After my second glass of wine and a good meal in my belly, I begin to relax. Only slightly, though. Camden Pearson may be all smiles and good natured, but he’s a snake. Just like his father always was. Just like his older brother Hayden is. It’s in their eyes. Clear as day. Camden may have been a good kid, but he’s grown into something beastly.

Mateo says something to Camden that has him chuckling. My eyes skim over him now that his intense stare is elsewhere. His dark brown hair is clipped short on the sides and slightly longer on top, but he’s styled it in a just-fucked way younger men pull off so easily. I’m drawn to his jawline that has been clean shaven. The bones are hard and sharp. Manly. He’s nothing like the annoying kid I once babysat for. When he laughs again, I watch his pronounced Adam’s apple bob in his throat. Staring at his neck, corded with muscle, is a bad idea, so I skim lower. The suit he’s wearing is custom-made and expensive. It fits him perfectly. Navy blue with pale blue stitching and a matching handkerchief folded neatly in his pocket over his chest. His shoulders are broad, and I know it’s from swimming. I knew from overhearing Mateo that Camden was offered swimming scholarships all over the US. And being that he was valedictorian at his high school, he had academic scholarships lined up too.

I’m still wondering why he stayed in Tampa.

Same university I went to.

Certainly not anything a presidential hopeful would want on his résumé.

“I’ll grab us some more wine, angel,” Mateo says as he rises from his seat. I force my eyes on my soon-to-be husband. I’ve known Mateo since I was a teenager. Back then, he’d been a gorgeous, albeit married at the time, man way out of my reach. I lusted over him, but knew he’d never be into someone like me.

But his wife died.

Later, my dad pushed our union.

And the rest is history.

Mateo is everything a woman could want. Handsome. Educated. Former military man. Everything he touches turns to gold, which is ironic since he proposed to “Tampa’s Golden Girl.” Being Marshall Beckett’s daughter gave me that title long before I was ready to take it. Daddy has always guided me to be better than everyone else. Keep pushing. Keep winning.

Girls who are better suited for teaching a class about geography must turn into women.

The Becketts are not designed for normalcy. We’re supposed to do extraordinary things. Teaching is normal. Running for lieutenant governor is extraordinary. Sometimes, though, I imagine where I would have ended up had Daddy not thrown a fit after college. Would I have gone to the classroom rather than the courtroom? Would I have married some nice guy and lived happily in my pretty little house with my pretty white picket fence? I certainly wouldn’t have all this…

I stare down at the gigantic diamond on my ring finger.

Mateo proposed under the stars after a lovely dinner downtown last year. It was perfect and magical. I said yes. Unease trickles through me, and I quickly push it away. I said yes because I love him.

Right?

A hot, intense stare has me flustered again. I down the rest of my wine and avoid Camden’s scrutinizing. I won’t let this kid come into my life and have me rethinking everything after one dinner.

I love Mateo.

I love Mateo.

I love Mat—

“I’m looking forward to spending time with you,” Camden murmurs, his leg extending under the table to brush against mine.

I jerk my leg toward me and press my lips together, finally chancing a look at his icy blue eyes. Those same eyes, in the form of Eric Pearson, once regarded me so knowingly. All I had to do was say yes and Eric would have pinned me against his refrigerator to fuck the daylights out of me. I could see it in his wolfish stare back then, just like I see it in Camden’s.

I said no.

“I’m not,” I snip out. Technically, he hasn’t done anything to me. Yet. But I feel it coming.

His long fingers wrap around his water glass. Hands every bit as big as Mateo’s. Images of comparing their hands side by side against my skin have me feeling flushed again. This is exactly why I don’t need to work with Camden. I’m having trouble coming to terms that this beast of a man was once a little boy begging me to let him stay up so he could watch Iron Man.

I don’t know the person in front of me, but I can tell he wants to know me.

