I don’t care about what happened on Friday night.

My father does.

Color me shocked.

Melody was pissed about the way I talked to Quinn Campbell across the table when she showed up with Carolyn. She was angry when they sat down and furious that they stayed, and she didn’t hide it very well.

To her credit, Quinn never seemed to let it affect her. She struck up conversations with Todd’s and Jeff’s dates and played off Carolyn’s contributions to the conversation. By the time they polished off the last of their drinks—wine for Carolyn and vodka and Red Bull for Quinn—and gathered their clutch purses to go, Melody’s fury was rolling off her in waves.

I hated to watch Quinn’s back as she receded into the crowd. Why was I so drawn to her? Why can’t I pinpoint the thing that kept my eyes laser-focused on her face, the curve of her shoulders, the neckline of her dress, for the rest of the night? Maybe it’s how she radiates confidence like nobody I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s that she doesn’t seem to be swept away by me. For once, I’m not in control.

It’s not my favorite feeling.

I wasn’t always this way, but ever since—

No.

I shove the thought out of my mind. I don’t want to focus on those days. I don’t want to focus on my brother, the party…any of it.

It has nothing to do with Quinn Campbell.

It has everything to do with Quinn Campbell, and you know it.

I run my hands down over my face, then try to force my attention back to my computer screen.

It doesn’t work.

What’s wrong with me? Quinn Campbell is a woman I cannot—absolutely cannot—afford to get involved with. I don’t know how I’m so sure. I don’t know how I can sense it. But I know that if Quinn Campbell gets too close to me, I won’t be able to resist her. I won’t be able to keep her from knowing the deepest parts of me.

Then she’ll know my secret.

And no one can know my secret.

A meeting reminder pops up in the corner of my computer screen, and I push my chair away from my desk with infinite care to keep from slamming my fists against it. It’s time to make my way to my father’s office. He has summoned me to a meeting, and by the terse tone of his message, it’ll be regarding the events of Friday night.

After Quinn and Carolyn took off, I sat next to a seething Melody, trying to defuse the tension with a few well-placed one-liners. She was having none of it, and my patience grew thin.

For the first time in a long time, I left the Swan before my friends.

It’s been months—years, maybe—since I’ve taken a risk like that. Christian Pierce never bails. He’s the life of the party. He’s the last one to leave.

Not Friday night.

I had put down my glass—by then, I was getting by on water, that’s how terrible the pain in my head was becoming—and stood up, waving away my friends’ expressions of concern and shocked looks.

“Where you going, buddy?” Todd said, his voice too loud. His date cuddled up into his shoulder, and I knew that it wouldn’t be long before he found his way to one of the Swan’s hotel rooms to spend the rest of the night undressed with her. I wished for one moment that I had been able to leave with Quinn, take her back to my place and undress her, but that ship had sailed.

“Calling it a night,” I said with a devilish smile that suggested I’d be doing otherwise, only not at the Swan. Let them think I was going to another exclusive club, or some dive bar or a hotel room somewhere.

I gracefully acknowledged their drunken chorus of goodbyes, then tried to fade away into the crowd.

Melody followed.

For the most part, the throbbing music drowned her out, but I could hardly interject over her hissed accusations. “Chris!” I heard as I passed between two tables on the way to the back exit. “Who the hell was that—?”

“I’m headed home, Melody,” I said loudly, my own voice ringing in my ears. “Do you want me to call a car for you?”

Her face turned an even darker shade of red at the suggestion that we wouldn’t be riding home together. “Fuck you,” she spat, her eyes narrowed, then whirled around and stalked off toward the restrooms.

I should have been home free then, but Melody changed her mind. I was nearly to the curb when she burst out of the back exit of the Swan.

“You’re a man slut,” she shouted, the slur in her words more obvious in the crystal silence of the side street. “Why did you bring me here?”

Too late, the paparazzi lurking ten feet away down the sidewalk registered in my mind. They make the rounds by the Swan in case anything sensational happens. Friday was their lucky night.

Melody was still trailing after me, stomping comically in a pair of stiletto heels that didn’t deserve the punishment. “You’re such a sick bastard!” she screamed.

I held both hands up, shaking my head. “Mel, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” she shouted, and the paparazzi came toward us then, cameras flashing, shutters clicking.

Louis pulled the Town Car up to the curve and I dove in to the back seat, quickly shutting the door behind me, but not before they got a nice shot of Melody swinging her purse at me, her face contorted in rage.

I’m forcing myself not to roll my eyes at the memory when I breeze past my father’s secretary and pull open the doors to his office, striding in with my back straight and my chin up. He’s not a man who bestows pity points, so it’s best to act as though I’ve done nothing wrong.

He looks up from his leather-bound business diary, an artifact from the ancient days of his youth, I assume, and cocks one eyebrow at me. “Interesting night you had on Friday, son.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

The corners of his mouth turn up slightly, and he lets out a half-hearted sigh. “I can’t say I haven’t been in that position once or twice.” He closes the diary and looks back up at me. “I’m not going to tell you how to spend your free time, Christian, but we need to make some changes when it comes to Pierce Industries.”

“What kinds of changes?” I drop into a seat across from him, doing my best to look comfortable, doing my best to look like my heart isn’t hammering against my rib cage.

“You have earned quite the reputation around the city as a man who enjoys the finer things in life. Food. Women. Drinks.” Now he’s openly smiling at me, and I smile back. It doesn’t feel natural. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’ll always be waiting for that shoe to drop. “When it comes to your responsibilities here, we need to project an aura of…” His voice trails off as he searches for the appropriate word. “Respectability.”

“I see.”

“So I’ve hired a new PR firm to help you brush up on your image. It doesn’t mean you stop frequenting your club. Work with them on creating some other opportunities to be photographed under other circumstances.”

“Not a problem,” I say with a smile, and my father nods.

I get up from my seat, torn in two. On the one hand, I’m relieved—my father approves of my choices. The thing with the paparazzi wasn’t entirely my fault. On the other hand, I’m sick at heart. Because if I had been anyone else…

“I’ve scheduled their first meeting with you before lunch, at their offices,” my father says as I turn to leave. “Have your driver take you over.”

I give him a jaunty salute, then keep going.

“They’ve promised me they will assign you to the best reputation management expert they have on staff. Don’t give them too much trouble, son.”