn't. Cal wouldn't break a seven year silence for a stupid laugh. It's serious, and it's a brand new kind of terrifying.

My eyes trace his three insane sentences four times before my knees give out.

I go down hard, banging my legs on the scuffed tile, dropping the envelope. The object anchored in the corner bounces out with a clatter as loud as a crashing symbol, leaving a haunting echo in my ears.

I look down and mentally start planning my goodbyes. It's a gold ring with a huge rock in the middle, set into a flourish designed to mimic a small rose. I don't need to try it on to know it's probably my size.

I flip the note over in my hands before I lose it. There's a number scrawled on the backside in the same firm, demanding script. CALL ME, says the two words next to it in bold, as if it's the most natural thing in the world to ask for a mail order bride in less than ten words.

As if it hasn't stopped my heart several times over.

I can't believe he's back.

I can't believe he's found me here, on the other side of the Earth, and decided to drag me back to the hell we both left behind.

I really, really can't believe what he's asking me to do.

But it's my fault, isn't it? I'm the one who said I'd do anything, if he ever needed it.

Without him, I wouldn't have my dream career working trade contracts in China for a prestigious Seattle company. I'd be lucky serving tables with the criminal stain on my record if he hadn't stepped in, and saved me when it seemed hopeless.

There's a lot I don't know.

Like why he's gone emergency bride hunting, for one. Or what he's been doing since the last dark day I saw him, crying while they hauled him off in handcuffs. I don't even know what kind of devils are in the details if I actually agree to this madness – and it's not like I have a choice.

Small town guilt will gnaw at my soul forever if I turn him down.

Oh, but he'll catch up with me again soon, and let me know exactly what new hell awaits. That much, I'm certain.

It won't be long before I'm face-to-face again with the sharp blue eyes that used to make my blood run hot. Twisted up in knots like a gullible seventeen year old with a bad crush and a blind spot for bad people before I know what's hit me. And yes, revisiting every horrible thing that happened at Maynard Academy in ways I haven't since my therapist discharged me with flying colors.

He's right about one thing, the only thing that matters in any of this: I owe him. Big time.

All the unknowns in the world are worthless stacked up against this simple truth.

So I'll wait, I'll shrivel up inside, and I'll chew on the same nagging question some more.

Jesus, Cal. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

* * *

The beautiful boy with the constant entourage ignored me until my seventh day at the new school.

How my parents thought I'd ever fit into this place, I don't know. They just saw the school's shiny academic track record and absorbed its prestige from Seattle socialites several leagues higher than we'd ever be. A fast track scholarship I won in an essay contest sealed the deal. My old English teacher in Everett submitted it behind my back when I was ready to throw it in the trash, and the rest is history.

Who could blame them for leaping at the chance? They want the absolute best for me. I'm ready to make my family proud, even if it means trading a huge piece of my seventeen year old social life for the best education several states over.

It's not like Maynard Academy has a welcome wagon. The other kids keep their awkward distance since the first day I show up on the seating charts next to them. Almost like they smell the stink of my missing trust fund, or the Mercedes that didn't materialize as soon as I got my license.

I still take the bus. And I'm not sure my parents could ever afford a trust lawyer on their seventy thousand combined income, raising two girls. Their struggle to keep up rent and bills reminds me how lucky I am to get a scholarship to this place.

Turns out the benefactor behind the money at Sterner Corp shares my love for John Steinbeck.

Ever since we moved down to south Seattle, uprooting lives and careers just for this special chance, I'm in another world.

If the black lacquered study desks, the library with the crystal chandeliers and the skylights, or the marble fountain out front hadn't tipped me off the first week, the natural pecking order here certainly does.

My face is stuck in a German textbook when he comes up to me. He doesn't bother with introductions, just pushes his fingers into my book, and rips it out of my hands.

“Do you ever speak?” His voice is smooth as ice, a rogue smirk tugging at his lips.

“Hey!” I stand up, dropping the rest of my small book stack on the floor, arms folded. “I don't know, don't you have any manners?”

“There's never been much point,” he tells me, sizing me up with his sky blue eyes.

I hate it, but he isn't wrong. It took all of three days here to notice how everyone hangs on his every word. There are always a couple grinning jocks and puppy-eyed cheerleaders at his shoulder. I think the teachers would love to knock 'Mr. Randolph' down a few marks, if only he didn't keep acing all his tests.

He's too good a student and too big a dick to be worth the trouble.

I've seen the summary sheets tacked to the boards. Every time, every class, Calvin Randolph ranks infuriatingly high. I've heard the gossip going around, too. Just because I like to keep my nose buried in my books doesn't mean I'm deaf.

He's a straight A jerk with money, good looks, and brains behind his predictable God complex.

“Seen you around, Maddie, and you haven't said shit. That's a first for me, being ignored like I'm not worth your time.” Oh, he also has a filthy mouth, which makes it doubly ridiculous every woman in our class would kill to have it on hers. “I'd love to know why. Everybody, new or old, wants on my good side if they want off Scourge's bad.”

For such cool, calming eyes, they burn like the sun. My cheeks go red, flustered and hot when I jerk my eyes off his. “I don't know who that is,” I say. “It's only been a week.”

“Interesting. Thought a girl who goes for the librarian look would be a lot more observant than that.” I stick out my hand, going for my language book, but he jerks it away like I'm a helpless kitten. His smirk blooms into a cruel smile. “It's okay if you're a slow learner, doll. I'd have my eyes glued to this boring crap all the time too if I didn't have a photographic memory.”

He's so full of it he's overflowing.

“Give it back,” I snap, looking around to see if there are any teachers walking by. I'm not sure I'd have the courage to ask them to step in. This school isn't any different from an ordinary high school when it comes to attitudes, despite the family income level. Nobody wants to be the class runt who goes crying for help, and suffers the outcast consequences.

“Cal, I'm not playing around. I need to get to class.”

The second to last bell of the day sounds over the speaker, adding its emphasis to my words. He clucks his tongue once, his strong jaw tightening. “So, you do know my name.”

“What do you want?” I whine, trying to keep it together. “I don't have time for games.”

I try to snatch my book again. Too slow. He lifts it higher, far above my head. I'm barely up to the neck attached to his broad, vast shoulders. He towers over me, one more way his body tells me how small I am next to him. Even physiology rubs in his superiority.

“I want you to crack a damned smile first,” he says, laying a patronizing hand on my shoulder. “Show me something human. I've seen two expressions on your face since the day you showed up, doll. Tell me there's more.”

“What happens on my face is my business, jerk. Not yours.” By some miracle, he relents, letting my German book swing down with my hand the next time I grab it. I stumble a few steps back toward the bench to collect my mess of things.

I've got maybe sixty seconds to make it to class before the next bell if I don't want a tardy slip.

“Jerk? You're adorable.” He steps closer, swallowing me in his shadow. A few of the kids racing down the halls slow, watching the tension unfolding between us. “On second thought, fuck the smile. I'd love to see those lips say something nasty a whole lot more than I'd like them right-side up. Fact that you're blushing at the mere suggestion tells me I'm on the right track, doll.”

His tone is creeping me out. I stuff a few loose books into my backpack, sling it over my shoulder, and start moving down the hall. Sighing, I decide to waste a few more precious seconds asking him the only question that really interests me.

“Why do you keep calling me that – 'doll?'”

“Christ, do I have to explain everything?” His smirk is back, and I decide I don't like it, no matter how much light it adds to his gorgeous face. “Button nose, brown eyes, chestnut hair that looks like it's never seen a real salon. You don't fit the Maynard mold. Must be smart if you made it here in the first place without money, but I can't say I'm impressed. Brains don't matter here. It's my job to make sure you find out how this school works the easy way. You don't want hard.”

Hard? I have to stop my brain from going into the gutter, especially when he's looking at me like that. I'm also confused. What in God's name is he talking about?

I don't remember being so insulted, and never by a man who uses his good looks like a concealed weapon. “I'm perfectly capable of figuring it out myself. Thanks very much, ass,” I yell back over my shoulder, moving my feet to put as much distance between us as quickly as I can.

“Thanks for giving me exactly what I want,” he growls back, hands on his hips, his strong arms bulging at his sides. They look more like they belong to a weight lifter in his twenties than a boy who's just a year older than me.

The last class of the day, chemistry, is just a blur. It's one of the few I don't share with Cal this semester, thank God.

He's the lucky one, though. Not me. If I had to sit with his smug, searing blue eyes locked on me for more than another minute, I think I'd rush to find the easiest recipe for a test tube stink bomb that would teach him not to stick his nose where it doesn't belong.

* * *

Okay, so, maybe he's not the biggest dickweed at Maynard after all. It's a couple more weeks before I find out why everyone dreads Scourge. He's gone for my first weeks thanks to a long suspension. Meanwhile, I've aced my language studies, made a few loose friends, and even settled into a study routine blissfully free from Cal's attention.

That changes when the human storm blows in.

There's a commotion in front of our lockers at noon, near lunch, when the kid in the leather jacket rolls in late. He wears mostly black, just like every other coward in a tough guy shell since time began. Chains hang off his sleeves, looking like they were designed for whipping anyone in his path. I don't understand how he gets away with it at first, seeing how it violates every part of the school dress code.

He's every bad school bully stereotype rolled in a cliché. Shaggy dark hair with a black widow red stripe running through the middle, piercings out the wazoo, and a sour scowl dominating his face that makes Cal's smirk look downright angelic. He also has tattoos peaking out his neckline and crawling along his wrists. Screaming skulls, shooting fire, blood dipped daggers – the scary trifecta for a troubled young man trying his best to look hard.

I've also wondered why there's never anyone using the locker on my left side. I wrongly concluded it might be a spare.

Oh, sweet Jesus, if only I'd been so lucky.

Alex “Scourge” Palkovich Jr. shows me he means business without uttering a word. The boys and girls in front of him who don't clear a path fast enough get pushed out of his way. I get my first shot of panic when he's still ten feet away, after everybody between us slams their lockers shut and scurries across the hall.

“You.” He points. I freeze in my tracks. “Where the fuck's Hugo? You his new girl, or what?”

“Hugo?” I don't know that name.

The psycho has his hands on my shoulders, shaking me like a ragdoll, before I'm able to remember why it sounds so familiar.

I inherited my locker from another student. There's a worn label stuck inside my locker with that name. Hugo.

“Don't play dumb with me,” he snarls.

“Jeez, look, I don't know him. Honest. I'm not who you're looking –“

“Shut up! Stop covering for his fucking ass, little girl. He put me out for three weeks when his sorry ass got caught smoking what I sold. Nobody does business and then fucks me over, understand? No one!”

My nerves are on needles. His nostrils flare, and the muscular fingers digging into my arms are starting to hurt. “Sorry, I'm new here. I don't think I can help you,” I try to tell him, cool as I can manage. “I really don't know Hugo.”

He sucks in a long, ragged breath and then shoves me away. He pushes me hard. My shoulder impacts the locker with an oomph, and I'm left leaning against it, wide-eyed and staring at the mess of a boy fuming next to me.

Scourge twists the knob on his locker for the combo, nearly rips the door off when he opens it, and slams it with a deafening bang after staring inside for a few breathless seconds. He looks at me. “Consider this your only warning. I find out you lied to me, I'll spend coin getting even, bitch. Already had two suspensions this year. Not afraid of a third, and you look like you're dying for someone to pull up that skirt and throw you against the nearest wall, teach you some fucking respect.”

I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't stop my thumping heart from making me light-headed.

“Maddie, come on,” Chelle says, tugging at my arm. “Get away from him.”

I let her numbly lead me away to the school cafeteria. As soon as we've grabbed lunch and sat down, I start asking questions. It's the best way not to breakdown and cry after one of the scariest encounters of my life.

“What's his deal? Why do they let him stay?” I can't stop thinking how Cal used that name – doll –

as if I'm the misfit at this school. My chicken tenders and chocolate milk comfort me with the slightly-better-than-average charm school cafeteria food has. The academy's selection is nothing amazing, but it's filling and just tasty enough.

“Special protection. Principal Ross wants to run for school council next year, haven't you heard?” Chelle smiles sadly. I shake my head. “Well, guess whose father just happens to be a major shaker in Seattle politics? Ever heard of Alex Palkovich Sr., the councilman?”

“Oh, God.” I wrinkle my nose. “You mean he's Scourge's dad? He used to show up for fundraisers and inspirational speeches at my dad's company.”

“Yep, the apple falls pretty far from the tree this time. It's banged up and rotten.”

“Who does he think he's convincing, anyway? I mean, the scary ink, the piercings, the punk bomber jacket...amazing he doesn't get called out for breaking dress code.” I look down at my own soft blue blouse and plaid skirt, frowning.

Chelle just laughs. “Girl, you've got a lot to learn about how backs are scratched at Maynard. He's gotten in trouble tons of times. Scourge never gets suspended unless he's done really bad. Hugo got caught by his pastor smoking the roaches he bought off that kid. Gave up his source pretty quick, and they had to do something this time because the police were involved.”

“Yeah, Hugo, I keep hearing that name. Where the heck is he?”

“You don't get on Scourge's bad side and get away without catching hell,” Chelle says, wagging a finger. “Hugo's folks were smart. They pulled him out and transferred to Jackson High the next county over. Heard he begged them for it. It's not as good, of course, but it's better than spending the rest of his high school career waiting for the knife in his back.”

I'm worried she means it literally. Could it be that bad? I knew this boy was bad news, but I didn't know he was a total loon.

“And what's with the name? Scourge?”

Chelle opens her mouth to answer, but another voice cuts her off behind me. “Scourge of God, doll. It's from one of those dumb death metal bands he listens to. He only says it about ten times a week to remind us what hot shit he thinks he is. And don't you know he's got an Uncle in the fucking Grizzlies?”