Mateo strides back in and opens the wine. He reaches past me to take my wine glass and fills it up. His lips brush across the top of my head before he sits back down. I stare at my fiancé as he chats with Camden, my chest feeling hollow. He never asks me for anything, but gives me the world on a platter. It’s everything a woman could want. Mateo is nice and handsome and successful.

But…

I drive away the buts that always spring into my mind.

The buts don’t matter.

Camden talks politics easily with Mateo, and I find myself joining in. So much for staying away. He doesn’t try to make me feel uncomfortable anymore, and eventually, I warm to having him here. After the kitchen is cleaned, we retire to the living room where I sit beside Mateo. He doesn’t take my hand or hug me to him to reassure me. Normally, Mateo’s lack of affection doesn’t bother me, but today, I’m on edge and could use his gentle touch.

Because right now, where Mateo lacks, Camden makes up for it.

He touches me everywhere.

With his eyes and half grins.

God, just yesterday, my life was perfectly fine. I was having lunch with Daddy and discussing a speaking engagement of mine coming up. We both laughed about being way too busy to be having lunch, but we enjoyed each other’s company nonetheless. Yesterday, I didn’t dream I’d be so rattled by a Pearson.

I see Hayden whenever I make it up to Mateo’s office for a visit, but he’s broody, and quite simply, a dick. Avoiding him is easy. The other Pearson boys are busy doing their own thing. And for the longest time, I hadn’t laid eyes on Camden. Then, he shows up out of nowhere and imbeds himself in my life.

What’s his play?

“Allow me to drive you home,” Camden says, interrupting my inner thoughts. He rises to his full height, and I’m forced to stare at his solid, muscular thighs through his slacks.

“That would be very nice—” Mateo starts.

“I’m staying the night with you,” I blurt out, shooting Mateo a panicked look.

He frowns at me, clearly uneasy about my outburst. “Your place is closer to your office. Did you even pack a bag? Fridays are hell in the courtroom. Rushing to get through traffic seems unwise.”

Normally, I stay over once or twice during the weekend, but never during the week. And he never stays over at mine. Sex is a weekly occurrence, but not much more than that.

“Then come to my apartment,” I plead, taking his hand.

I chance a look at Camden, and he smirks at me. Bastard.

“I’ll see myself out then,” Camden says. “Thank you for dinner. I look forward to Monday.” He leaves without another word.

Mateo releases my hand and stands. He plucks our empty wine glasses from the table and exits the room. I stand on wobbly legs and hurry into the kitchen. His jaw clenches as he rinses out his glasses.

“What’s wrong?” I mutter, my hand resting on his shoulder.

He gives me a disapproving look, one that could rival my father’s. “He’s just a kid. Not his father.”

I wrench my hand away from him as though I’ve been burned. “I wasn’t trying to insult him. I just thought we could—”

“He’s like a nephew to me, Poppy,” he says with a huff. “You embarrassed me. Embarrassed yourself. You’re acting like Eric was sitting there trying to coax you into bed.”

I clutch my pearls, horrified at his words. “What?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not stupid, angel. You find him attractive. Your face burns bright red any time he’s near.”

“No,” I croak. “I just don’t like him.”

“Well, regardless, he’s like family to me. If you’re to be my wife, you need to not act like he’s about to attack you. The kid has seen shit no kid should see. His parents…” He tugs at the knot on his tie before regarding me with a grim stare. “He’s dealt with enough in his lifetime. The last thing I need is for him to not feel welcome by my fiancée.”

Stung by his words, I retreat and cross my arms over my chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” I trail off, fighting back tears. Mateo and I have never argued. Not once. Smooth sailing until Camden Pearson came rocking our little boat.

“We’ll blame the wine,” he says abruptly. “I’ll call you a cab.”

“I can’t stay?”

He swallows and looks past me out the window. “I don’t want you to.”

“Mateo…”

“I’ll call you a cab. Pack a bag for tomorrow, though. We’ll have dinner at your favorite steakhouse.”

I’ve been dismissed.

