I sat in an uncomfortable chair outside my professor’s office, thankful it was finally Friday. The first two afternoons at the Las Vegas Daily were hectic, and I’d had to deal with a scandal over an editorial printed in the school paper. Other than my too-brief visit to the shelter with Cole on Tuesday, I hadn’t seen any of the Ts all week. And since Snow’s crate was empty when we’d arrived, even that had been a letdown. Jessica’s reassurances that she went to a great home didn’t help the melancholy I felt over never seeing her again.

Yeah, it had been one of those weeks.

Ordinarily, I would have made plans with Simone for a much-needed girls’ night, but in an unlucky twist, my parents decided on a last-minute trip to Vegas for the weekend. My mother insisted that she found a fantastic deal on the flights and room, but I was still suspicious. My parents weren’t Vegas people, and even though my dad’s birthday was in a few weeks, I didn’t buy their jump-on-a-plane-just-for-the-fun-of-it story. They were planners, not jumpers.

So, after this incredibly long week, I’d be forced to sit through dinner while my mother badgered me about my poor choice of schools, or my lack of direction for my future, or my newest haircut. Probably all of the above.

“Emma?” I looked up to see Dr. Lancaster watching me expectantly. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” I stood quickly and followed her into the office. “Thank you for fitting me into your schedule.” Unlike most professors, she took a personal interest in her students rather than pushing them off on a teaching assistant, which I appreciated.

“I was surprised you already submitted your proposal since it’s not due for another two weeks.”

“Once I started my research, I was ready to dig in, but I wanted your approval before conducting any interviews.”

“And that’s exactly why I recommended you for the externship. I can’t teach that type of initiative.”

“Thank you.”

She flipped through the proposal I’d given her after class the day before. “I like what you have so far, but I’m concerned about your vague hypothesis.”

“I know it’s weak right now, but I didn’t feel comfortable providing something concrete without conducting more research.”

“Emma, part of being an effective journalist is allowing the story to change as you uncover facts along the way. But you have to start somewhere. At least answer this—as of right now, what story do you believe you’ll be telling?”

I remembered my first impressions of the warehouse district in the daylight and how I wondered about Loft25’s impact on its potential revitalization.

“I think I’ll be telling a story about how a few successful businesses can turn a failing industrial area around. In the last six months, a natural grocer and a nightclub have opened and are staying busy. An art gallery is opening in March. Several other buildings are under construction. Maybe all it takes is a few brave entrepreneurs who are willing to take a chance.”

Her smile was encouraging. “Okay, then that’s where you’ll start. Have you scheduled any interviews yet?”

“Yes, I have one this afternoon.”

When I’d gone back to take photos for my project proposal, I met Chelsea, the founder of a startup company for online marketing services. She’d recently signed a lease agreement for space in a building that was being divided into several offices and agreed to an interview. I was hoping she might allow me to follow the progress of her renovation over the next few months for my project.

“Sounds like you’re on top of things. I want you to submit a status report in one month. In the meantime, if you have any questions or need guidance, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I believe Jason has been assigned as your mentor at the Daily, so make sure to reach out to him for help with contacts and other resources.”

How had he managed that? Jason was a baby reporter at the Daily, so I found it odd that he was selected to mentor me. Was Shane’s paranoia about Jason rubbing off on me, or was he ingratiating himself in my life to get close to me?

Deciding the fleeting thought was entirely Shane’s fault, I thanked Dr. Lancaster before heading toward my last class of the day. When I checked my cell, I found a new voicemail waiting from my mother.

Hello, Emma. This is your mother. Your father and I landed safely and are getting ready to check into our hotel. Also, I made a reservation for four, so be sure to bring Shane with you. See you tonight at seven. Don’t be late.

I dropped the phone into my bag with a groan. My failure to tell Shane, Cole, or Nicholas my parents were in town was deliberate. It wasn’t that I particularly wanted to keep it from them, but I was worried something like this would happen. Was it fair to parade Shane around my parents again, pretending like our relationship was perfectly normal? Would Cole and Nicholas feel like I was hiding them?