When I spin my chair around, Cal stands there with a twinkle in his blue eyes, his hair tossed in a subtle, delicious mess. He's just come from gym, still wearing his black lacrosse shorts and grey jersey with the school's royal crested M.

“I wasn't asking you.” I turn, pointing my nose in the air. I'm not in any mood for his games after what just went down.

“Heard you had a little run in with our pal. Move over, Emily.” He takes her seat without even acknowledging the blonde sophomore next to me who looks like she's just been kissed because he remembers her name.

“I thought the Grizzlies cleaned up their act. That's what mom says, anyway. She used to ride with them sometimes in her wilder days, before she settled down with dad.” I'm frowning, trying to figure out why he's decided to give me his precious attention today if it's not for his own amusement.

“They did. The uncle he makes sure everybody knows about has been in jail for years. One of the turds they flushed before the club started making money off clubs and bars from what I hear.”

“Always so eloquent,” Chelle says, sticking her tongue out.

“Did I invite you to this conversation?” he asks, scorning her with a glance, before turning back to me. “Shame about your mom, though. Good times are underrated. Sure hope the wild streak is hereditary. You look like you could use some fun and take your mind off this crap, doll.”

I'm blushing, and I hate it. Especially because it's all too easy to imagine the good times he has in mind.

There's no hope. I'm more like every other girl in my class than I care to admit: smitten, shaken, and yes, completely fascinated by this tactless jerk with an angel's looks. He's bad, thoughtless, and more than a little annoying. But he's safe in a way Scourge isn't, despite how easy his teasing becomes insults.

He also gives everyone on his side a certain amount of protection from what I've gathered. Hugo never got close to Cal, and he became easy prey.

“Seriously, don't be scared of him, doll. Do stay out of his way. Tried to warn you when you got here. I can help.”

Great. So he's come to impress me by playing hero. No thanks.

I'm also done being a doormat for anyone today. Walking out and giving him the cold shoulder feels like an easy way to replenish the self-esteem I've hemorrhaged with the bully.

“Tell me if you change your mind, doll. We'll work something out.” His eyes aren't moving when they lock on, and the flush invading my skin just keeps growing.

I have to get out of here.

It's my turn to do the eye roll. Without saying anything, I pick my tray up, and pause just long enough to share another look with him before the blood rushes to my cheeks. “I'm old enough to take care of myself, thanks. If I ever need your advice, Cal, I'll ask.”

He doesn't say a word. But he watches me the entire time as I throw my trash away, drop the tray off, and head out for my evening classes. I resist the urge to turn around until the very end.

Of course, I do. How could I resist?

I'm just in time to see Chelle kick him under the table. He gives her a dirty look, stands, and heads back to his crew of jocks across the cafeteria.

Like I need this weirdo treating me like a damsel in distress, I think to myself, smiling for reasons I can't pin down as I head off to Pre-Calc.

I wish I'd taken more time then to appreciate the smiles we shared, however small. Months later, after the train wreck everyone took to calling 'the incident,' it's a miracle I ever learned to fake smile again.

If I still had it in me to give a fuck, I'd mourn my father.

I've watched the surly, balls-to-the-walls lion who raised me waste away into a hyena for months. Today, he barely lifts his head when I step into his room, fighting the burning sensation in my nostrils from a hundred medications in the air.

“What do you want?” he snaps, once his dimming eyes focus, and his drug blasted brain remembers who I am.

“Came to keep you company, dad. It's Sunday.” I round the space to the front of his bed, taking the chair next to it. I run my fingertips along his nightstand. There's a ghostly dust coating on my hand when I hold it up to the light. “You've been telling the staff to stay the hell out again, I see.”

“No point in wasting precious resources on a dead man,” he growls, grunting as he lifts himself up with his hands, finding his back support in the headboard. “What'll it be today, Calvin? Hoping for a deathbed confession? The last minute change of heart where I crack, tell you what a good son you are, how it's finally high time we put the bad behind us?”

No. I've stopped expecting miracles a long time ago.

“Or maybe you're just here to taunt me?” he says, giving me a sideways glance.

“Wrong.” A wry smile pulls on my lips. “I've met someone, dad. Wanted you to be the first to know. The doctor says you've got a few weeks left, yeah? Should be plenty of time to introduce you to my new fiancée.”

His eyes widen, and then he scoffs. “You, married? I'm not going to my grave a fool, kiddo. Forget it. Spare me a meeting with whatever sugar baby escort you've hired to confuse an old man into thinking you give a damn about anything except getting my money.”

He's got me there, minus the escort part. Hell, even after all these years, I can't imagine doll fucking anyone else.

My cock is the only one she's ever had in the stroke fantasies sustaining me for years. Naive, sure, but mental masturbation always is.

I didn't mention those thoughts when I sent her the note in the little black envelope last week, but now I wish I had. Just for fun.

That piece of paper and the twenty carat rock had to travel halfway around the globe. Almost a shame I decided to keep it short, sweet, and boring. I can't believe she's in China. Easily the biggest sign yet the Maddie Middleton I'm dealing with today is a far cry from the scared, helpless little girl I took a bullet for seven awful years ago.

I haven't even heard from her yet. I'll be calling the number I dug up with a lot of connections and detective work tonight if I don't get an answer.

I won't be disappointed. Because if there's one thing I know, despite what's changed on her end, she won't let me down. She'll wear the ring, by God, pretending she cares about her loving fiancé every time we make eyes.

A nurse comes in and walks to my dad's IV while the icy silence between us stretches on. The grandmother clock in the corner ticks on. I fold my hands, watching as she adjusts the dose of whatever painkiller keeps him from screaming in mortal agony. We're both quiet until the woman smiles gently, and finds her way out.

I have to try this again. As much as I don't fucking want to.

“I'm a changed man,” I say. “It's hard as hell for you to see, I get it. You're too sick to read about the extra billion in revenue my marketing strategy brought the firm, and you don't take calls from Mr. Turnbladt anymore –“

“I don't care if Turnbladt thinks you can turn water into wine. I'm out of RET forever,” he says, turning over. He stops turning propped on a pillow, his back to me, a human manifestation of the proverbial wall I talk to every time I'm stupid enough to come here. “Keep raking in the money, though. It'll do the charities getting it some good once I'm gone. Or else the partners, whenever they decide to stop fucking around and buy your share out, I suppose.”

It's my stake in Randolph-Emerson-Turnbladt he's talking about. Mine, which he controls. He has it set up in his trust to cockblock me from ever truly owning it, the dividends going to feel good groups he hasn't even bothered to vet.

“That's all you really care about, old man? Making sure I get jack squat while working my fingers to the bone, dragging your company kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century?”

He's quiet for several seconds. Then I hear his low, infuriating voice, a poison whisper. “Things don't always go according to plan, Calvin. Make your fortune elsewhere, like your grandfather did, or settle for your measly $200K salary like an ordinary corporate grunt. You're never getting my share. I'll lose it all before I let you become the public face of anything at RET after what you did. The board feels the same way.”

I'm ready to spit nails. “Then why include the amendment in the trust at all? Your lawyer slipped over too many drinks at the last Christmas party. Told me everything. He said there's a section for rehabilitation. If I prove myself I'm worthy with good deeds, family, a woman –“

“I had to give you some kind of carrot to shape up, didn't I? The offer stands, son, but we both know the clock is running out fast. You've got a better chance of making a miracle before my eyes than proving me wrong. Show me a woman worth marrying, one you aren't bribing to lie to my face, and anything is possible. Until then, we both know what's in the cards doesn't include you controlling my firm. Not since John –“

My hand shoots up, and I hold it in the air. “We both know what happened. Why waste more words?” I pull out my phone to check the time. It's getting late. “I have to go. Get some rest.”

“You always were the backup son after everything that happened. It should've been John filling your shoes, and we both know it.” Dad isn't backing down from his parting shot. “This isn't personal anymore, Cal. It's circumstance. Stop thinking I don't care.”

Care? The asshole has a funny way of showing it.

He's only stealing my future, killing my career before it goes anywhere. I have to get out of here now.

I'm able to resist punching holes through the brittle old walls of the seaside mansion I grew up in until I'm in my car. My fist bangs the steering wheel once before I start the engine.

My black Tesla screeches down the long driveway to the front gate, which the servant in the guard shack has already opened for me. I make it home to my condo in record time, loading my car onto the ferry waiting to take us across the Puget Sound. It's a nice place worth seven figures where downtown Seattle meets the waterfront.

Nice, yeah, but it'll never morph into an unfathomably posh estate surrounded by the mountains, the sea, and centuries old forests. I won't be building any castles I choose while I'm being robbed of my birthright because I'm nothing more than a reluctant Plan B in my father's eyes. A 'backup son' he won't even trust to earn a full partner's stake because that means media, which in turn means reminding every client, fat cat, and blue blood our illustrious company deals with that I have a felony record.

Backup? Where the fuck does he get off?

I don't know, and I try to forget my rage when I'm home. I head for the balcony, pouring myself a glass of good wine. For a second, I slow when I pass by the photos on the mantle, staring into John's long dead smiling face.

My older brother is still the favorite, despite being gone for almost six years. Paid the ultimate sacrifice for his country somewhere outside Kandahar, where an ambush by the Taliban ended him.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

When I'm in my ivory chair outside, overlooking the evening lights beginning to twinkle on in the hills across the water, I check the calendar on my phone.

It's been six days since I sent my little package to Doll.

She's taking her sweet time getting back to me. I decided when I sent it off I'd give her a few days, roughly a full week after it reached Beijing. It's the least she deserves for the hand grenade I just threw into her life, commanding her in not so many words to bring her sweet ass home to Seattle, and pretend she's my blushing bride.

Desperation does evil things to a man. If I could've let her go without another word, I would.

Hell, I did for all these years, seven and counting. I stayed away.

It was the humane choice. Never forgot how bad she hurt just looking into my eyes the last time I saw her, when she was down on the ground in tears, slapping the pavement like she wanted to drum up mercy for me from God himself.

Her words are branded in my brain.

Wait, wait! Don't take him away. Please, you can't this is wrong.

It's not over, Cal. It can't end like this. I'll be here. I'll do anything to help.

Anything!

I close my eyes, stuck on how loaded the last word she ever said to me was when it came out, hoarse and true. Sometimes, the emotional bomb planted in my memory goes off. Everything returns, rushing through me like the lava replacing my blood whenever those memories hit.

The sacrifice, the humiliation, the dirty mistake I made for her because I didn't have a fucking choice. Because it was the right thing to do.

It went further than any act of chivalry ever should.

I'm lost in the past when my phone rings. There's an international area code on the screen. A smile tugs at my lips before I punch the accept button.

“Took you long enough, doll.”

“Cal...how are you?” Her voice is soft, slightly huskier than I remember, warm honey to my ears.

“Alive. Making money. Doing whatever and whoever the fuck I want, when I want them,” I say, taking a pull off my wine. “All the best in life. What are you doing in Beijing?”

“Contracts for Sterner Corp,” she says, ignoring my edgy introduction. “My Mandarin studies paid off, and so did the JD. I never wasted the second chance you gave me – I couldn't. Thank you again.”

“You're doing better than eighty percent of our class, and earning it honestly, without special connections. Congratulations.” I pause, remembering I'm not here to catch up. This isn't happy hour, or even a sales meeting. It's cold business of the most personal kind. “I won't keep you long, I hope, calling in the favor. Just be here by Thursday, wear my ring, and put on your best act.”

“Hope you're right. I kind of have a life now,” she says, quiet and unsure. It's like I'm able to hear the guilt sticking on her tongue, thick as chewing gum. Her voice wavers like the fire she readied to hurl my way just had cold water poured over it. “That's why I called. I wanted to talk before pulling up stakes, before we do...well, this.”

Marriage. Or at least a pretend engagement.

She can't bring herself to say the unspeakable. Fair enough. It's not like I'd expect the shiest girl I ever met to handle this fake fiancé thing with a laugh and a song.

I only need her to follow through. My brow curls because there's some reasonable doubt creeping into her tone. I never fucking liked second guesses.

Doll better not disappoint. There's no Plan B, short of hiring some clueless broad dad would see through in a heartbeat.

“Are we doing this, or not?” I ask, brusk and pointed.

There's a considerable pause. It's stifling. I'm about to end the call and throw my phone off the balcony when she lets out a slow, soft sigh. “I guess. How long do you need me?”

“Ninety days ought to do it, but probably less,” I tell her. “Doubt my father lasts through summer. It's him we really need to convince, before he pushes daisies. If you're able to take a leave of absence and meet me for a month or two, we'll be even. I'll pull every string I've got to make sure there's still a place for you in China, if that's where your heart is anchored these days.”

“God, Cal. I'm sorry about your father. Of course I'll be there,” she says, sympathy I didn't ask for oozing through my phone. “The company wants me back in the States next week anyway. I think I can be there by Thursday.”

“Perfect. There's a charity auction on Friday I'm attending, and I'd like you with. I'll show you off to the movers and shakers, let the tabloids tell the city the disgraced son everybody forgot the last seven years landed a normal woman.”

There's an awkward silence. She must remember I have zero tolerance for comforting bullshit, like if she starts telling me the litany: it's not so bad, I'll find my way, and disgraced? Surely, I'm exaggerating.

I've heard the same bullshit from my two best friends, Cade and Spencer, a thousand times. I don't need more empathy. It hasn't gotten me anywhere.

“Just tell me one thing,” she says nervously. “Why? The details aren't making sense. You mentioned your father, his illness...are you trying to make sure he sees you happy before...you know?”

