It was probably a coincidence.

Anna Blake’s editor asking her to come in on what would normally be her work-from-home day might not have anything to do with the story that ran in this morning’s San Francisco Chronicle. The foreboding that had her palms sweating and her right eye twitching, however, told her otherwise.

Anna stepped in front of the open door of the editor in chief at The Daily Rundown, Charlotte “Charlie” Kravitz, and peered in. The woman in question was staring at her computer screen, unaware of Anna’s presence. Before she lost her nerve, Anna knocked on the door.

Charlie glanced up, not even attempting to crack a smile when she saw her. “Anna. Good. Please, come in and shut the door.”

“Sure,” Anna said, keeping her voice upbeat. Her hands full with two specialty coffee drinks she picked up at the coffee shop downstairs, she managed to shut the door and sit down in the chair across from her editor.

“I thought you might need this,” Anna said, and placed the double-shot espresso drink in front of Charlie, who, even though it was almost seventy degrees in downtown San Francisco on this unusually balmy June day, liked her coffee piping hot.

Anna was not above groveling as the occasion warranted.

Only Charlie didn’t reach for the coffee. Instead, without preamble, she turned her computer screen around to face Anna, giving her a moment to peruse the screen. Anna barely glanced at it, the caption above the story already too familiar.

Yep. Today’s meeting was definitely not a coincidence.

“Captivating stuff,” Charlie drawled after another long minute. Anna looked up to find the woman studying her with those cool green eyes, a stark contrast to her red spiky hair that was always wild and disheveled. “Who knew that, when Malcolm Van Hollins kicked the bucket three months ago, his last will and testament would make such a shocking revelation. Imagine, another heir, another daughter that no one had heard about until now. At least I hadn’t heard about her, despite the fact I’ve had the Van Hollins family on my top ten most wanted news lead list since—well, since young Janie’s first Instagram photo went viral six years ago. You are familiar with the list, aren’t you?”

Okay, that had to be more rhetorical, since the top ten list in question was written and hanging on the wall behind Charlie. “Yes, Charlie,” Anna said, just in case an answer was necessary.

Charlie reached across her desk and pulled the coffee to her, removing the lid and stirring it with the end of a pen she had on her desk as she continued. “Do you also remember that day last fall when Janie announced her engagement to Dax St. Claire, youngest son of the late US Senator Thomas St. Claire, and I pointedly dropped the Van Hollins name from number eight to”—the woman looked back at the board, as if she couldn’t remember where the Van Hollinses fell on the list—“number three? You do? Good. Well, imagine my surprise this morning when my Google alerts notified me of this hot new scoop involving the Van Hollinses’ lost heir, who not only do I know but who also happens to be one of my very own staff writers here at The Rundown. And this lucky girl was not only going to be a guest at the upcoming exclusive five-day wedding event of the year but was also a bridesmaid according to Miss Janie Van Hollins herself.”

“Now that is completely untrue,” Anna said, finally finding something to latch on to. “I never told Janie I was going, let alone that I was going to be a bridesmaid.”

And why would she? Her biological father had pretended she didn’t exist her entire life. He’d never called, never sent her presents for her birthday or for the holidays, not even a lousy card. Anna used to muse that, if she met him on the street, he probably wouldn’t know who she was.

Despite Malcolm Van Hollins’s lack of interest in anything to do with his eldest daughter, the man wasn’t so averse to making room in his life for his other daughter. The girl who was the apple of her father’s eye, at least according to the article Anna read when she was fourteen.

“I see. You disagree with the part about your participation in the wedding, but the rest… it’s accurate?” Charlie asked. “You are Malcolm Van Hollins’s daughter.”

There was no use trying to escape it. Anna sighed. “Unfortunately, yes, but since the man ignored my existence for the past twenty-eight years, it’s not something I ordinarily like to talk about. Let alone share for the sake of gossip to potentially thousands of online readers.”

Anna would have gladly kept the news of her father’s identity hidden the rest of her life, and likely would have, had Malcolm not succumbed to his massive stroke in April, leaving her a sizable inheritance, wanted or not.