Maybe I could tell my parents Shane wasn’t available and take Simone instead. Once I took my seat in the lecture hall, I pulled my phone back out to text Simone, but my conscience stopped me from hitting send. Shane probably planned to be at the club, anyway, since he’d been out of town for over a week. I could send him a message to be sure.

Emma: I know this is last minute, but my parents are in town and invited you to dinner tonight. I’m sure you already have plans, so don’t feel bad if you can’t make it.

Shane: I’d love to accompany you to dinner.

Emma: Are you sure? It’s okay if you’re busy.

Shane: Are you trying to uninvite me, enigmatic Emma?

Emma: Of course not, suspicious Shane.

Emma: Class is starting. I’ll text you the details later.

Guilt pinged through me at the fib, but when I really thought about it, I absolutely wanted Shane to go with me. Not only would my mother be more tolerable in the presence of company, I liked how he made me feel around my family. It was nice to know someone had my back.

* * *

Chelsea met me at the entrance to her future office with an uncertain smile. Although she was probably a little more than a decade older than me, she looked nervous at the prospect of showing me the space and answering questions. I assured her the interview would be informal, but as soon as we stepped inside, I understood some of her hesitation. The place needed a lot of work.

It was bare of furniture except for a card table and metal chairs set up in the corner that she appeared to be using as a temporary desk. Two slightly more comfortable-looking chairs sat in the middle of the room with a cheap-looking lamp between them. And that was it.

The concrete floor was dusty and the walls were littered with nail holes. A section of drywall had been peeled back to reveal the brick underneath. There were no light fixtures or fixtures of any kind. Right now, it was nothing but a dingy, empty room.

“Do you think I’m insane? My parents think I’m insane.”

I put on my imagination hat and considered the room once again. It began to transform before my eyes. With dark hardwood floors, the exposed brick, natural light from the large windows, and understated furniture, this place had the potential to be the ideal office for a small but growing company.

“I don’t think you’re crazy at all. This place will be great once you’re done with it.”

“I hope you’re right. Of course, almost anything seems better than continuing to run the business out of my two-bedroom apartment.”

Our interview went even better than expected. Chelsea said everything I’d wanted to hear. She told me when her realtor first showed her this place, she’d been dubious, but the more she thought about it, the more she could envision this neighborhood transformed. Because her business was still in its startup stages, she couldn’t afford the high rent in nicer areas of town, and the deal she’d been offered here guaranteed that she would be able to afford it even if the revitalization was successful and prices rose. She mentioned that if several other businesses hadn’t recently opened, with more on the way, she never would have made the decision to go for it.

After agreeing to a weekly time for me to stop in and check on the progress of the renovation, I walked around the room, snapping a few preliminary photographs. I’d have to bring a more experienced photographer along once the renovation got under way.

“May I ask what you have in mind for the design of the space?”

“This may seem cliché, but I’d always envisioned an office in the style of a modern loft. Clean lines mixed with the exposed brick.”

That sounded familiar. So familiar, in fact, I felt like a cartoon lightbulb was suspended above my head. “This might be presumptuous of me, but have you already hired a designer?”

“Not yet, though it’s at the top of my list.”

“I happen to know the designer of Loft25. Have you been?”

“Yes, my friend dragged me there a few weeks ago. I’m way too old for clubbing, but I have to admit I loved the entire atmosphere. Do you honestly think the designer would be interested? This place is small potatoes in comparison.”

“I think he might be. Do you mind if I make a quick call?”

“Go ahead.”

I stepped away and punched in Nicholas’s number, wondering if I was making a mistake. Even I knew I was being a buttinsky, but this seemed like the perfect project for Nicholas. Why not give him the chance to decide for himself?

“Hello?”

“Nic, hi, are you at the club?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Will you meet right now? I’m just down the street.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. I’ll explain when you get here. Walk toward the art gallery, and I’ll meet you on the sidewalk.”

“Okay.” His voice sounded doubtful, but he agreed, so that was all that mattered.

I turned back to Chelsea. “Nicholas is coming over now. Do you mind? I kind of ambushed you both, but I think he’d be a great fit for your renovation.”