“Before he croaks? No, this isn't some ego trip, doll. I'm not looking for his sad, selfish approval. There's a condition in his trust before he goes: I need a wife to rehabilitate myself, or I get virtually nothing.”

“I see,” she whispers. In fact, Maddie doesn't have a fucking clue, but what else can she say? “Well, whatever I can do to help, Cal. Just like I promised.”

“Anything,” I say, repeating her last haunting word to me after the disaster. “Put on a good enough show for the public, for whoever I ask you to fool. Maybe I'll let you sleep in a separate bed.”

She gasps. My tongue slides against my teeth, loving how wickedly close the air escaping her mouth is to a moan.

“Um, I did say anything, but I don't know if I can –“

“Relax. I'm not interested in getting my dick wet where it's not wanted. You're paying your debt with this fake fiancée act. Not with your body.”

Honestly? I want her at ease, sure. It won't do either of us any good if she shows up at the auction full of wide-eyed sexual tension, on edge because she doesn't know when I'll push her into the nearest wall and rip off her clothes.

Yet, it's no more than three seconds before I regret those words.

After all these years, I still want to fuck her. Once, I was after her cherry. I'm sure that's long gone, stolen by some other lucky bastard. But I remember the short, sweet taste I had of her lips seven years ago, before I walked out on the schoolyard that day and let fate pull the trigger, blowing my life to pieces.

“I'll see you soon,” she says, timid as the old Maddie I remember. “Is there anything else you want?”

“Just you, doll. Friday. Come bright-eyed and madly in love with me, a come fuck me dress on your hips and a pair of heels on your feet. Pick whatever you want online and text me your choice. I don't care how much it costs. I'll put in an order.”

She's quiet for a moment. “Really? Is this how it'll be the entire time? I thought we left Maynard behind, Cal. We're in our late twenties for Christ's sake!”

It's finally upsetting her. Don't know why the hell that's so amusing.

“What happened there never left me,” I say, picking up my wine glass, letting the dark red sweetness drown my tongue. “Friday, Maddie. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

I hear her start to form another word, but I disconnect the call before she gets it out.

If she's still feeling sorry for me, I don't care.

If she's offended, I care even less.

I've protected her enough for one lifetime. I'm done treating her feelings like eggshells.

This artificial engagement is on because I don't have a choice. It's my only shot at convincing dad to hand out more than a few measly million, to open the doors I've earned keys to before it's too late, and to set me up to continue the good work I've done for the firm started by my grandfather.

It's bound to be hell on us both. Maddie doesn't want to be here fawning over my sorry ass any more than I enjoyed the year off my life in jail for her.

That's how this works – quid pro quo.

Friday, we do what we need to. She starts paying off her debt. If I decide to have a little fun while this shit show hits the road, then so be it.

* * *

“Holy fuck. I know he always said you'd get nothing, but you're telling me he means it?” Cade looks at me, running a hand through his thick blond hair. His angular jaw clenches in sympathy. The genes from his Icelandic blue blood father couldn't be more obvious.

I nod once. That's all it takes for him to spin his chair around, breaking out the emergency flask of vodka he keeps under his desk for just these occasions.

“Double shot for me,” Spencer says from the corner, looking up from the stock prices scrolling across his phone's screen. “I'm doing time with the boys from New York this evening. Neolithic. You both know what that means.”

My brow furrows. “Yeah, absolute ball busters.”

The prestigious investment firm from Wall Street doesn't fuck around. Neither does Grant Shaw, the founder, who's sent his boys to the other coast sniffing for new business partners.

“Go easy, Spence. Your miracles always happen sober,” Cade says with a frown, passing us both our drinks across the desk, a single shot for everyone. “I'm fucking floored, Cal. How could he just cut you off at the knees? Nobody in Seattle gives a shit what happened seven years ago. Can't believe your old man still thinks it makes you a liability for the firm.”

He knows that isn't true. Plenty of people care, but I let his lie off with a dark glance.

“I'm not the one he ever wanted sitting here. It was always supposed to be John,” I say.

Deep down, when I plow the darkness and come face-to-face with everything I'll never admit, I think my big brother might've done better than me. Hell, I practically know it. He had discipline, heart, and a set of brass balls that got him slaughtered protecting his fellow soldiers.

He also didn't have a prison record and a sickening trial that had half the city clucking their tongues, thankful they never raised a 'deeply troubled' kid like me. The other half got to enjoy several weeks of Schadenfreude. Comes with the territory when a billionaire's son lands himself in the deep, perilous shit I did. The poorer, angst types who pegged me for being born with a silver spoon in my mouth loved our misfortune.

“How long does he have?” Spence says coldly, staring at me with his eyes narrowed while he drains his vodka in one swallow.

“Six, seven weeks. Maybe less. Who the hell knows. It's not an exact science when the pancreas burns out and cancer goes everywhere.”

“With all due respect, your old man's a prick if he sticks to his guns. He can't fucking cut you out,” Cade growls, banging his fists on the desk when he brings them down. “You worked for your share, Cal. Harder than anybody here. We can't let him take it away from you just like that.”

His fingers snap loudly, leaving a dull ringing in my ears. “Enough. Forget my crap,” I say. “I'll work it out. Told you already, there's a chance I could change his mind if I meet the conditions he set in his trust.”

“Oh, up and marry some broad? So reasonable,” Spence rolls his eyes, sarcastic as ever. “What about an escort? They're not all fake tits and one night stands. I've paid plenty for girls who'll suck you off with stars in their eyes. Bet they'd glow brighter if they'd get their money without having to choke on your –“

“You can stop there. Shit, Spence, I didn't come down here to listen to your latest bedroom antics.” I shoot him a dirty look.

Spence just grins. He purged his conscience a long time ago, shameless and proud of the high class notches in his belt. I ignore him, look at Cade, and regain my calm. “I have a plan. Might need a few extra days away from the office to get it going. That's what I really came by to ask for.”

“Whatever you need, brother.” Cade reaches across the desk and slams his fist into mine. He's too good a friend, better than I deserve, especially when I was drunk off my ass those nights after prison, after John died, deep in my rudderless misery while he was halfway through one of the hardest business schools in the country. “We had your leave on the books, anyway. It's no secret he's been closer to death's door. Already had your time blocked off over the next quarter for the inevitable.”

“Just give me a few days. You can cancel the rest. If this goes off well, I'll have more reason than ever to hit it hard at the office. Won't need an extended absence.”

Spence looks up, surprised. Cade stares through me, nodding slowly.

They know what I've been through over the years, how everything went haywire with my father after I saved Doll and no one could save John. They've watched me busting my ass for a pittance of a yearly bonus, without the cushy guarantee I'd inherit the stake they've always been entitled to from their dads.

“Cal,” Spence calls my name, waiting until I turn around to face him. “Don't let this bullshit make you crazy. We've got your back if daddy dearest fucks you over.”

“I know, and one fine day I'll repay it.” Standing, I grab his hand, giving it a brotherly squeeze on my way out.

I may have lost the only family I ever had over the last decade to war, booze, and psychosis, but I'm thankful for the men who've stood with me since those days at Maynard.

It won't be the end of me, taking the crazy way out with a fake fiancée in a last ditch effort to fool my asshole father. It's going to work. And it'll be a massive relief when it finally pays off, and I don't need to rely on their support anymore to stave off disaster.

* * *

Thursday, Maddie texts me she's home. Same old neighborhood where her folks settled just outside the U of Washington campus. It's summer, and I hope she knows how lucky she is being able to hear herself think without the constant noise and frat parties.

She sent me links to the dress and heels she picked out before leaving Beijing. I vetoed her first two choices – far too plain and far too cheap for a charity ball where the median net worth in the room is right at thirty million – and told her to choose something that looks like it's suited for a Randolph bride.

She sent back a sleek blue dress with ocean trim, matching heels, and a platinum necklace. Plus four different red-faced emojis I'm sure reflected how abruptly her heart stopped when I told her to stop screwing off, and send me something real.

Everything went on my Centurion charge card instantly. It also made my dick hard, picturing the little doll who always had a gift for making me hot in grown up clothes. I've seen her pictures over the years, and she's filled out nicely. Tomorrow, she'll show me a woman's curves in her classy new outfit, It'll make this job pretending we're on fire easy as sin.

Hell, maybe too easy.

I can't shake the curiosity when I'm home from the office that night. Impatient and horny bastard that I am, I break out my phone and pull up her number, typing out a text.

Cal: You've got a dressing mirror, right? Put it on and hit send. Show me everything. I want to make sure it's right for the ball.

It's the better part of an hour before I get a reply.

Maddie: How's this? Not showing too much leg for their crowd, I hope?

The V-cut down the middle rides straight to her bare hip, and I'm a fucking goner. My cock jerks hard in my trousers, its angry tip straining against my belt, ready to ruin everything before it's begun if I give it half a chance.

No. I can't let this do the thinking.

I have to get these pics the hell off my screen before the heat in my balls makes me stupid.

Cal: Perfect. I'll see you there at seven.

I'm glad she isn't looking for a proper date. I'm sending my driver around to pick her up after I show up at the ball half an hour early. It's how it has to be. Knowing what she's wearing, causing my prick to leak heat all over my thigh, I don't think I'd survive the ten minute trip in the back of the car without putting her under me.

I'm doubly grateful she never texts back. Gives me ample time to throw my phone on my nightstand and step into a long, cold shower. It takes the ice forever to soothe my blood, and I've got it cranked to glacial. I'm panting like a bull in rut by the time I step out, toweling off, ignoring the raging hard-on up to my six-pack while it hits me.

This fake fiancée act won't be easy.

But the faster it comes, the more I realize how its challenge has nothing to do with dad or even our screwed up past. There's a vicious chemistry between us I thought I'd be able to ignore. Thought it'd be dead after so many years apart.

Hour by hour, minute by minute, the march toward Friday evening warns me I'm flat out wrong.

Raw attraction is alive and kicking. It comes at me with a thousand questions, but only one that's really important.

How the hell do I pretend I'm obsessed with this woman, and keep it professional, without actually fucking her first chance I get?

I'm no stranger to old money, high class, and self-righteous pricks. Kinda comes with the territory when you're a rising star in a major international company. But glamor and egos aren't the main reason the butterflies in my stomach have teeth, making me woozy when I step into the sleek glassy building downtown for the first time.

“Name or party, madame?” An older man in a tailored suit steps up, swift as a secret service agent, looking me up and down.

At least my chic blue dress and heels pass the first test, and I'm not thrown out on sight. “Randolph,” I tell him.

He grins. “Ah, so you're the lucky lady. My congratulations. Mr. Randolph has a table reserved. Right this way.”

It's getting very weird, very fast. I follow him through the security line, and we head into a massive ballroom like something out of a fairy tale updated for modern times.

Several dozen well dressed couples mingle, their chatter a steady roil behind the soft piano music coming from the stage. My eyes scan the crowd for Cal. When we near the table with the RANDOLPH sign on it, at first I'm sure there's someone else in his seat.

The man dressed to the nines in his tux and silver tie looks preposterously mature. Gone is the handsome, slender boy I used to crush on, replaced by a tall, dark, and brutally handsome man.

Cal's looks were always good to him. Time has been even kinder.

I shouldn't be surprised. I tried to brace myself for this. Tried, and completely failed.

One good glance at my fake fiancé makes my blood steam down to my knees.

“Hello, doll. It's been a long time. Pull up a chair.” The boy's deep voice is a man's now, several octaves lower than I remember. He stands, towering over me at least a foot, and readies my chair for me.

“My God.” It's all I'm able to whisper as my butt hits the cushion.

His shoulders are broader. His muscles are bigger, firmer, and sleeker than his eighteen year old bones could've supported. If he's suffered over the years – and I'm certain he has – his body shows no signs. It's like the pain has somehow strengthened his rough beauty, carved more perfection into the jawline covered in a rogue five o'clock shadow, given his neat, dark hair a perfect wave, and deepened his eyes.

Those sky blue gems set in his handsome face are all I recognize of the Calvin I once knew. They're unshakeable. No different from the last day I saw them, full of fury.

Except now there's an added darkness in the blue halo around his pupils. It sends a sharp chill up my spine.

He strokes his chin, quietly studying me, impossible to read behind his gorgeous mask. “What are you thinking?” I try, breaking the eerie silence.

“I think it's too damn quiet. Glad you're happy to see me, doll, but I think you can be happier. Drink?” He waves to the bar in the corner, where there's a man in a vest shaking up a cocktail in a steel tumbler.

“I'd love to,” I say, standing. I mean it.

I welcome anything that gives me a few more minutes to decide how I'll deal with telling the world I'm marrying this enigma.

I'm in a daze as I follow him to the bar, struggling to process how I've gotten here, back in the presence of a man I thought I'd lost forever.

I order my usual: a mimosa with extra citrus. He quirks an eyebrow and points it my way after asking for a scotch, more determined than ever to inflame the raw, confused pulse each look kindles deep inside me.

“Still love to play it safe, I see. Can't blame you. It's gotten you far.”

“Well, to China, anyway. How are you, Cal? You look good.” My cheeks bloom fierce red, transported seven years in the past as soon as the words are out. Why can't I compliment him like a normal adult?

“Miserable,” he says under his breath. “Wouldn't have asked you to this shitshow if I didn't have a lot to lose. Let's get on with it, and do some introductions.”

Apparently, he's never developed the patience for small talk. His hand drifts to mine a half second after we've picked up our drinks, and soon we're making the rounds.

“Mrs. Vernon, don't you look lovely?” he says to a plump, older woman near the stage, one hand holding her glasses. Yes, those glasses, the kind I thought were left behind in the nineteenth century. “This is my fiancée, Maddie.”

“Delighted,” the woman says in her haughtiest tone. Or maybe it's her normal voice. “My, young man, why didn't I hear you were engaged? Tell me everything!”