To Anna, the money felt almost…tainted. Like it was either Malcolm’s lame attempt at an apology for never being part of her life or, worse, hush money. Needless to say, Anna hadn’t touched it, nor did she intend on ever spending a dime of it, even if the money would make her life easier in ways she’d never before experienced. Instead, she was researching the right charity where she hoped to donate the entirety of the money by Christmas.

Charlie took a sip of her drink. “I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, but I will say that I’m terribly disappointed that you let your personal bias cloud your judgment as a reporter. Do you remember when you first came to me two years ago, promising me that you would go above and beyond every other reporter here if I would only give you a chance to write for me?”

“Of course, Charlie.” Anna also remembered how she had shown Charlie dozens of human-interest news stories that she’d previously written for several other online journals, but Charlie hadn’t even looked at them. Instead, she’d said she’d give her a shot, start her off in the magazine’s entertainment news section and see how she did. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending how you looked at it—Anna had a talent for getting the latest gossip scoops first, and two years later, she was still in the position because she was too valuable to be anywhere else.

And so Anna’s career had been sidelined for dishing on the latest who’s-dating-whom Hollywood gossip, who wore what designer to what big red-carpet affair, and who was rumored to be stepping out on his pregnant wife.

“Then you might understand why, after everything you promised, I feel cheated by”—Charlie waved to the computer screen—“this, and all the hits this story is generating for the Chronicle that should have been ours.”

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I…I underestimated people’s interest in this.” Okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly true, but Anna’s job was reporting news and gossip about other people’s lives, not her own.

Charlie grabbed her glasses from the desk and put them on her face, giving the appearance of a disapproving schoolmarm. “That’s where your personal stake in this has clouded your judgment and why you should have come to me, let me be the judge of what’s print-worthy and what isn’t. There is a reason the Van Hollins name is on that list. People want to know anything and everything about them, Janie Van Hollins in particular. The Van Hollins name has been a virtual institution in San Francisco society for years.”

“You’re right. It was a complete failure on my part, and I promise you that I’ll come to you with anything in the future, regardless of my personal involvement.”

Charlie’s gaze turned speculative. “Fortunately for you, I think we can still salvage something from all of this.”

Feeling like she was off of the proverbial hot seat, Anna shrugged and took a drink of her iced chai tea. “I don’t know. The Chronicle story was pretty thorough. I don’t think I could add anything more. It’s not like I’ve ever met any of them.”

“Of course it was thorough. I didn’t mean adding anything more to that story. I’m talking about covering an entirely new one. Specifically, Janie Van Hollins’s wedding, the wedding of the year that you will be going to in two weeks’ time.”

Anna’s stomach roiled. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

Charlie held her hand up, cutting Anna off. “Save it. You have exclusive access to this wedding in all of its over-budgeted and over-the-top glory, and you’re not going to waste it. You claim to be a reporter, and any good reporter would look at this as an opportunity to salvage the situation and come away with a more newsworthy story.”

“You…you want me to dish the dirt on my fam—” She choked on the words before correcting herself. “The Van Hollinses?” She didn’t exactly have any warm-fuzzy feelings toward any of them, but this seemed low. “I don’t know if that’s something I feel comfortable doing.”

Charlie stared at her with that unblinking laser-like stare. “This isn’t an option.”

Anna blinked. “Wait. You mean, if I don’t do this, you’re going to…fire me?”

“Do you know how many emails and calls come into this office every day from new writers and more seasoned reporters than you who are interested in writing here? In the past two years, our online presence has increased one hundred and seventy-five percent and we’re reaching more people than ever before. And every one of those reporters tells me the same thing: that they will do whatever they need to do to get the stories that people want to read. Kind of like what you once told me. And if you’ve had a change of heart, then why shouldn’t I find someone who can get it done?”

Anna exhaled, trying to calm herself. She needed this job. Sure, it didn’t pay all that much, but it was steady income that, when combined with the money her two roommates added, paid the rent.

