I figure it’s best to talk to Danny in-person about our next rendezvous—texts can be intercepted pretty easily, but he probably makes sure his office isn’t bugged.

At some point during the day, I pop by his office, deciding during the workday is better than at the end of it—it’ll look like business as usual this way.

I’m still pretty new after all, and my role here isn’t quite solidified—it’s not so strange to visit the head honcho in charge.

Especially since everyone probably knows now I’m his stepsister by now, judging by the more curious, appraising looks I’ve been getting. Plus, I caught at least one whispered gossipy conversation starring the two of us.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—it’s not like it’s a secret his mom and my dad got married.

He probably let it slip to at least a few people he was going to his mom’s wedding over the weekend, and he might have even mentioned she was getting hitched to the new girl’s dad.

I’m smiling as I head for his closed office door, but muffled, distressed sounds coming from behind it erase my smile pretty quickly.

I place my ear near the door, trying to hear what the fuss is about.

I have to pull back quickly and hop out of the way once it suddenly flies open, and a tall, dark-haired guy with blue eyes moves to exit.

He looked startled at first to see me there, but then he sneers at me.

He looks vaguely familiar—though I can’t recall seeing him around here, despite looking like he might work here in his tailored suit and slicked back hair.

Dude, too much gel.

He practically skips away—clearly not the one in distress—and I turn to Danny who’d been standing and glaring at him the whole time.

“What the heck was that about?” I ask, all of a sudden not so sure I want to know.

I close the door behind me.

“What are you doing here, Emma?” he asks, sounding strained.

His tone causes a slight stab of pain.

“I…came to make plans for later, maybe?” I say with a tentative smile.

He shakes his head, his eyes glancing away.

“What is it, Danny?”

I walk toward him, intending to throw my arms around him and hug him I’m so happy to see him, but he holds a hand up, stabbing me again.

Then he points to his desk and I follow his point.

Some eight by tens in full color are spread out on it, along with a nine by twelve manila envelope.

Unremarkable items—except the eight by tens are starring Danny and me—him in a slate suit fitting him to perfection except for loosened pants, and me in a red dress hiked up, legs wrapped around him.

Our naughty bits aren’t exactly fully exposed, but it’s clear what the two of us are doing.

“Oh, shit.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Danny runs his hands through his hair and starts pacing, his jaw working as he bites down on his teeth.

I can’t ask a dumb question like “How did he get those?” or anything because, although Danny and I hadn’t been in public or anything while doing the deed, we weren’t exactly in private either.

It was a dumb, impulsive move on both our parts—the kind of thing I was hoping to avoid when I proposed we keep going but keep things sensibly under wraps.

“Reggie there—whom you met on his way out—is the head of a rival company, the son of a friend of my father’s, which is why he was at the wedding.”

Ah…that’s where I probably saw him.

I didn’t get to introduce myself after the whole quickie-with-Danny thing—I headed out of there as soon as I could after I found my dad and congratulated him.

“He’s blackmailing me, of course—he wants me to pull out of a multi-million-dollar deal and let him have the upper hand there—or else the photos get released.”

“Shit,” I repeat.

He’s not even plugged into me and I’ve lost my vocabulary!

Damn it—this is a total fucking disaster. Or could be—depends on Danny’s next move.

I realize that no matter what he does, this indiscretion of ours will be hanging over his head.

How can he even guarantee the dude won’t blackmail him again? Or get someone else to release the photos down the line? Reggie can always pretend he’d gotten hacked or something and didn’t violate an agreement.

“What are you going to do?” I ask Danny.

He just stares at me for a few seconds.

I see a number of emotions pass through his eyes, and then they all suddenly disappear and he looks emotionless.

“I’ll probably give in—get my legal team to draw up an iron-clad NDA, etc., have him hand the photos over, and let that particular business deal go. I don’t need you or my mom to be embarrassed by something like this.”

He runs his hand through his hair again.

“I’m so disappointed in myself. I’m way smarter than this—I shouldn’t have let it happen; this is all my fault.” Then he pauses a moment, and I sense something bad coming. “Obviously, we can’t see each other anymore…”

“Now wait a minute—who says we can’t still be smart about this?”

“Emma, we barely got off the ground and look what happened. At some point, one or both of us will slip up again, and I refuse to hand over more fodder to my rivals. This is a pretty solid wake-up call, isn’t it? We’re playing with fire here, and I don’t want anyone to get burned.”

“But Danny…!”

I don’t know why tears are stinging my eyes—it’s not like we’re even serious!

“You can still keep your job here, of course, but we’ll do like we should have done in the first place and stay out of each other’s way.”

“Actually, you can just shove the job; I told you I didn’t need it anyway. I quit!”

“Emma, don’t be ridiculous…”

I turn and run out of there before I have to suffer the humiliation of having him see me cry.