“Met on business in China about six months ago. You remember that trip to Beijing, love? Rainstorm caught you outside Mao's tomb, without an umbrella. I was kind enough to share, and you were too beautiful not to. Found out fast we were both Seattle locals.” He looks at me and winks when Vernon isn't looking.

“Uh, of course.” Not. My head is spinning. I barely remember to nod, before the blush on my cheeks hits my brain, and turns me to stone. Good thing he does most of the talking.

“We fell fast and hard. Real whirlwind romance that'd give old Rhett Butler a run for his wind.” Mrs. Vernon laughs when he mentions what I'm sure is an old favorite. “Proposed under a month ago. Can't believe how fast it's coming together, and how ready I am to be a married man.”

He grabs my hand. So much for fixing this awkward tension turning my lungs to concrete.

“So charming! You're a lucky young thing, Maddie. I simply can't wait for the wedding photos.” Mrs. Vernon goes doe-eyed. Her grin vanishes a second later. “And how's your father, Calvin? Is he close to...forgive me.”

She trails off. I expect Cal's warm smile to die, but it barley softens. “He has a month, maybe two at most, or so the doctors say. They've underestimated him before. Dad's always been a fighter. I think he'll go down swinging, and surprise all of us.”

“My sympathies, dear boy. If there's anything to settle in the aftermath, rest assured my Charles will be in your corner to put in a good word with your board.”

“Thanks. Means a lot.” He reaches out, squeezes her hand, and then we're on our way to a few more tittering couples.

He probably introduces me to half a dozen more I can't remember – always as the future Mrs. Calvin Randolph – before there's even time to catch my breath.

“Is this helping? Will Mrs. Venison or whatever her name was help you? It sounded good,” I say hopefully, looking for any excuse to slow down this bewildering meet and greet with millionaires.

“No. Charles is a thirty year baller and has a lot in our hedge fund, but the board's vote is shackled to dad's will. There's no overriding the pull a founding name has in the company.”

There's so much to these delicate politics I don't understand. It's not like he gives me a chance to catch up because we're still moving.

“Cal, Cal, I thought I'd see you here!” A lean man in a grey suit holding a tablet runs up, slowing our approach to the next group of VIPs.

“Turner. Surprised you're taking precious time away from fishing for secrets from tech titans to talk to me. What gives?” Cal eyeballs him suspiciously.

“Actually, I came over to see if you'd have an in for me with Spencer Emerson. Is he here? Heard he'd landed a lucrative deal for your firm to inject new liquidity into ShopUp, and I'd love to have a word.”

“He isn't around, and he wouldn't want to talk to you if he was. Nobody at Randolph-Emerson-Turnbladt got where they are with loose lips, especially when it involves multi-billion dollar deals with start ups heading to the moon.”

“Ah! So it's billions, plural. Got it.” Smiling, he holds up his tablet and quickly types his comments into what looks like software for press professionals.

“I can't believe anyone wants luxury brands shoved in their faces when they could buy affordable and efficient, but what do I know?” I say. I can't hold my commentary.

ShopUp is an app designed for rich people, where they can type in any old thing, and receive only recommendations from 'the best of the best.' In practice, it also means the most expensive, a reverse bargain approach suited for the ones who hang their lives on having the most bling.

Turner's eyes go wide, and he gives me a soft smile. “Forget ShopUp, Cal. Who's the fox with the mouth?”

“This is my lovely fiancée, Madeline Middleton. Soon to be Mrs. Randolph after we have our wedding in Tokyo in a few months. She can't wait for the honeymoon. I hope you'll forgive her snideness. I'm quite looking forward to our sixty day cruise around the South Pacific. Her uncle did a lot of missionary work on a lot of islands. This woman knows them all like the back of her hand. Isn't that right, doll?”

I didn't know a nod could be so heavy. The white lies are getting much darker.

“Tokyo? fiancée?” Turner looks like he's struggling to keep his jaw off the floor.

Honestly, so am I, because the improv stories Cal keeps making up about us just keep getting crazier. What's next? Telling them I'm already pregnant with the twins he's probably written into his script for a perfect life?

“Don't look so stunned, my man. I just handed you an exclusive.” Cal slaps him on the shoulder and gives it a squeeze that rocks the skinny young man roughly our age. “We've got a lot of people to see, though, so why don't you get cracking and send me a link to the story in the morning? Good way to announce our engagement for free.”

“Hold up, hold up! I've got questions...can't I at least have a picture?!”

Turner chases us like a hopeless puppy. Cal leans in with a heavy sigh, whispering in my ear. “Play along. It'll be good practice for dad soon.”

“Fine, one good picture to go with your article. As for the details, you fill them in. What's fit to print isn't always honest. Here, I'll get you started: we met in Hong Kong doing charity, we're both Seattle natives, and I love the hell out of this girl. You've got five seconds to get your camera going.”

Under five seconds warning before I'm in his arms. Cal seizes me, locks his powerful hands around my waist, brings me to his chest, dipping his face toward mine.

Oh, God. Isn't it a little soon for –

Our lips collide, destroying my thoughts. It's more explosive than I dared imagine.

The big bang happens all over again in our ten second kiss.

Whole worlds are born in a shower of sparks. They glow, they burn, fading into the molten shock flowing through my blood. So sudden, so unexpected, and so relentless my body reacts on pure instinct.

My brain hasn't caught up to what's happening.

But my heartbeat, my pulse, and the shameful fire building between my legs...mother mercy. They're as hot and bothered as a ShopUp user laying eyes on a five figure toaster, and my tongue melts against his far more naturally than I'd like.

Resistance? Restraint? Common sense?

Gone.

My brain may be screaming no, no, no, but the moan that slips out of me, and into him when my nipples turn to hard peaks through my dress is a simple, unmistakable yes.

This kiss is living memory. It takes me back through time, retraces all seven years to the first and only night he first laid his lips on mine, a carnal promise we never had a chance to act on.

Maddie, what the hell are you doing? My senses return, and I'm pushing hard against his chest with both palms before he eases up a second later.

“Was it as good for you as it was for us?” Cal asks, an eyebrow quirked at the blogger. I'm catching my breath, surprised Turner's glasses haven't fogged over from the scene he just witnessed.

He never gets a chance to answer. Cal leads me away, leaving him speechless.

I guess that makes two of us.

We're done making the rounds and in our seats when my thudding pulse finally lets me speak. “Okay, what was that? I thought we were keeping it professional, retaining certain boundaries, just like you said...”

“Practice, doll. Professional doesn't mean ice. This has to be believable. If we're never physical, no one will buy it. Besides, Turner's got a good track record making this crap viral.” Cal looks at me and smiles like we're talking about nothing. “Would you rather he show us off in a series of Tweets, or should I march you up on the stage for a repeat performance?”

God, no. On so many levels. If kissing him is practice for this farce we're putting on, I never want to see the grand finale.

I'm saved from a retort by the first speaker stepping up to the microphone, announcing the charity auction underway. Turner isn't the only person fixated on us. Low, hushed jabber flies around the room, impossible to ignore, more than a few middle aged couples pointing our way, and smiling.

At least they're happy. The gossip mill is a lot less pleasant when you're steering it. It's hard to even look at him as the bidding starts on a priceless sculpture by some wonderfully weird and gifted artist. I'm reeling in silence, frozen in disbelief that I gave in.

It doesn't matter that there wasn't a chance to put up my guard when I didn't know what was happening until he'd taken a nice, long sip of me. I caved, went weak in the knees for this crass, strange man I owe my life to.

It's terrifying how little the distance the years have put between us means. My body responds the same way it did when I was young and clueless. I'm in grave danger.

Three priceless art pieces sell for six figures each before Cal says anything. “Watch this,” he tells me in a hushed voice, holding up his sign.

It's hard not to gasp. Bidding for the huge white urn with the soft pink roses brushed by hand up its sides starts at a hundred thousand dollars.

Not even a year's salary for me. And he's the one roping me into this stupid fake fiancé thing, worried about money?

“Two fifty,” he says simply, holding up his sign.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars! Do I hear two seventy five?” The auction hawker beams, scanning the room for fresh competition.

Another sign goes up across the aisle, several seats down. “Three fifty,” a portly man in a vest says, giving us a quick glance with his beady eyes.

Just because the money is going to a good cause doesn't take the sport out of it. My heart leaps into my chest as I realize what I'm really seeing: a dick waving contest for rich people. And I'm seriously afraid Cal is going to get his slapped hard before it's over.

“Four hundred even,” Cal says, his deep voice louder.

The auctioneer at the microphone blinks. He never expected a bidding war over the most boring item yet. Low whispers roll through the crowd. I hear several cries of “really?” and “they're crazy!”

Whatever the Victorian vase is worth, it's already smashed through its ceiling. I lean in, hand halfway over my mouth. “Cal! I don't know what you're trying to prove, but –“

“I've got this, doll. Keep watching.” He cuts me off, a wicked smile pulling at his lips, waiting for his competition to up the ante, or else slink away with his tail between his legs.

“Four fifty,” the man a few feet over growls. I see his wife clutching his shoulder from the corner of my eye. We share a brief look of solidarity. Saving men from themselves is harder than breaking up dog fights sometimes.

“Do I hear –“

“Four seventy,” Cal says, his jaw subtly clenched. The bidding slowdown to smaller increments means they're both nearing their limit.

“Five hundred even!” A new voice says. Half the audience gasps.

The portly man looks defeated, red in the face, and suddenly goes quiet. Cal, he's ice next to me, revealing very little of the tension pulling him apart inside.

He needs to win. I sense it in every wolfish glance from his eyes.

“Five hundred thousand for this marvelous hand-painted relic from a nobler time!” The auctioneer squawks. “Do I hear five ten, ladies and gentleman? Five ten for this glorious, one-of-a-kind piece with roses sure to make your own gardener jealous?”

There isn't a sound. Just swift, crushing silence.

Cal's fingers twitch once on his sign, wedged against his thigh. I wrap my fingers gently around his rock hard bicep, squeezing it through his suit. “Let it go. You did your best.”

He pushes me away softly, and stands. “Five fifty.”

The floor drops out. I'm hanging my head, wondering how I was ever so stupid to believe this brash, crazy man would've sobered up with age. He's just as reckless and determined when he senses a fight as he was when it all went to pieces.

My heartbeat swallows my ears, making me dizzy. I feel like I'm reliving the incident all over again.

“Five hundred and fifty thousand!” The auctioneer sings, his smile becoming a grin. “Do I hear five seventy five? Five seventy five?”

I'm shaking, counting the seconds. He can't go higher than this. Five slip by before I hear the final countdown.

Going once!

Going twice!

“Sold, to the handsome young man from Randolph-Emerson-Turnbladt with the heart of iron!” Auctioneer man sings. “My lovely assistant will be in touch to wrap it up and find out how you'd like to bring this beauty home.”

Cal drops into his seat, a thin halo of sweat on his brow. He wipes it quickly with his sleeve as the vase is wheeled off the stage, and they start setting up the next piece.

“I sure hope you know what you're doing,” I mutter, leaning into him and whispering it as softly as I can, without surrendering the sharp worry in my gaze. “Over half a million dollars for art? Are you sure you need me to do this? Seems like you're kinda loaded.”

“This thing just cost me a decent chunk of my cash reserve, Maddie,” he says, calmer than ever while his words make my heartbeat ten times faster. “You'll help me make half a million a drop in the bucket after this marriage gets me what I'm owed. Also, what kind of loving fiancé would I be if I let that piece of history go? Didn't you recognize the cream background? The roses?”

“Obviously not!”

He's lost his mind. I'm still shaking my head when it hits me.

When I look up, a nervous wreck, he's smiling. His lips close in, leaving a peck on my cheek, and then I feel his hot breath oozing into my ear. “Now, you remember, yeah? Those roses on white...exact same pattern you wore on your dress the day I went on the field with Scourge. I'd be a fool to ever let us forget.”

* * *

He asks me to hang onto the huge vase wrapped up in thick newspaper as we crawl into the back of his limo. I clutch it like a kitten hanging onto a tree, so jittery over accidentally banging it against the car I'm about to explode. The nerves he's soaked in kerosene and lit on fire for a dozen other reasons aren't helping either.

We're halfway to his penthouse downtown before I finally find my courage “I can't do this if it's going to be crazy. We need ground rules,” I say, meeting his blue eyes in the darkness.

“What did you think we'd discuss tonight at home? What kind of lingerie I'd like you to wear when you parade around the house?” His smart slays every part of me his words don't reach. “I never operate in chaos, doll. I'd have never gotten my life halfway back on track if I did. Of course we'll have a plan.”

There he goes again. Making me feel small, restless, stupid.

That's the Calvin Randolph I remember. If that weren't so infuriating, it might be charming because it's familiar, a ghost from a simpler time when I didn't have a life complete with an impending fake marriage to worry about.

“Why did you really kiss me so hard in front of the reporter? I don't believe that was just 'practice.'” I let loose the other question eating me. “Something softer would've worked. You didn't have to put so much into it.”

“It's called passion, Maddie. You should try it sometime. Real emotion makes people excellent liars. No, you're not truly my blushing bride, doll. You just taste fucking good to me. I don't need to lie about that. If you're asking my permission to half-ass this arrangement, don't. I need you here, all the way.”

I can't hold his eyes. Ass.

I'm forced to look away, staring sadly out the window. A thick Seattle rain hits the glass and forms rivulets. It's pouring by the time we pull into his heated private garage. He tells me to leave the vase on the seat – the driver will take care of it – and I do.

The icy tension between us doesn't get any better on the elevator ride up his tower. When it reaches the top and I hear the ding accompanying the door sliding open, my hands are trembling on the gold banister behind me.