“These people,” Charlie continued, indifferent to Anna’s rising panic, “the Van Hollinses, the St. Claires, and everyone else associated with those families and who will inevitably be in attendance at the wedding, they are what people want to read about. Maybe you can read the name placed in the number one spot behind me.”

Anna didn’t have to look to know the answer. The other half of the reason she was opposed to going to this nightmare of a wedding. “The St. Claires.”

“That’s right, and the fact that you’re willing to waste the opportunity to cover this event, to get some dirt on these people, has me concerned.”

She had a point. Anna was letting her personal hang-ups stop her from getting the inside scoop on possibly the most click-bait stories of the year, which was precisely the job Charlie had hired her to do. She didn’t owe these people anything.

“You’re absolutely right, Charlie, and I promise that I won’t waste this opportunity. You’ll have a great story,” Anna said with absolute sincerity, even if it was going to require that she return the handful of calls that Janie had left over the past month. Calls that Anna had never had any intention of returning before now.

“That’s what I thought,” Charlie said, her mouth widening into as close to a smile as she was capable of. “You’re tough, Anna, and with the right incentive, you can do anything. I mean, who knows how many family skeletons there are for you to discover? You’ll be in the perfect position to ferret those out.”

Was she really going to do this? Could she even do this? Talk to those people? Smile and pretend that it hadn’t hurt that her own father had ignored her existence for her entire life?

Then there was the inevitability that she was going to see him again. But that was something she wasn’t ready to accept yet. One step at a time.

“I guess I had better reach out to Janie,” Anna said and headed toward the door. “See if that offer’s still good.” After all, the wedding was only a couple weeks away, and it was possible that Janie could have found another bridesmaid, or worse, revoked the invitation.

“For your sake, let’s hope it still is.”

* * *

Good Lord. This was going to be a long week.

Nick St. Claire took the glass of whiskey the bartender poured him and strolled out to the courtyard of the Van Hollins estate in Napa, where tonight’s informal gathering was taking place. The attendees were sparse since the bride had wanted to keep things intimate to give the members of the bridal party—such as the bridesmaids and groomsmen, the readers and ushers—a chance to get reacquainted.

The only problem was, with so few people, finding a nice out-of-the-way spot to chill and not invite attention was out of the question. A problem that became apparent when he spied Janie’s bridesmaids already headed in his direction, one bridesmaid specifically whose gaze was set markedly on him. Sara DeWinters. Not just one of Janie’s oldest friends but also a woman who Nick had made the mistake of getting entangled with last year and had who he’d been trying to get himself permanently disentangled from ever since.

The woman couldn’t accept that things were over, a sentiment she shared with Nick’s mother, Kathryn St. Claire, who, since the breakup, had been reminding him of all the reasons he and Sara had been a perfect match. Reasons like her family’s political connections, not to mention their money and obvious social influence, all things that Kathryn esteemed above all others.

Nick wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t ready to have the complete and undivided attention of Janie’s very young, very superficial, and very single friends. Not when he didn’t have reinforcements from the other groomsmen to help allay their attention.

He turned his head, looking for any kind of distraction that would halt their approach. Where was Dax when he needed him? Probably off canoodling with his future bride, or maybe he’d decided to pick up the errant groomsman from the airport…

Wait a minute.

Nick’s gaze fell on a blonde standing over at the bar, watching the bartender pour her a glass of wine. He was almost certain that he hadn’t met her before. Last he’d heard, Janie’s fourth bridesmaid and also the maid of honor was currently laid up in the hospital after a wakeboarding disaster and wasn’t going to make it here at all.

Well, whoever the blonde was, she might be what he needed to hold off the three lemmings who were almost on him. Without a second to spare, Nick strode over, noticing the woman’s long, shapely legs, legs that told him she earned her figure not by starving herself on kale smoothies and raw almonds but through actual sweat. As she turned around, he noticed a few of the woman’s other attributes, like a pert nose, full, rosy lips, and clear, glowing skin.