Chastised, I seek out my purse. As I pass him on my way out of his condo, I turn and tilt my head up to him, offering my mouth. I need the reassurance that I didn’t just screw everything up by not being supportive of him and his family.

He bypasses my mouth and kisses the top of my head.

Not the reassurance I was looking for, but I’ll take it.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter.

“I know you are.”

And with that, I leave.

The tears don’t start falling until I’ve passed the doorman and stepped outside. Thunder rolls in the distance, and the wind has picked up. I find a bench and park my tipsy ass. The last thing I need is for someone to see me bordering on drunk and crying. When you’re running for office, everything is used against you. And my opponent, Phil Lawton, would love nothing more than to find something to use against me.

A navy blue and chrome Bugatti Chiron pulls up to the curb and beeps the horn. Water droplets sprinkle on my face. Absently, I stand and bite back a smile. Of course Mateo would overdo it on the “cab.” My heels clack on the concrete as I run over to the vehicle. The door pops open from the inside, and I’m met with luscious bright red leather interior. A strong, familiar hand adorned with a sparkly and expensive watch waves me inside.

“It’s about to start pouring. Get in.” Out here, under the cover of night and an impending storm, the man behind those words is not the one from upstairs.

“How do you have a Bugatti?” I demand, leaning down to peer inside.

He looks completely at ease inside the car that easily costs millions. “How do you even know what a Bugatti is?” he challenges back, his blue eyes dark and menacing. “Get in.”

“My client owns several,” I snap. “And no.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself, Poppy, but you’re about to get wet.”

Rain begins pounding against my back. I let out a squeal and drop inside the luxury sports car, feeling gleeful I’m getting it wet. When I slam the door shut, I meet his stare with narrowed eyes. “Whatever game you’re playing, I don’t want any part of it. Just take me home.”

He glances down at his watch, taps the glass face three times, and then reaches across me to grab the seatbelt. In his space, his scent is overwhelming. Clean and minty. A hint of cologne I have the craving to inhale. He buckles me in, then peels out away from the building without another word. I let out a squeal of surprise, and he laughs. Rich, decadent, evil.

We zip down the streets, darting in and out between cars. My heart is practically in my throat.

“You’re going to wreck this million-dollar car!” I yell at him.

“Three point two and a car like this obeys his master. We’re not wrecking.”

I have too many questions on the tip of my tongue. I knew Eric Pearson was loaded before he died, but I didn’t think his sons would have access to all that money. I want to ask him about it, but then it would mean I care.

I don’t care.

“How can you afford this?” Apparently, I do care.

“Grandad bought it for my eighteenth birthday,” he tells me as he jolts around a corner and zooms down another street. “My brother Hayden has one just like it.”

Spoiled brats.

“Does Grandad know you’re driving so recklessly in a car that costs more than most folks make in their lifetime?” I demand.

He ignores me and drives across town to where my building is. Once he stops and throws the vehicle into park, he glowers at me. All smiles gone. “Gifts imply that once they’re given, they are no longer of the giver’s concern. If Grandad isn’t concerned, why the hell is little Poppy Beckett worried?”

I gape at him, my mouth parted as I will myself to shoot him a snappy retort. Nothing tumbles out. Instead, I find myself acknowledging how gorgeous he is. And young. When he reaches for me, my eyes flutter closed. Stupid wine is making me crazy and irrational. His thumb brushes along my bottom lip, sending shivers that have nothing to do with my wet clothes rippling through me.

“Close your mouth, Poppy,” he growls, “before I put something in it.”

I blink my eyes open at him and nearly melt in his heated glare. He pushes my chin up, closing my mouth, then releases me.

"How do you know where I live?" I ask.

"Because I know everything. See you Monday," he calls out after me.

I run from the young devil and his fancy car, thankful for the rain to cool off the heat still burning through me.

He’s up to something for sure.

And I’ll be damned if I let him succeed.

I’m a Beckett.

Becketts win.

We especially don’t lose to a Pearson.