Sighing, he steps forward, and punches the button to close the door, giving us some privacy. “What's wrong?”

“What does it look like, Cal? It's too much.” No lie. It's overload. “I can't believe I'm back here, doing this, with you. I should be in Beijing for another week, working contracts in English and Mandarin. Not taking a leave of absence from my career to settle our old score from half a lifetime ago.”

“I know this is hard.” He steps in front of me, slides his strong hands on my shoulders, his fingertips pushing gently into my skin. “Believe it or not, I appreciate you, Maddie. Even if I have a twisted way of showing it sometimes. Stay strong, and we'll be even. You'll never hear from me again.”

That isn't what I want! I'm prepared to scream it after him, torn because he wounds me so easily, but always does just enough to remind me there's a soul somewhere behind his freezing looks.

He takes me by the wrist and leads me out, down the hall to a tall, ornately carved door, one and only entryway to his million dollar condo.

If he hurt his finances tonight dropping over half a million on charity art, it won't hurt his standard of living. His place looks like the kind I've only seen in platinum card traveler's magazines, and sometimes among the new desperate-to-impress money in China's business elite.

His world is lush.

Overstuffed leather chairs next to windows oversee the city's best view, towering over Pike's Market, stretching out to a picturesque shot of Bainbridge Island and the mountains beyond. An obscene mantle attaches to a fireplace probably able to produce enough heat in the winter for a small army. And a sleek glass liquor cabinet yawns full with wine, fine spirits, and imported beer, most of it totally out of reach without using the library ladder on the shelves.

I sit while he walks to a long fancy table. When he returns, there's a thin stack of papers in his hand. He pushes them into my lap and hands me a black pen. “Read it and sign, doll. Had my lawyer cook up something to protect us legally.”

“Fake fiancée, defined here as Ms. Madeline Middleton, agrees to pursue the duties outlined below in the strict spirit of non-disclosure...” I read the words slowly, letting each one slide down my throat and pool in my stomach like ice water.

My fingers page through it, and the dread only grows. There are so many clauses in cold legalese. Nothing seems unreasonable. But that doesn't make it any better.

When I look up, he's smiling, sitting in the chair next to me with another God forsaken smirk on his lips. “Is this really necessary? There's so much here.”

“It's for your protection as much as mine. Here, look at the last page,” he says, reaching over, pulling the last sheet out and putting it on top. “I knew we'd be pressed for time, so I asked my guy to spell out all the rules in a neat little list.”

My eyes skim more. He's not kidding about the little part. It's three short phrases that could mean anything if they weren't backed up by longer parts:

No sex. Both parties agree to keep their relationship strictly professional.

No money. Fake fiancée understands this arrangement guarantees no compensation, beyond what Mr. Randolph decides to spend on gifts, expenses, or direct rewards.

No disclosure. Fake fiancée agrees to keep this agreement strictly secret, until such time it's terminated, and further agrees any disclosures to the media without prior approval by Mr. Randolph are prohibited.

I'm shaking my head. He grabs the pen, pushes it into my hand, and holds it up in a writing positioning. “What's wrong, beautiful? Anything you'd like to add?”

My eyes bleed fire when I look at him. I seriously contemplate asking him to add no teasing to this stupid agreement, if it wouldn't sound so ridiculous.

“No. Let's get this over with,” I say, sighing as my wrist glides over the paper. I scrawl my name and initials on several pages, drawing on my legal experience to take one last quick look to make sure there's nothing buried that can bite me.

When it's done, he grabs the papers, and throws them into a leather case on the table. “Perfect. I'd say 'pleasure doing business,' but then that's a given when I'm dealing with you, doll.”

It still doesn't sit right. I press my hands together, looking away, staring at the city's winking skyline through his windows. “I know what we need to do. I signed it. Tell me what else you need.”

“So thoughtfully boring. How about a drink to celebrate?” he asks, helping me sit on one of the posh chairs next to a massive window.

“No,” I whisper, blinking back my tears, wiping them beneath his unrelenting gaze with my wrist. “I just need a moment.”

For half a minute, he's quiet. Then he sits down across from me, takes both my hands, and gives them a reassuring squeeze. “How do I make this easier?”

Easier? No such thing. There's nothing in the world that will make this faux engagement with a man who has his kind of history a breeze.

“Let me in,” I tell him. It's the one concession that might give this a shred of normalcy. “Treat me like a friend if I supposedly want to be your wife. Talk to me about life, where you're going, what you really want to achieve after this madness.”

He looks away, dropping my hands. “We're actors, Maddie. Just like the contract says. We aren't old friends, and certainly not lovers. We were classmates who got in too deep, and on the wrong asshole's worst side. We did some stupid shit it's taking years to undo. Why do you want to complicate this?”

“Because it isn't simple. Not when you shove me into your arms and kiss me for the first time in years! God, Cal. I know it can't be easy, everything that's happened, but do you have to be so heartless?”

He reaches up, scratching his clenched jaw. His sky blue eyes pierce mine, angry and electric, like it's almost as hard for him to sit here with me, and re-live the past.

I'm a fool for asking him to step back with me into the pain, I know. But honesty never hurt anyone, and right now, it's the only thing that'll let me process this screwed up arrangement without feeling like a plastic accessory.

“I picked you because we have a certain history, doll. That's undeniable. I need it to fool the world, and make sure my father coughs up what belongs to me before he's gone. Don't see any sense in this burning need you have to rehash hell at the academy. Let's put it behind us, and keep it the fuck there. Let's play our parts. You're here to be my fiancée. Not my therapist.”

His harsh look threatens to set me off all over again. The tears stinging my eyes worsen because I haven't even had a chance to sleep off the jet lag.

I hate this. I hide the tears behind my palms, turning my face, willing him to shut up and disappear.

“It's been a long day for us both. Let me show you to your room.”

“No!” I'm on my feet, clearing my eyes one more time to give him a harsh look. “Just point me to the right place. I'll find it myself.”

With a savage glance, he points down the long hallway starting under a crystal chandelier. “Last room at the end. Sleep in tomorrow. I'll be out all day. Won't need you again until Sunday, when it's time to visit my father.”

I storm away, resisting the urge to head for the front door instead, and find my way out.

By the time I clean up and lay down in the Egyptian cotton sheets, my new headache is worse. It's shocking how much the four hours I've spent with him are like staring into a mirror, expecting familiarity, and seeing only distortions.

He's the same. It's the Cal Randolph I remember in all his arrogance, his wit, his ruthless good looks with the ocean eyes able to melt any panties he desires, whether the women wearing them like it or not. The boy who teased me, who turned out to be my savior, always showed the same smirk, same poise, same bottomless energy and focus as I see in this man.

But there's also something different; a dark, cold, and very adult aloofness in his character. The old Cal wouldn't have shuffled me off to bed if he'd seen me cry like this. He would've swept me into his arms, kissed away my tears, and carried me off to join him in bed after making certain I wore a smile again.

This new man, who I've agreed to marry, and pray it won't ever go that far, I don't know. He confirms my biggest fear I've carried around for seven years: our tragedy changed Cal forever, and not for the better.

I'm pissed off the next day, and grateful I have business elsewhere.

Don't know how I could spend it in the condo with her moping around, hidden in her room, greeting my calls to breakfast with an icy silence. Before I left, I grabbed a pen, scrawling an angry note I slipped underneath the door, giving her my driver's number if and when she's ready for food. My kitchen is also well stocked, but I can't imagine Doll cooking for anything.

Sure, she's grown up. She's developed talents I'm sure I haven't seen. Hell, for all I know, she's become a master chef in her spare time, and maybe one day when I'm not making her miserable, she'll whip up something that makes me lean back and say, “wow.”

Yet, I can't stop seeing the Maddie I knew. She's there, staring me in the face, daring me to live like the gullible kid I swore I'd killed. I see the innocent girl who never came to school with lipstick, wearing a uniform blouse a size too big for her, those thick black lenses framing her eyes, still bringing her lunch to school every day in a Power Puff Girls lunchbox well into her Junior year.

The marketing campaign I'm working for Spence and Cade can't distract me from the past. Nothing makes a Saturday afternoon stuck at the office fly by faster than letting my mind wander.

* * *

I never met a girl so dense. Doll must think I'm teasing her for some sick pleasure, and not because I'm dying to get in her pants. She's never so much as cast a wanting glance my way, and let me hold it. But I see how her eyes study me when she thinks I'm not looking.

Those looks get me hard. They're the same eyes I've seen on the other girls in the small harem I've boned since I lost my virginity to a cougar at a Phoenix resort a few years back. Lust is always familiar, yet so fucking different in her soft hazel eyes. I wish I could figure out why.

Curiosity killed the cat, they say, and I think it's trying to claim Cal Randolph, too. This crazy need to get under her skin, or at least between her legs, sends my thoughts in dumb directions. Like deciding to ask her to the winter dance, rather than the cheerleading captain, Tina, who's been choking on my cock for several weeks.

Thanksgiving is over, and Christmas is coming fast for the Academy. That means a two week break, more freezing rains hammering Seattle non-stop, and – what else? – presents.

My old man probably has my new Mercedes lined up, just like I want. He's been ignoring me a lot between business and John coming home last week. It's good to see my older brother again, and my parents love having their hero home for the holidays.

I find him in my room one evening, after I come home early from German. My plans to ask Tina over here or take my fist to the hard-on raging between my legs go up in smoke as soon as I see him reclining on my bed, cigarette tucked between his lips.

“John, what the fuck?”

“Can't sleep in my old bed anymore. It's too damned soft. Yours is a lot firmer.”

“So, you think you can take over my room whenever?”

He looks at me, pulls the smoke from his lips, and flicks the ashes into the silver waste bin next to my bed. “I think you're all grown up, and maybe you can handle letting your big brother crash for a few hours on a mattress that doesn't want to eat him alive. Also thought I'd come by and make sure you're not into any stupid shit.”

“Fuck you, if you've been looking through my things. I'm not fourteen anymore,” I growl, marching over to my closet, scanning it to see if anything is out of order.

“Oh, I already did my inspection. What kind of sorry fuck would I be hunting IEDs and mines for Uncle Sam if I couldn't cover my little bro's room in five minutes? You've got nothing to worry about. Just a couple crushed beer cans, a few dried up joints, oh, and porn. Didn't know you kids even whacked it to magazines anymore. Isn't it all digital now?”

I see red. He's found the vintage European collection Cade swiped from his attic last week, and passed off to me and a couple other guys.

“None of your business! Don't make me say it again, John – stay the hell out!” Anger sticks in my throat like thorns. I swear, I'll stare down Scourge and his crew of idiots all day, but my brother has a real knack for pushing just the right buttons to turn me into a kid throwing a tantrum all over again.

“Saw the trophies you've got in your dresser drawer, too,” he says, sitting up and flicking his depleted cigarette into the trash. “At least, I'm hoping they're trophies. Don't tell me you're into wearing lace now?”

The blood drains from my face. This is worse than finding my porn stash. Goddamn.

I look him dead in the eye. “Had to take something from the girls I already fucked. I'm not the kind to kiss and tell, so that's all your getting. Go ask your army pals for jerk stories, if that's what you're after.”

He chuckles, pointing and laughing at the red damage carved on my face. “You're a good kid,” he says, finally standing up. Hope like hell he's ready to give me some much needed privacy.

He heads for the door, stopping when he's got one foot in the hall. He's still wearing his army boots, huge rubber beasts that seem out of place for the Brazilian wood on our floors. “Nah, on second thought, you've changed my mind. You're not a kid anymore, Cal. You're a man. Think you'll go better places than I did at eighteen, screwing off a year in Florida and drinking my brains out, before I decided to enlist. Had to stop dad from getting really pissed. All I'm saying, I guess, is sorry for treating you like the same little shit who used to bug me.”

“Whatever,” I mutter, before I let out a sigh. “Thanks, asshole.”

He's a dick, but in his own way, John's an okay guy.

We briefly shake hands before he leaves me alone with my deepest secret, the one he couldn't find because there's no physical evidence except empty air. Last week, I shoved aside my trophies from the fucks I've had, and cleared an empty space.

In my brain, it's got Maddie's name on it. I'm going to stuff her soaked, torn panties there sometime in the next few months, or I will lose my shit.

I can't let this weird fascination go on without finding out what's underneath her prim and proper skirt. Bigger and better things are waiting after I screw this out of my system.

* * *

I'm so fucking over Scourge today. The bully clanks when he walks with his stupid chains, always the same two lapdogs at his side who think they're hard because they're willing to run errands for the school's prize pig.

This morning, he pushed Cade out of the breakfast line so hard my buddy lost his food on the floor. Both him and Spence are calmer, cooler than me. They're lucky, and so is fuck-face.

I wouldn't have held back giving him the business end of my fists if he did it to me, discipline and detention be damned.

I'll never understand why they let him share classes with us. What job could possibly be worth it to make Principal Ross kiss so much ass?

By mid-morning, he's mouthing off to Mr. Gregorson, our European history teacher. He's senior faculty, silver haired, and he's just as done as the rest of us with this kid's shit.

Scourge tells him he doesn't give a rat's ass about flunking yesterday's quiz on the Borgias. Gregorson orders him back in his seat, placing a call to the front desk, informing them he'll be down in the office shortly.

He sounds defeated. That gets to me today, makes my guts churn.

It's always the same: Principal Ross doesn't want to do shit. Even if Gregorson pressed the issue, he'd suspend Scourge for a day to get his slap on the wrist. Asshole would return tomorrow, more determined than ever to give the rest of us a hostile learning environment.

We're in gym near the end of the day when I catch him circling Maddie. She has like two friends in the whole school. They're all slow runners, lagging behind everybody else while we're doing laps on the track.