Before he could second-guess his decision, Nick placed his hand on her arm, hoping that, should anyone be watching, they might assume they knew each other. Only, instead of mild surprise, the woman jumped a good inch at his touch before whirling to face him, her eyes blaring with fury.

Great. Add a well-deserved assault charge to what was sure to be a dreadful week.

“Excuse me,” the blonde sputtered as he carefully placed himself between her and the bridesmaids’ line of sight, attempting to minimize the damage of his ill-thought-out strategy.

“My apologies. I mistook you for…for someone else,” he said lamely, adding a grin that usually had women flustered and eager to return his smile. Not so with this one. In fact, from the fire in those bluish-gray eyes, he was betting that an apology alone was not going to suffice.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing with some relief that the trio had stopped their approach and were instead keeping a careful eye on him and the mystery woman.

Nick turned back to find the blonde staring at him, only now her anger had turned to something closer to horror and her eyes had widened as if in recognition. People’s reactions when they realized who he was always varied to some degree. But he had to admit, this woman’s shock was anything but the usual happy surprise or curiosity he received. No, her eyes narrowed to near slits and her face had taken on a splotchy red color.

There was a quick flash of something that hit him, a memory that niggled at him. There was something familiar about her…

He studied her again, trying to figure out why she reminded him of someone. Her long blonde hair was a mix of dark honey and golden strands as it flowed around her shoulders, and her face, angry splotchiness aside, had a slight sun-kissed tone, as if she tried to remember to wear sunblock but forgot half the time. Her eyes were a little wider-set than current beauty standards dictated, giving her a more distinctive quality, and compelled him to reach further back into his memory, to a time when he’d found satisfaction at drawing her ire.

She still hadn’t spoken, although her mouth opened and closed as if she was struggling for words. He needed to try again. To dig for that natural St. Claire charm and put her at ease and assure her that he wasn’t some pervert. Despite the anger that still reverberated in her tense shoulders and pursed lips, she was definitely someone he thought he might want to get reacquainted with, someone who might make these next few days less onerous.

“I’m Nick. Nick St. Claire. And you are?”

She still didn’t respond, but her brows shot up and she gave him a look that seemed to tell him he shouldn’t have to ask. Before he could question her further, however, a high-pitched squeal drew both their attention to the small blonde blur in pink who was racing in their direction.

“You’re here!” Janie Van Hollins screamed before launching herself into the blonde’s arms.

Nick’s brother, Dax, followed his soon-to-be bride, a curious smile on his face as he watched the women’s reunion. The blonde stood stiffly under Janie’s embrace, quietly waiting for the tinier woman to disengage, which she eventually did with reluctance.

“To tell you the truth, I had some doubts that you were going to come,” Janie said, staring in wonderment at the woman. “Not that I could blame you, under the circumstances. The fact that you still came, after everything”—Janie fanned her hand in front of her face as if to ward off tears—“well, it means more to me than you know.”

“I’m happy that I was able to move some things around on my schedule to make it after all.” The blonde attempted to smile back, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Well, now that you’re here, I want you to meet this lovable, cuddly bear of mine,” Janie said in that nauseating baby talk she employed so often when she talked about Dax. “This is the man who, in four more days, is going to be my husband, Dax St. Claire. And this is Dax’s brother, Nick, our best man. Gentlemen, may I present my…my sister.”

Sister. That explained their similarities, at least in physical appearance. Nick recalled Dax mentioning something about a family fury a month or so back when it came out that Malcolm Van Hollins had had a love child stashed away that no one knew about.

But that still didn’t explain his sense of déjà vu. Was she a lobbyist? Had she been working on his rival’s campaign? Or could she be a friend of his mother?

“Anna’s a reporter for The Daily Rundown,” Janie burst in proudly. “You may have seen her byline—that’s the right word, isn’t it? Anna Blake.”

And in a flash, it all came back. Why he remembered this woman.

And why, if he had any sense, he’d take leave of everyone and run.