We watch a live stream of the news on the way back to Graham’s penthouse. His jaw is set, tight, and when the anchors start repeating the same things they began the segment with, he closes the app and rubs a hand over his forehead.

I curl my hand around his shoulders. “I’m sure your brother will be okay.”

“My brother? I’m not worried about my brother.” He gives me an exasperated grin. “I’m worried about us.”

“What does this have to do with us?”

“Everything that affects my brother affects us. Just wait.”

“I don’t see how—”

Graham’s phone rings.

He answers.

“Graham Blackpool.”

The booming voice on the other end is too loud to be audible, and Graham turns down the volume of his phone, twisting away from me. His driver steers the car to the curb and Graham climbs out, sticking his hand back through the door for me.

He shakes his head and ushers me toward the front door of his building. “I understand that,” he says, his voice deadly even. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

I keep my mouth shut, even though the curiosity is like a tornado, threatening to lift me straight off my feet.

Graham stalks over to the elevator and stabs the call button with his thumb. “Of course I’ll be there for him. In any way he needs. I’m ending this call now. Goodbye.”

He shoves the phone back into his pocket as the elevator doors close behind us.

“That sounded intense.” I’m almost afraid to ask any questions, given the raging heat in his eyes, but what’s the worst that happens? “Was it Brian? Does he need us to make an appearance?”

“No,” says Graham. “It was my father.”

I laugh a little, trying to defuse what seems like a heavy tension thickening the air. “He obviously wasn’t calling to congratulate you on a date well done. Disappointing.”

Graham looks straight ahead. “That’s the first time he’s called in more than a year. And it was to tell me that we need to support Andrew. These could be trying times.”

His jaw works, and I see it—all his pain, laid out in front of me in the lines of his body. It’s a pain that I know he will never admit to. I know it like I know I want to be touching him, so I curl my fingers through his and lean my head against his shoulder.

“Brutal honesty?” Graham says.

“Brutal.” The elevator stops, and we step out, heading for the entrance of his penthouse.

“You’re making a mistake.”

I stop dead in the center of the carpet. “What did you say?”

“You’re choosing the wrong son. I’m only telling you, so you have all the information. Andrew is the one who’s in charge of the country.” Graham looks down at me, his eyes alive with hurt. “There’s still time to change your mind.”

“Don’t.”

He turns his head to the side and raises his eyebrows. “Don’t?”

“That’s all bullshit, and you know it.” I slide my hands down his lapels and pull him closer. “The brother is always better than the president.”

“Oh? You’ve dated a lot of men in the president’s circle then?”

“I’ve dated the only man who matters.” Graham edges us toward the door and taps his phone against the smart lock. “And honestly, I’m sick of hearing about your shady brother.”

“Shady?” Graham laughs out loud; a belly laugh like I’ve never heard. “Andrew is the least shady person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s why he gets away with it.”

“Gets away with what?” Graham presses his lips to the side of my neck, in the place that melts me down to my core.

“Whatever he’s hiding,” I say, and then all of my words are lost to his kisses.

* * *

Before we can go to the bedroom, Graham’s phone rings again.

He lets out a deep sigh at the name on the screen. He keeps his hand on my waist while he answers the call. “This had better be something only I can handle for you,” he says by way of greeting, his eyes searching mine.

The response on the other end of the line is so muffled I can’t make it out, but Graham’s face tenses, his forehead wrinkling, eyes going distant. “You’re fucking with me.” Another pause. “I’ll be right there.” He ends the call and puts his phone back in his pocket. “God, I’m sorry, Bellamy.”

“I’m not the type to beg,” I say against his shirt. “But please don’t go. Not after our date—”

“I have to. I’ll explain when I get back.” He puts his fingers under my chin and lifts my face to his. “Wait up for me.”

It’s not a request, it’s a command.

It feels so good to obey him.

* * *

I am alone, and in my loneliness, there is only Graham.

There is so much Graham in my head that finally, after he’s been gone an hour, I take my laptop out to the soft leather sofa in the living room. I have a list of jobs I’m interested in applying to. It’ll be a little bit of work getting everything transferred from the D.C. Bar, but I can do it. I just need to land a job in New York City.

At some point, I enter a fugue state. All the boxes on the screen blur into one mega-field for my entire resume. I go on autopilot, filling out cover letters, uploading them, submit, submit, submit.

Until the hand on my shoulder scares the shit out of me.

“Jesus, Bellamy, it’s just me.”

I raise a hand to my chest. “Brutal honesty?”

Graham laughs. “Shoot.”

“Nobody calls me Bellamy. Everybody calls me Belle.”

“Belle.” He runs his hand down over my shoulder to my elbow. When his hand lifts from my arm, my whole body sags with the disappointment, but he’s back in a flash, settling onto the sofa with me. “I like that.”

“There’s another thing I didn’t mention.” His hand stops moving.

“About what?” Graham’s voice is wary, and he has every right to be. The more I learn of him, the more I see how badly he’s been burned by his own family, money or not.

“My mother.”