Scourge picks up speed, racing behind Chelle on Maddie's left, and knocks the poor girl over. I'm not close enough to do shit.

She goes down hard on one knee. Him and his assholes laugh, all three shooting the girls the middle finger as they race past them, buying five minutes worth of cruel, simple entertainment.

“What's up?” Spence asks, running at my side, a knowing flicker in his eyes. “Looks like you're about to do something stupid.”

“No, but you keep pace with Cade. I'm going on ahead.” I pump my legs as hard as they can go.

The bullies have slowed, fallen behind the girls again, who are moving at a crawl as Maddie and her other friend, Elizabeth, help Chelle walk on her banged up knee.

When I'm closing the last ten feet, I'm moving like a maniac, watching Scourge's wingman, Reed, try to repeat the tipping prank with Doll. I never give him a chance.

My shoulder impacts his at a furious speed, throwing him into Scourge. The three idiots fall like bowling pins, swearing the whole time.

I don't slow down until the girls are well ahead of me. Then I turn, giving the bastards behind me the stink eye. If they want to catch up with the trio again, including Maddie, they'll have to go through me.

“What the fuck's your problem, Randolph? You got a crush on them bitches?” Scourge stumbles up to me, spitting raw hate. “Fuck you, if you do. No joke, I'll find out who she is, and make her life a living hell if you think about swinging your dick at me again. Shit, maybe I'll go after all three. Just because.”

“You'll do nothing,” I growl, my voice so deep and feral it surprises me. Clearing my throat, I see Spence and Cade appear at my side. Perfect timing. If this gets uglier than it is, I'll need backup. “Just leave them alone, Alex. Save your bullshit for someone else.”

His whole body bristles when I use his real name, instead of that stupid moniker. “Getting awful tired of you trying to play Sheriff around here, Randolph. Your daddy ain't the only one who's got money and connections. None of you assholes have an in at this school like my old man and my uncle.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know how you've got Ross on a leash,” Spence says, flashing his teeth.

“Can I?” Reed steps up, his dumb face turned to his leader, quietly asking Scourge's permission to break my friend's nose.

“Leave it,” I tell Spence, putting my arm across his chest. I don't need to do it with Cade.

They're usually calmer, but they're also more trusting. The assholes in front of me are unpredictable. There's a decent chance we'll have a fight on our hands as soon as our backs are turned. We don't need to go starting it.

“You don't want to fuck with us, kid. Stand down. Last and only warning I hand out. Next time, you'll be dealing with Uncle Match.”

“Whatever. Glad you've got someone in prison, at least. You'll wind up there yourself one day, asshole,” I say.

I hold my boys back, wishing I could roll my eyes harder without touching off a fight. Surprisingly, Scourge doesn't bother doing more than mumbling a parting fuck you. We wait, watching them slink away.

“Ever think he means his uncle's so tired of his crap he'll bring us brownies for knocking his shit in?” Cade says, a rough grin peeking through his lips.

“Getting our hands dirty is no joke. Let him have his space, long as he isn't up in ours.”

“Funny, doesn't seem like ours he was getting in.” Spence and his damned knowing looks.

“What? You wanted me to stand here with my thumb up my ass while he put those girls in stitches?”

“Nah, obviously,” Spence grunts. I grab my friend by the collar, giving him a firm shake. “Course not. Just thought you were awful quick to stick your nose in his business. But the asshole had it coming.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” I snarl, releasing his jersey. I jog several paces ahead of my friends.

Need the space to clear my head. Several yards away, the school's outside bell rings, letting us know it's time to get our asses back in the locker room, and change.

On my way in, I see Maddie with her friends, stopping to check Chelle's knee. She looks up, catches my eyes, and there's a moment.

For some ungodly reason, this obsession isn't purely sexual. Sure, I want her wrapped around me so I can finally stop jerking it to fantasy, but it's more than young lust.

I'm starting to care.

It's the pinpoint moment when I should've known I was officially fucked.

* * *

A week later, I'm standing by her locker. There's no Scourge to worry about, thank Christ, because he's been skipping out the last few days.

I see Maddie trot up, punch in her code, and pull the silver handle until the door pops open. She ignores me standing behind her, leaning casually against the wall. Clearing my throat gets her attention.

“Yes?” She turns, her eyes wide and anxious behind her thick black frames.

“You got a date yet for winter dance, or what?” I ask, stepping up with an arrogant smirk overtaking my lips.

Christmas has come early for her, and it feels good to play Santa. She ought to thank me, maybe be a good girl and sit on my lap. The Cal Randolph is asking her to be his date, and I'm confident my competition is nil. She's too damned shy to catch any other guy's interest.

Doll stays quiet. Looking down. Blushing. I've given her such a dream-come-true shock she can't even answer me. It's adorable at first. I appreciate her as she really is.

So innocent and pensive. So ready to be corrupted. So fucking mine.

I want to grab her face, push her hair over her shoulder, and then bite her lip while I find out what it takes to steam her lenses.

“Answer me, Doll. It's next week, and I need a date.” I move in, bringing my fingers to her chin. Gently lifting her head, I wait for her eyes, lock them down in my gaze. “I want it to be you.”

“Cal, what happened last week...with Scourge...” her voice is so hush I have to lean in to make anything out.

Can't believe she's still worried. “Forget it. He pesters you again, just say the word, and it's done. Anything else, ignore the idiot. If he's leaving you alone, we're all better off letting bygones be bygones, right?”

I've never seen a girl's cheeks so red. She doesn't answer me, just shuffles her feet, kicking my toe lightly with hers. “I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm not going,” she blurts out.

“What?” Are my ears fucking lying?

Her eyes break from mine in a panic, and she steps out of my grasp, bumping her locker shut behind her. “My parents don't want me to go. It's too close to Christmas, and we're heading to Oregon to visit my grandma. That's it. I'm sorry I can't come. Have a good time.”

No, it's not my ears. It's her. Feeding me the biggest load of crap I've ever imagined in such a reluctant, mousy tone.

I don't chase after her. I watch her practically run, race to the bus, where she clambers into her seat and looks back at the school through the window. I think I see tears in her eyes.

It doesn't make sense, whatever's gotten into her.

Frankly, it doesn't fucking matter.

No one says no to me, and walks away with a second chance. I don't pursue ice queens. My big brother always said the worst mistake a man can make is chasing pussy that isn't interested, and I believe him.

Fine, Doll. We'll do it your way.

Fuck the winter dance. Stay home with your crayons and cartoons. I'll have fun like a grownup. I'm done. Won't even wonder why the hell you're so scared to claim the prize every other girl here would die for.

I resist the urge to slam my fist into somebody's locker, either hers or Scourge's, and head straight for the boy's locker room downstairs. It's the off season for lacrosse, my last one before college, and I'm already over-training. One more dark winter evening won't hurt.

It's the better alternative to ripping this school apart with my bare hands in rage, one rotten brick at a time.

* * *

Silence follows Maddie like a shadow.

She's barely said a word all morning. We're having our chicken and waffles at an upscale seafood place across town specializing in low country food from the Carolinas for Sunday brunch.

I try to enjoy my meal, knowing I'll need the sustenance before we catch the ferry to Bainbridge. It'll be our first meeting with my old man at the big, empty hospice I used to call home.

Selling this engagement needs to hit hard.

Halfway through the meal, her fork clatters and slaps the plate. She looks at me, arms folded. “So, are you ever going to apologize for being a dick the other night?”

“Depends. If I do, are you willing to talk boundaries, and then pull the stick out of your sweet ass and start acting like you're happy to be my wife?”

Wrong words. I see her eye twitch, a signal she's a heartbeat away from getting up and storming off.

I'm not getting anywhere without an apology.

“Look, my tact might have been better, I'll give you that. Never meant to put you in tears, Maddie. Honest,” I say, looking left and right in my peripheral vision to make sure there's no one around for what comes next. “I owe you an apology for that. There are no excuses, but this whole arrangement isn't any easier on me. I haven't handled the stress as well as I should, and that's on me. I won't take it out on you again.”

If she's satisfied, her expression doesn't show it. At least she hasn't fled. “You've always been a jerk to me, Cal. I can think of two, maybe three times when you weren't. One being the day you saved me from those bullies when we were running laps, next time when we kissed, and the other –“

“Don't say it,” I hold up my hand, before she takes us down the darkest part of memory lane. “We can't go there. No fucking point.”

“Fine. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt because it sounds like you mean it. Christ, I want to believe that. One more chance, Cal. But it's probably the last if there's another evening like Friday.”

“Fair enough. You respect my boundaries, I'll respect yours, and we won't have issues.”

“Showing a little humility works wonders. I could have used that at Maynard, after you asked Tina out in front of me and rammed your tongue down her throat...”

Oh, she's still bitter about that? I suppose she ought to be, but it doesn't stop the fire spiking in my blood.

“It was seven years ago, doll. You said no to the winter dance for reasons I'll never understand. We were clueless fucking kids, everyone.”

How the hell could I forget that day? I waited like a snake in the grass for her to come out of the locker room before I laid the heat on Tina. Made sure she had her lips all over me, halfway moaning my name, before I popped the question about the dance, and she gave me an emphatic yes.

Maddie looked crucified. Don't think she ever forgave me until I came to her rescue for the very last time.

Even now, she looks indignant, like my excuse does zero for her pride. “I tried telling you how I felt several times. Did you really never get my notes in jail? Not a single one?” she asks coldly. “I couldn't do the dance. I was worried about both of us, Cal, after you and your friends got into it with Scourge and his guys that day over Chelle. Turns out I was right. My friends told me what he said, how they vowed to make life hard for you, and any girl you were with. I couldn't let that be me. I couldn't be responsible for pulling you in deeper.”

I don't say anything, stabbing at the last of my food. “Who cares? Never helped in the end, did it?”

She shakes her head reluctantly. We know exactly what happened next, how evil life can be.

“It was seven years ago, Maddie. Time to start living in the present.”

She's quiet for a few seconds before a soft sigh escapes her lips. “Whatever. You're right.”

We clear our plates, enjoying the relieved atmosphere. One more cup of black coffee for me and an orange juice for her later, and we settle our bill, heading out into the quiet morning.

It's almost half an hour to Bainbridge. I take my own car onto the ferry, as I do every Sunday, dispensing with the driver for local, private hops like these. It's a good thing, too, after I dropped half a million on that damned vase. My budget is going to face corrections soon if I can't win my father over, before he screws me beyond the grave.

“Any last minute questions?” I ask her as we roll through the illustrious family gates, the Randolph name formed in wrought iron overhead like a greeting, or a warning, to all who enter.

“No. I'll follow your lead. It's probably good that I don't say much, and let you do the talking, considering how things are...” She stops herself just short of getting into the crap between my dad and me. Wise choice.

“Wrong, Maddie. I need your tongue. Charm him. Please.” I give her a look while I park the car on the long driveway, witnessing her surprise. “He's heard the same old shit from me every Sunday for the last three months since he got in that bed, and they told him he was never coming out. You're fresh. New. A wild card, even if he thinks you're just a Joker.”

“That's...kind of a lot of pressure,” she says, looking down at her lap.

“You'll pass the test. You always do. Never saw you fail one even once at the academy. Your record in contracts speaks for itself, too. Cade knows a guy in Seoul who said you were instrumental to opening up the Great Firewall of China and letting Sterner code apps into their market. Think you made every other sorry bastard after the same thing turn green with envy.”

Her mouth drops slightly. “Those details were never public! I'm not sure why you'd take any interest in what happened months ago, either, unless of course you were –“

“Keeping tabs? Of course I did, doll. I never forgot you.” I stop, knowing I've said too much and it's coming out wrong. “Always figured the day would come when I'd need to make good on that favor. I had to know where to find you. Now, come on.”

I want to get this over with, and I'm done sparing minutes for chit-chat.

Nothing good will come from too much talk, too much honesty. She can't find out how much dust she's kicking up in every corner of my soul that should stay abandoned.

I want to keep this professional. As much as this fake fiancé thing can be without invisible strings tangling us up like spiderwebs. There's a billion of those and counting thanks to the past.

Still, I don't give up easy. I know what I need to do.

No emotions, no sex, and no second guesses.

Two out of three, I'm failing miserably. It has to stop. And doll absolutely, positively can't find out how much strain she's putting on the careful walls I've built.

Because if they ever crumble, our protection is gone. There's no telling what happens then.

The elder Randolph is a shell of a man, slow to sit up when we find our way into his room. It's disconcerting for such a fine room to smell so strongly of heavy medications and decay. I expected this, true, everything except the hateful energy in his eyes.

“What is it today?” Cal's father grunts after we take our seats.

I put on my best smile, trying hard to keep the girlfriend act up for this critical moment.

“Dad, how are you today?” Cal practically beams.

“Dying, the same as yesterday,” the old man snaps. “Who's she?”

Cal turns to me with a soft smile on his face. There's a clear tension behind it, a cruel apology that says, I'm sorry we have to sit through this shit.

“Madeline Middleton,” I say, reaching for his frail hand, without skipping a beat. “Soon to be Mrs. Calvin Randolph.”

His grip is firmer than I imagined. He squeezes hard, like he's testing to make sure I'm really here, and it's not some ghastly trick of his mind. “She doesn't look like an escort, at least. I'll give you that.”

“My fiancée is not a damned escort, dad. Please, just give her a chance. I wanted you two to meet before the end.” Cal sounds angrier than he should.

Almost like he's eager to defend my honor, but I really know it's about the trust, the severe risk this charade could fall apart here and now.

I release the old man's hand and replace it with Cal's. His fingers lace through mine, pinching so much harder than his father. He brings my hand to his lips and kisses the back. I don't know why it brings me instant goosebumps everywhere.