I pull myself together as best as I can before hitting the elevator, and I try to act normal as I leave the building and my still-new work life behind.

* * *

I had to put my phone on silent pretty quickly—Danny called me after I left, but I was not in the mood to talk to him yet, and I ignored all texts and calls the whole ride home.

I change out of my work clothes and put on familiar casual gear, feeling sort of relieved and joyous I have so much daylight left—I can just go for a random stroll like before. Maybe head to Central Park, see what kind of circus is happening there right now.

Though I liked that job, the freedom I feel right now—that life is clearly not for me.

It’s a while before I admit to myself that the vast majority of my excitement about working there was because I was in the same vicinity as Danny, that there was a chance I could see him every day, and it was thrilling having that possibility.

I didn’t actually care about my supervisor’s pleased smile when I nailed a task as much as I cared about Danny’s proximity.

What the hell is wrong with me?

When did get so open to being influenced so strongly by a man?

On a whim, I call up my childhood best friend, Becca.

Maybe I’ll catch her on a break from wiping away shit and vomit. And, of course, urine—I still laugh when I think about the time she told me she went to change her son’s diaper and he shot pee in her eye.

“What’s up?” she answers. “Long time, no talk.”

“Oh, come on—you just sent me pics of your kid just the other day. Every other day, in fact.”

“Oh, that’s not the same thing.”

“I don’t know—kind of feels like it.”

“Well, I’ve been hoping to inspire you to make fun of me in your own voice instead of in emojis. It gets lonely sometimes here in Domesticated Land.”

“Oh. I actually hadn’t realized. I figured you had your hands full with the new baby—especially since you couldn’t go anywhere anymore.”

“Well, for the record, you can always come here and hang out for a bit. Perhaps pick up a thing or two for the day you…”

I fake vomit and she laughs.

“Okay, okay—still Team Free and Single. I get it.”

“Well, actually, I did meet this guy…”

I stop myself.

Shit, it’s probably too late to take it back, and I’m still not the best at lying.

“Go on,” she nudges.

“Okay. So you know my list. Well, I ended up adding a checkmark to item #5…”

Item #5 became our code word for one-night stands at some point, so even though she might not have my whole list memorized—particular items and their numerical order—she definitely recognizes #5.

Before she became Mrs. Stay-At-Home, Becca collected quite a few #5s in her heyday; in fact, she was the one who suggested I add it on there in the first place. She suggested a menage too, but I decided to leave that one off.

“Who? When? Where? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me right after!”

“Well, it happened a few weeks ago. I went to a bar…” I fill her in on the rest of the basics. “…but the next day, I went to meet my dad’s new squeeze and guess what—he’s her son!”

“Shut the front door—you fucked your stepbrother?”

“He totally wasn’t at the time, so…”

“Wait a minute—you guys are still doing it, aren’t you? Since you clearly have feelings for him? And don’t try to deny it, Em—you wouldn’t have said ‘I met this guy’ the way you did if you didn’t really like him. Oh my god, I can’t believe you deprived me of this juicy, juicy gossip…”

“Don’t you dare tell anyone!”

“My lips are sealed.”

She’s lying—she’ll tell her husband.

That’s part of the reason I can’t really tell her anything too scandalous anymore—her loyalty has shifted to him. Which is expected, I guess, since they’re married and all, but her husband has no loyalty to me and could easily flap his gums to others; guys are worse than girls when it comes to spreading people’s business in my observation.

I just realized I made a huge mistake.

“I’m serious, Becca—not even Tom. Not yet anyway. Not until things settle on this side. This isn’t vital information you need to share, you’re not lying to him by withholding it…”

“Okay, okay. But you guys are calling it off, right? It’s totally weird.”

“Is it? I mean, yeah, it’s not exactly par for the course, but we’re in no way blood-related, and we didn’t grow up together or anything. We’re two grown-ass adults whose widowed parents happened to marry each other.”

“Well, I know that, but some people will still talk.”

“Who cares? What part of the way I’ve been living my life the past few years shows I give a flying fuck what others think I should do? The whole point of…everything is that it’s my goddamned life to play with! No one can guarantee I’ll have a long one, so I have a right to be happy, whatever that means for me.”

Shucks, I sound like I’m yelling.

“Wow, it’s really serious between you two, isn’t it?” Becca says gently. “Holy cow, Em—I’ve never heard you talk like this. Listen, I’ve gotta go—Tom Junior is calling for me the only way he knows how. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” I say softly, feeling kind of guilty for the way my voice had raised at her.

I realize I definitely need to go for a walk and clear my head, so I head out with no particular destination in mind—just the intention of opening my mind and letting my senses come alive with the sights, sounds, smells, and bustling touches of New York.