Her face lit up with appreciation. “Not at all! I looked over the list of suggestions my realtor gave me, but I have no idea where to start. I like this idea much better.”

“Great.”

I met Nicholas outside, and with his dark sunglasses and fitted dress shirt, he looked every bit the movie star once again. His smile was crooked as he approached. “Dare I ask what this is about?”

“Don’t get mad. I suggested to Chelsea—who is renting this space for her online marketing firm—that you might be interested in the design portion of the renovation. She wants it done in the style of a modern loft, which is right up your alley.”

Nicholas removed his sunglasses and hung them on his shirt. “Emma, it’s a nice thought, but I’m not in the design business.”

“No, but you wish you were, right?” He didn’t respond, so I kept talking. “Why don’t you talk to her and see if you’re interested? This would be a relatively small project, so it’s not like you’d be committing to working on it full time. No different than what Shane and Cole do on the side with their businesses.”

“You forget I have commitments with the foundation, as well.”

“I didn’t forget.” I sighed, thinking maybe I should have stayed out of this after all. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped. I know how much you love renovating lost causes, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Nicholas’s expression softened, and he leaned down and placed a kiss on my cheek. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He peeked inside one of the windows. “Lost cause is right. I guess it won’t hurt to have a chat with Chelsea.” When I smiled, he gave me a stern look. “No promises.”

“Got it.”

Chelsea’s eyes practically bugged out of her head when I introduced her to Nicholas. Not that I blamed her. I probably should have warned the poor woman.

If his good looks didn’t win her over, his ideas and enthusiasm undoubtedly did. Within minutes of explaining her vision, he was drawing sketches and pointing out structural changes that would be necessary for that type of design to work.

I only vaguely grasped his recommendations, too enthralled by the passion exuding from him to focus on his words. I’d never seen him like this, and I wanted to savor every minute of it. It wasn’t that Nicholas was a broody person, but he generally lacked the fire he was currently displaying. Except for a few of our stolen moments alone, of course. Must not think about the shower.

After going over all the basics and exchanging contact information, Nicholas shook Chelsea’s hand. “This has been fun, but I want to reiterate that I’m not currently in the design business. I have a degree but very little practical experience beyond a few small renovations and Loft25.”

Chelsea nodded. “I understand, and I’m fine with that. I’d rather hire someone who cares about the project and whose vision aligns with mine. Obviously, I’ll have to consider several bids, but I hope yours is one of them.”

She turned to me. “Thank you for the introduction, Emma. I’ll see you a week from Wednesday?”

“See you then.”

Nicholas was quiet as we walked to my car, and as much as I wanted to know what he was thinking, I decided to keep my mouth shut. I’d pushed him enough for one day.

“Can I take you to dinner?” he finally asked.

And the guilt was back. “I’m having dinner with my parents, and Shane is going with me.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize they were in town.”

“They booked the trip earlier this week. And Shane . . .” I couldn’t figure out how to finish that sentence. Was I apologizing or merely explaining?

Nicholas took my hand. “Don’t worry about that. I get it. Your parents know Shane.” We stopped in front of my car. “I was going to wait until a better time, but it’s two weeks away, so I should probably ask you now.”

Intrigued, I asked, “What’s in two weeks?”

“My sister’s engagement party in Pasadena. Her fiancé proposed last week, but it seems she’s insisting on a Valentine’s Day party.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“Will you? We can fly out after your last class on Friday and come back Sunday afternoon. I’ll cover the expenses. All you have to do is keep me company.”

And socialize with his super rich family and their equally affluent friends. No biggie. I wanted so badly to refuse, but the hopeful look on his face stopped me. Nicholas was doing everything I asked of him. He’d answered every question and even allowed me to ambush him with the renovation project. Surely, I could do this one little thing for him. It was just an engagement party—how bad could it be?

“Okay, I’ll go.”

“Excellent.” He gave me a kiss that assured me of his pleasure. “Good luck with your parents, and thank you for what you did.” He pointed down the street to Chelsea’s soon-to-be office. “I think I needed that.”

“You’re very welcome.”