“We met in Beijing, Mr. Randolph. It happened like it was always meant to be. I've loved your son ever since,” I chirp, smiling so hard it hurts. It certainly isn't easy with the constant scowl on his thin, pale lips. “It's an honor to meet you. Really. I've heard so much. Everything about how you raised him, and took the firm to heights nobody ever imagined.”

“You heard lies, girl, no different than what you're feeding me.” He sits up straighter, closing his eyes for a couple seconds. My heart jumps into my throat, pounding much faster, before he looks at me again with extra disdain dripping from his eyes. They're eerily identical baby blues to Cal's. “I remember who you are. I still have a pulse and my memory, despite this withering flesh. I read the police reports.”

I turn my head, giving Cal a panicked look, pretending I'm not ready to jump out of my skin. Jesus. Now, what?

“Sometimes I think you're more forgetful than I am on my IV cocktail, boy.” He looks at Cal and sneers. “Did you really think you had a chance? Bringing this one here, thinking I'd magically forgotten the years our lives went to hell in a hand basket? Did you think I wouldn't remember her, you little idiot?”

“Had to do something to test your faculties, dad,” Cal spits the last word like it's rotten fruit. “Of course, we didn't meet in China. We stayed in touch all these years, and reconnected a few months ago.”

“Typical. I'm glad you showed me how much bunk your desperate cries about how much you've changed are, Calvin. You're a terrible liar. You always were. It's a small miracle you've gotten anywhere at RET at all, rather than collecting your accolades off the name I built with your grandfather.”

The two men stare, saying nothing, contempt in their eyes.

Hello, disaster. I sit for a second in the frigid silence, head spinning, wracking my brain for some unreachable combination of words that will salvage this.

“I knew you wouldn't approve,” Cal says quietly, moving his chair an inch closer to his father's bedside. “That's why I brought Maddie here anyway. I wanted you to see I'm building my life with the woman I love, the way I want, whether you leave me a fucking penny or not.”

“You're marrying your stupid little crush who brought us to the brink of ruin,” Mr. Randolph barks, giving me a furious look. “No more of this. You've come here with her to rub it in my face. Leave now, or I'll call the nurse and end this sickening joke myself.”

“Mr. Randolph, please!” I stand up, flustered. His hand stops, halfway to the red button for the intercom on his nightstand. “We were wrong to make up stories. It was my idea, and I'm sorry. I thought it'd go down easier that way. I was wrong. Truth is, Cal's about to make me the happiest woman in the world. I could care less about the fortune you two are playing tug-of-war with. As long as he's mine, I'm richer than I ever imagined. I'll just miss the fact that we could never win your approval.”

I don't know what comes over me, but it's making me shake. I plop back down in my seat before my own mouth runs me over, clueless why I'm so emotional. It's a bad situation, yes, probably the end of this whole stupid thing if he's already convinced Cal deserves squat. But it shouldn't be like this, cold ink running in my blood, vicious tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

“She's telling the truth, old man,” Cal says coldly. “This isn't a game. It's honesty. We fell in love because we learned how to deal with our pain, something you never did. Who the hell do you think kept my spirits up that year I spent in prison? And then when I couldn't find a job, couldn't find my way, couldn't find anything? Wasn't you, or even mom. Not after John. You never gave me a second chance, even when my brother begged you.”

Hearing his dead son's name makes the old man blink. “Don't you dare drag him into his. Watch your greedy, forked tongue.”

“Greedy? Oh, you ought to know a thing or two about it, dad. You earned the best money of your life after the funeral, when you stuffed yourself away in your booze and women, while mom cried herself to sleep alone. Maybe her heart wouldn't have given out if you'd been around to help mend it.”

“Like you'd know, Cal,” the old man says. “Spare me the high and mighty scorn from the good son who wasn't. If you ever gave a damn about this family, you'd have never broken her heart in the first place, before losing John killed what was left.”

I cover my mouth to hold in the gasp trying to slip out. When the elder Randolph turns to me, it's brutal. Cal sits quietly, bowed up like he wants more than anything to resolve this with more than words. Too bad force isn't an option.

“Watch out for him, girl. I don't know what you see, but don't let it blind you. He's a screw up, a liar, and a hideous excuse for a backup son.” He cranes his head, slowly rolling over, punching the call button on his intercom. Our signal to leave.

Thank God. I'm too stunned by the train wreck that's just happened to contemplate where we go from here.

But before Cal can grab the door, I hear his father's voice one more time, a hoarse whisper from the sheets. “If it could've been you, instead of John, we'd all be better off. I wish sometimes it was the Taliban who missed, and not that sick bastard's son.”

His reference to the worst of the past feels like a bullet slicing through my chest.

Oh, God. I look to my fiancé, searching for the shot to the heart I expect to see written all over his face.

There's nothing. Just a cold, blank tension he wears from the time he slams the door shut behind us, leads me through the mansion by the wrist, and climbs into the car without one word.

* * *

“I'm sorry, Cal. I didn't know what to do. Nothing could've prepared me for that.” Well, maybe if he'd given me a heads up about what a dying sourpuss his father really is, it would've been better than flying blind. But I can't blame him for the disaster.

“Forget it. You tried.” The wind sweeps through his short dark hair, casting a rugged edge to his chiseled good looks.

We're standing on the upper deck of the ferry as it churns toward it's Seattle terminal, putting the island and its secret money behind us. What do I even say to numb the hurt? It seems like it's so pointless now. If we can't convince his father, he's out of luck.

I might as well talk to my boss about coming back early. I'm mapping the conversation in my head, wondering if I'll be sent straight back to Beijing, when he turns away from me, beginning a slow walk across the ship.

Apparently, even my presence at his shoulder is too much. I don't know if he wants to be alone today, or forever.

I give him a few minutes alone before I step up, sheepishly whispering behind him. “If it's over, and you'd like me to go, I can.”

“Go? What the hell do you mean?” he turns, his eyes blue fire.

“I mean, it's over, isn't it? We lost. He couldn't have been more unimpressed with me if I'd spat in his face for the nasty things he said to you.”

Cal smiles, small and tenuous, but it brings such a delicious glow to his gorgeous face. “I miss your glasses, doll. You're beautiful without them, too, but you used to wear your innocence on your sleeve.”

“I got Lasik a few years ago,” I say, puzzled. “What have my glasses got to do with anything?”

“You're the same woman without them, aren't you? Older and wiser, sure, but same heart. Same spirit. Don't believe you'd be standing here with me right now participating in this facade if you'd changed for the worse.”

“Of course. I did what I had to.”

He lays a hand on my shoulder, an instant signal to my heart to quicken. “Then you should know I'm not so different, either. Not at my core. Would the Cal you knew at Maynard ever give up this fucking easy?”

He makes me smile. Shaking my head, I whisper one word, slipping into a chill that goes up my spine having nothing to do with the windy ride across the sea. “No.”

“Exactly. Come here, beautiful.” He doesn't give me a chance to pull away. No time to second guess what happens a second later.

His kiss is fierce, hot, and oh-so-nice. Cal attacks my mouth like it's natural, like we're more than frauds, sinking his tongue into mine, owning me from the inside out. His fingertips dig into my skin, too hard to be a proper peck. Too long to even be a normal kiss between lovers.

This is want. It's a living symbol of the desire flickering in my nerves, alive and magnetic, surrendering me to him for the next few seconds without the slightest protest.

It's plenty wrong, but I allow it because I hope it helps him feel better after the disaster an hour ago.

Heck, maybe I allow it because I want it, too. His hands, his lips, and his five o'clock shadow are a comfort. A very dangerous one, but a kindness nonetheless. It's the first time I really notice the black petals and vines with their tangled thorns stamped across the back of his hand as it slides down my cheek, returning to my side.

It takes me a long, terse breath to recover. “And what was that?”

“More practice. We aren't done, Maddie. If we can't convince my old man directly, we'll get to him through the senior partners and the board. Spence and Cade's dads have been good to me over the years, but they never forgot the bad. They're too afraid it isn't all behind me to go against dad. If I ever wind up with my share in the company and its money, they only see dire consequences.”

“If you think it's worth it, we'll try,” I say, giving him a nod. I owe him another shot, as long as he's treating me like a decent human being. Jesus, maybe more than decent, if I'm being honest. “When did you get this?”

I grab his hand, holding it up, marveling at how heavy and strong it is. He looks down, new ice in his eyes, reminding me I'd better not get too comfortable or ask too many questions.

“Jail. Black rose. Has to do with something private that went down there.”

Message read, loud and clear. He doesn't want to go further. Rather than probe more, I walk with him to parking on the lower level, hand-in-hand, seeing how we're only minutes away from docking.

Maybe the worst is over. If we're able to avoid another ferocious confrontation with his dad, then I think there's a chance I'll survive this fake fiancée thing without losing my mind, or my heart.

* * *

I'm in our old neighborhood the next morning, preparing to say hello to my parents before I get back to the condo and prep for our next chance to shine with the senior partners at Cal's firm.

It's always a little weird coming home. The old houses and rental duplexes haven't changed a bit since my college days. My parents live on the lazy side of the university, pockmarked with ramshackle houses and quirky businesses too forgotten to be gentrified by the city's housing boom.

I try to quell my nerves when I knock at the door, expecting to see my mother's soft, pleasantly plump face appear through the glass before she lets me in. Instead, I see a girl in her early twenties, just a couple years younger than me, sticking her tongue out like a twelve year old.

“Home already, Kat? Lucky me. Thought you had to work afternoons?”

“Boss gave me the evening off to say hello to my big sis. Come the hell here.” She opens the door and sweeps me into a hug. “I'll make us some coffee.”

My little sister is grown up, but clearly no less a brat. We embrace just the same as close kin who haven't seen each other for the better part of a year.

She leads me into our old kitchen. The little stools at the breakfast bar are the same as I remember. I take my old spot at the one with a rickety leg, tapping my fingers impatiently on the peeling counter as I watch her fix our coffee. While a silver gooseneck kettle heats on the stove, she measures several spoons of coffee grounds into a glass chemex lined with a filter. Then slowly, lovingly, she pours the water across the grounds.

“Smells heavenly,” I say, inhaling the coffee-infused air. “If there's one thing I miss about home, it's the coffee. The stuff they're serving in Beijing just doesn't cut it. If you ever have a chance to go overseas, I bet you'll teach them a thing or two.”

Katrina rolls her eyes, watching as the last boiling water sifts through the grounds, draining dark brown goodness into the glass. “Oh, sure. I'll be on the first plane the second Mr. Kolaris opens his first international store. Sorry, Maddie, we can't all be international hotshot wunderkids.”

I smile sadly. There's more than a little jealousy in her voice, but she's usually supportive. For now, Kat has accepted the same fate I once seemed destined to, working at the small Greek coffee shop a few blocks away. It's close enough to bike to, even in the heavy rain. A major plus because that's the only vehicle she can afford on her tips and minimum wage.

“So, what really brings you back here?” she asks, sliding over my coffee. I take a few seconds to answer, savoring the rich flavors on my tongue. “Can't believe you'd take a leave of absence from paradise just a couple months after they finally sent you abroad like you always wanted.”

“Business doesn't care what I want,” I say, narrowing my eyes. I wonder how much my father passed along from the story I concocted when I told my parents I was coming home for several weeks. If they'd kept it on the down low like I asked, Kat wouldn't know it's a leave of absence at all.

“And what business is that?” she says, chugging her coffee like it's water. “Sterner doesn't do much here in Mandarin, I suppose. You're lucky they didn't drag you up to their new headquarters in Anchorage to freeze your nipples off.”

I laugh at the notion. The company's strongman CEO, Ty, spends most of the year in Alaska, the official base of operations every employee in Seattle and beyond contends with. Once upon a time, he rocked the boat quite a bit when he married his stepsister, a scandalous slice of drama making me all too aware why I'm really here, and what I need to keep hiding from my nosy little sister.

“I'll keep my nipples as long as I'm home, thanks. If you must know, I'm doing some side work with an old friend.” The last word tastes hard and bitter in my mouth. Whatever the hell Calvin is, he isn't my friend, as he recently made painfully clear.

“Boyfriend, huh? I always knew you were hiding something from us.” Kat says it so nonchalantly I almost spit out my delicious coffee.

“I'm not here for a boyfriend, sis. Don't know where you got that idea. I'm happily single and way too busy to pick over the expats, co-workers, and digital nomads who make up my options in Beijing.”

“Duh. That's why you came back here to land a man. Who is he?”

She just doesn't quit, does she? Rolling my eyes, I drain half my cup before I set it down, rolling over a few different options in my head.

There's a decent chance someone will find out the truth about my fake engagement sooner or later. If it's inevitable, I'll still welcome a delay. I can't put a price on time, however long I have to concoct a story about why I'm getting married, and then again when it falls through.

My little game with Cal has an expiration date. It's the only saving grace from getting too deep in drama or too attached.

“Madds, hello?” Kat waves her hand over my face, reminding me I haven't answered.

“Katrina, why do you even care? I want to have a good time here. I don't want drama,” I say, hoping my eyes are sufficiently patronizing for a big sis. “I get it. You're frustrated because you're stuck here, putting in your hours, trying to entertain yourself in this expensive, crazy town. I've seen the cost for a few drinks and a round of oysters – one night in Seattle is two week's worth in China. Admit it – you'd love to show mom and dad the daughter they banked on isn't as perfect as they think.”

“You think this is jealousy talking?” she snaps, snatching my cup for a refill. “Truth is, I'm worried. I'm just curious why you're lying to everyone instead of just fucking telling us you're engaged.”

“Engaged?” My heart almost stops. She slides my cup back slowly, a satisfied 'gotcha' spark in her eyes. “Where did you hear that?”

“Every hipster who's on his laptop at Roasted reads Seattle Widgets. Techies everywhere. Don't think I'd have missed their local gossip page today if I tried.” Smiling, she pulls out her phone, and taps it a few times. When she turns it toward me, I see myself on the screen.

At the charity auction.

In Cal's arms.

Completely swept away in his sudden, shocking, infuriating kiss.

FORGET THE PAST. CALVIN RANDOLPH MAKES IT OFFICIAL, AND YOU WON'T BELIEVE HOW HOT IT IS!

The cringe-worthy clickbait headline alone would burn my cheeks down, but the fact that it's accompanied by a banner sized pic of us locking lips, his bright blue eyes drilling through my soul, makes every drop of blood in my veins lava.

“Please, just let me break the news to mom and dad,” I say, my voice cratering to a whisper.

“Maddie, you don't even sound happy. What's really going on?” She props her face up, elbows on the counter, giving me a more concerned look than I've seen for years. “I can't believe you're marrying him...but the thing that really surprises me is, you sound like you can't believe it either.”

“It's not like that. Things happened really fast. Cal, he kept in touch after everything that went down at the academy. I wrote him for years. Found out we were on the same page about a lot of things. We decided to meet and...” It's hard to continue. Her eyes are huge, accusing, disbelieving. “Aw, screw it. I owe him one, Kat. I don't know if you were too young to understand everything that happened at Maynard years ago, but if he hadn't gotten between me and a disaster, I'd be nowhere. Now, he needs my help.”

“Of course I remember the news. It was all over,” Kat says, folding her arms and sticking out her nose, as if I owe her an immediate apology for questioning her crystal clear memory. She quickly gets over it and sends me a baffled look. “Wait, so...are you engaged to him, or not?”

I furrow my brow, wondering if there's even an answer to her question. “We are. But it's only temporary. He needs a fiancée, a wife, a woman to get his father to change his trust so he doesn't lose everything before he passes. Two, maybe three months tops – that's all the time his father's got – we'll know the outcome. We'll dissolve it. Pretend it never happened. I'll go on my merry way, and I'll never have to think about actually marrying Cal again.”

Why does saying that basic cold fact feel like a blow to my stomach?

At first, Kat looks stunned. She sets her coffee cup on the counter quickly, like she's seconds away from dropping it, and then flattens herself against the old fridge with its rust spots, releasing the world's longest sigh.

“Whew. And mom thought I sold out when I skipped community college to stay with my crappy indie band.”

“Hey, I'm not doing this for money.” It isn't that simple. She doesn't understand.

I should stop expecting anything different.

It's obvious, isn't it? No one will ever get the tragic connection between us. They weren't there for the heartbreak, the gnawing guilt, the years spent wondering where he'd gone when he never wrote back, and how badly I'd mucked up his life.

“Sis, I don't even want to know,” she says, holding out a hand, feigning to push me away. “You can keep your secrets to yourself, as long as you tell our parents. They deserve a run down, before they hear it from everybody else. Dad takes heart medication now, as you know.”

I do. He doesn't need more surprises, certainly not any rude, bizarre ones thanks to me.

Cup in hand, she marches out of the kitchen. I hear her clomp upstairs and slam the weathered door to her room.

Just like old times. I'm left alone to stew in my stress.

As unbearable as Kat can be, she has a point. I can't let mom and dad find out I'm engaged to the boy who became the talk of every hushed whisper Maynard parents uttered that year on some stupid blog, or through the local gossip mill.

Of course, that means there's a new dimension in this insane game of pretend we're playing. We're not just convincing his straight-buttoned business associates and screwed up father anymore.

We have to convince my freaking parents. And every time I imagine how that's bound to go, I wish to holy heaven sis' coffee came with a nice splash of hemlock creamer.

* * *

Cal makes himself scarce the next few days leading up to dinner with the partners. I've always been adaptable, able to conform to morning birds and night owls alike, but when he's in full work mode, I barely see him.

He's gone before sunup, when I roll out of bed and pad into the kitchen. I spend the daytime more alone and confused in the vast Emerald City than I've ever been. A dense summer rain brings a fog through the streets for the better part of the next two days. I visit the art museum and spend time under an umbrella near the Great Wheel next to the water, biting my lip the whole time, hoping my phone doesn't ping with a voicemail or worried texts from my parents.

I'm not sure whether they'll be angry or just confused. They don't like secrets.

I haven't even had a chance to talk to him about the introduction yet, and I still don't have a clue how I'll make it remotely normal.

It's one thing to kiss, hold hands, and put on these sweet lies in front of rich strangers. Quite another to do it to mom and dad – especially when Kat knows the truth, and made me crack like a walnut the second she gave me her scornful eyes.

The evening before dinner, I'm moping next to the window at his condo, waiting for my Chinese takeout to arrive. My phone vibrates next to me, and I hold my breath as I flick the button to see the screen.

Cal: Coming home early, doll. Show me what you're wearing tomorrow. I'd go with something sleek and sexy, considering the occasion.

Ridiculous. It's the first time I've heard from him in days, and a laughable what are you wearing text is what I get? I wouldn't have gotten it quicker on Tinder.

Maddie: I don't know. Seems like I'm engaged to a ghost. And I don't know if I believe in them.

Cal: Stop fucking around.

Cal: Ghosts don't make their fake fiancées wet. You're also the only one I'll ever imagine moaning.

His last text sends a vicious adrenaline shot through my heart before I even see what's attached. It's a pic of Cal, sitting at his desk in his best selfie pose, half the buttons on his shirt unclasped, revealing a hint of the dark tattoos framing his chest. It hangs open too far to be considered business casual.

Even from the screen, his blue eyes pierce me, and the wild, tempting smirk on his lips settles like a drug. I cross my legs a couple times, resisting the damp heat pooling near my thighs, outrageous as it is uncontrollable.

Unfortunately, this marvelous bastard has a divine gift for doing everything he threatens, and more.

I slam my phone against the chair's armrest with a huff, wondering how I'll ever snap out of it before he shows up tonight. I'm already starting to miss the days when he was no more than a mysterious afterthought. My fingers punch the screen and I chew my lips, tapping a quick response, hopefully my last before I plot my escape.

Maddie: You're crazy if you think we're playing games.

Then my phone pings again. I resist the urge to look for all of thirty seconds, before I snatch it in my palm, defusing a hateful smile.

Cal: Doll, I'm serious. Play dress up for me before I'm home in the next hour, or I'll drag you down the hall and consider showing you games are the last thing on my mind.

I don't know what's gotten into him.

I don't care.

All that's certain is, I wait about five more minutes without replying before I stand up, stuff my phone into my purse, and retreat to my bedroom. That's where I crash for a nap to shake this wicked flame he's sparked in my pussy, but not before I peel off my old outfit, and slip into the jade green evening dress, black heels with gold bow-ties, and matching gold necklace with ruby tips I still don't feel grown up enough to wear.

I can't believe what I'm doing for this impossible man.

Maybe it's because this is the first fun I've had since this started, without being intimidated by the ferocious spark between us.

Fine. I'll give his push just enough pull to stay on his good side.

For now.

* * *

“Evening, doll. You're lovely when you sleep, but I think I prefer you bright-eyed and bushy tailed.” He wakes me with a kiss.

In my half-conscious state, it's easy to indulge the Snow White fantasies I've had since I was a little girl, being brought to life again by the handsome, noble prince. But the rest of my brain switches on, and I remember who he really is.

I jerk up, pushing him away, instantly angry as I see the amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Jesus, don't you ever knock?”

“Why should a man knock when it's his place?”

“Nice. I'm lucky you're so respectful of a woman's privacy, jerk.”

His smirk turns into a full grin, and he comes closer, sitting next to me at the edge of my bed. “And I'm very fortunate you never learned how to swear like an adult. Stand the fuck up.”

Annoyed, I obey. I think I set a new record for the time it takes to feel familiar fire in my cheeks. My blood goes from lukewarm to molten in less than ten seconds, about the time it takes for him to put his hands on my waist, and slowly maneuver them to my hips, where he stops and cups my rear through the silky fabric.

“Ass out. Legs apart.” He pauses, moving his hands lower. When he slides several stiff fingers between my thighs and eases my legs apart, I whimper, holding in a harsh breath. “Good girl.”

“Excuse me?” I'm stunned. He says nothing.

Okay, a woman can put up with a lot, but he's just hit my limit. Whirling around, I shove his hands off me, freeing myself from his invasive and horribly sexy grasp.

“Last I checked, you're my fiancé, Cal. Not my personal valet. I'm old enough to dress myself. I've given you more than I ever should've, now get out of my room!” I hold out a finger, pointing to the door.

Still wearing the same awful smile, he stands, grabs my wrist, and brings it to his lips. “Maddie, you're trembling. We've got to get better at this. I need you to touch me without looking like you're about to either keel over or drown in your own lust if we're going to close the deal.”

“Deal? What deal?”

“Us,” he growls in my ear, making sure I'm able to feel his heat. Goosebumps line my neck, every sensitive inch of my flesh rising to meet their unwanted master. “The dress works. You'll be a knockout tomorrow. My fucking knockout, and only mine.”

No matter how many times his fingers glide across my body, they still make me jump. I fall back against him, deeper into his grip. My ass brushes his hard-on, tenting through his trousers, leaving no doubt whatsoever what he wants behind the sarcasm, the teasing, the thrill he gets drowning my panties in a heat I can't cool.

Yep, it's bad, I think to myself, as soon as I see us in the mirror, his face hovering over my shoulder, brilliant blue eyes pointed at my cleavage. From ice cube to hot mess, just like that. And I don't even know how to do it in reverse.

I'm worried this pretender freak knows how to push buttons on my own body I didn't know were there. When I try to pull away, ever so slightly, my knees moving like quicksand, he curls a big arm around my waist and pulls me backward, into his throbbing erection.

When I feel it, I gasp. He growls, low like thunder, an animal glint in his eye.

“Cal...” I whisper, running my tongue over my lips, too afraid to say the rest for several seconds. Oh, and if only I could keep it in. “What are you doing? I thought we weren't...weren't supposed to...holy hell.”

It falls out when his free hand snakes up my side, rolling my nipple. One simple motion, no more than several seconds, and somehow able to make my thighs shake on command.

“Of course I want to, doll. Hell, I'd love nothing better than to throw you down face first, shred the dress you're supposed to be wearing for my rich friends tomorrow night, and fuck you like I should've years ago.”

Oh. My. God.

I don't realize how rough I'm breathing until his hard-on grazes me again. That's when I moan, and the soft sound moving through my body resonates in my lungs, which can't produce more than a couple shallow breaths every few seconds.

Not when this want, this need, this confusing, relentless urge keeps calling me to do the worst with him, consequences be damned.

But he isn't done toying with me yet. My fingers go to his huge tattooed wrist, digging into the black rose inked on his skin. Its make believe thorns could prick me, and still I wouldn't care, falling deeper and deeper into this wall of muscle and divine, masculine scent surrounding me, cutting me off from my own better judgment.

“Obviously, we can't really do this, Maddie.” And just like that, he untangles himself, and walks away, heading for the door. He acts like nothing happened when he stops, adjusting his collar, looking at me as if we're almost about to head out for a night on the town instead of rip each other's clothes off. “It's wrong, you know. You could never handle it.”

He can't be serious. I'm speechless, jamming my thumb into my chest. “What? Me?”

“You're too good for casual. Some things never change. If you could open your legs, enjoy the dozen Os I fuck into you tonight, and then wake up tomorrow like it never happened, we'd be on, so on, in just a heartbeat. But I'd have better luck asking for my asshole father to have a magic change of heart tomorrow morning, making this whole thing pointless. Sorry, my mistake. I won't be teasing you again.”

There's no time to answer, to quip back, to drop the nice girl act stamped into me since I was raised by a woman who directed the Sunday choir at our church, and curse Calvin Randolph to the darkest F'd up parts of hell.

Because by the time I'm able to move my tongue without tasting the foul taste he's left in my mouth, he's already gone. I'm left in front of the tall mirror, looking like a fool, wondering how hard I'll lie tomorrow to make sure everybody doesn't see the brutal truth written on my face.

I'm starting to hate this man.

He saved me once, but he's no hero. He's a pushy, screwed up, arrogant alpha-hole joke who takes every liberty I never agreed to when I came running back to the States to bail him out. I knew I should have amended that stupid contract to say no teasing allowed.

I won't even mention the complete lack of gratitude.

As soon as my ninety days are up, I'll be out of here on the first flight to Asia, without caring whether or not Sterner has more work lined up for me or not. Or faster, if I can't hold the urge to slap him across his callous face. I can't share the same continent with this reckless idiot who loves winding me up for amusement.

The sad part is, if he'd just drop the pretenses and apologize, or at least open up, then I might be able to forgive the teasing, the wit, the frantic push to places that aren't even on the same map as any of my comfort zones.

I might remember the horror he's lived for the ten thousandth time, and forget his wild infractions.

I might be able to wrap my head around his heart, and figure out where it comes from.

I might stop the hate sprouting like a bad seed in my heart, nourished by the desire, the disdain, and the incredible, conflicted emotions he stirs up like a tsunami.

And yes, I might be able to deal with the sick, sick feelings for him I've been ignoring since the second I got here. Everything he preys upon, and everything guaranteed to be my undoing if I ever loosen up, let them out, and come to terms with my seven year attraction to this unfathomable creature.

When he texted me earlier and touched off the latest round of crap, he was right.

Ghosts can't make me wet.

Demons, on the other hand, have uncanny powers. And there's no way Cal's demented hold over me is anything less than pure evil.