Their plane taxied into the tiny airport, and Carlos held Alice’s hand as they walked down the small set of stairs, claimed their rolling suitcases from the tarmac, and walked over to the terminal.

It had been the best day of his life so far, and despite the number of times he’d made love to Alice today, he was already starving for her again, aching to get her alone. She was a fever, this woman, and he never ever wanted to feel cool again.

That said, he wasn’t sure what awaited them here in Ponce, and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to renewing Ramirez’s acquaintance. Taking a deep breath as Alice dropped his hand and preceded him into the airport, he reminded himself that, yes, she was his lover, but she was also his boss, and they were here to do a deal.

“Alice!” called a cultured voice from across a rope barrier. “This way! Over here!”

Carlos looked up to see Eduardo Ramirez dressed like a total and complete douche in bright-green pants with little white tennis rackets, a white polo shirt with the collar popped, and sunglasses, like he fancied himself a movie star. Internally, Carlos rolled his eyes, but outwardly, he remained professional, taking Alice’s rolling bag in his free hand so that she could greet their host.

But his hackles were raised almost immediately.

While Alice approached Ramirez with an outstretched hand, he decided to pull Alice into a totally inappropriate hug, patting her backside like it was his to touch, and kissing her cheek way too close to the lips that Carlos had loved all afternoon.

“Alice, you look…delicious,” he said, still holding onto her.

Alice placed her hands on Ramirez’s shoulders, pushing him away. “Thank you for meeting us.”

Ramirez moved his sunglasses to his head and snapped his fingers over his shoulder, and a man in a black suit appeared at his side holding a bouquet of bright-red Hibiscuses in clear cellophane.

“For you,” he said as his man offered the flowers to Alice.

Her cheeks brightened. “How kind.”

Carlos clenched his jaw. “Which way to the car?”

“Mira,” said Ramirez, flicking his eyes disdainfully at Carlos. “You’ve brought your little helper.”

Alice stepped back, shoulder to shoulder with Carlos, and lifted her chin. “You remember Carlos Vega, señor?”

“I remember he knows how to make an excellent cup of coffee,” said Ramirez, reaching for Alice’s free hand. He tucked it into his arm and started walking toward the airport exit, leaving Carlos and his man to follow behind.

“Tu jefe es un pendejo,” said Carlos to the man, whom he guessed was a year or two younger than he. Your boss is an asshole.

“Quizás,” answered the man with a shrug. “Pero me paga, entonces no me importa.” Maybe. But he pays me so I don’t really care.

“Como te llamas?” asked Carlos as they walked through the revolving doors, a few steps back from Captain Douche and Alice. What’s your name?

“Pedro,” he answered, “y, que te quede claro, él no es mi jefe. Solamente me paga por hacerle trabajos de vez en cuando.” To be clear, he’s not my boss. He just pays me to do jobs every so often.

Hmm, thought Carlos, interesting. Then he’s putting on airs big-time, isn’t he? All to impress Alice? He felt his blood heat up and his eyes narrow.

As they walked out onto the sidewalk, a long, black limo was waiting for them, parked in a no-parking zone. Pedro stepped forward to open the door for Ramirez and Alice as Carlos wheeled their bags to the truck. When the backseat door slammed shut, Carlos raised his head, stepped briskly over to the side, reopened it, and slid inside.

“You’re welcome to sit in the front,” said Ramirez, who sat across from him and way too close to Alice, with his arms around her shoulders.

“Alice, you look warm,” he commented, ignoring Ramirez.

“I am a bit warm,” she said, scooting over a little, out of reach of their host.

Carlos slid his eyes back to Ramirez.“Tiene modales, señor?” Do you have manners, sir?

“Porque? Tú vas a ensenarmelos, chico?” Why? Are you going to teach them to me, kid?

“Sí lo necesito.” If I need to.

“What are you saying?” asked Alice, looking back and forth between them. “What are you telling each other?”

“I’m just reminding Mr. Ramirez, with all due respect, that we’re here for business,” said Carlos.

“And I’m reminding Mr. Vega, with all due respect, that my business is with you, bonita, not him.”

Alice shifted uncomfortably in her seat, giving Carlos a look that told him to please try to get along. He nodded curtly at her, turning to look out the tinted windows.

So…was this even Ramirez’s car? Or had he rented it to impress Alice? Why? From all accounts, Ramirez was loaded. Carlos sighed. Maybe his car was in the shop or something.

“En que hotel te hospedaras?” asked Ramirez. What hotel are you staying in?

Carlos turned back to their host just as Alice spoke brusquely. “Please stop doing that. It’s unspeakably rude. Please speak in English.”

“Of course, querida,” said Ramirez, reaching for her hand and patting it. “I apologize. I was just wondering where Mr. Vega is staying. We can drop him at his hotel on the way to my hacienda.”

Alice whipped her hand from Ramirez’s grasp, shooting a desperate look at Carlos. So desperate, in fact, he almost chuckled. Don’t worry, baby, he thought. I wouldn’t make you go into the lion’s den alone.

“I understood Alice and I were staying with you, señor,” he said, playing dumb. “Did I misunderstand the plan?”

Ramirez’s lips tightened to an angry line, but he shook his head, anxious not to further upset Alice, who still looked annoyed. “You’re welcome at my house, of course. I just—well, I was certain my assistant told me that you were staying at the Howard Johnson’s.”

“No,” said Carlos. “I have no reservation anywhere in town.”

“Then of course you must stay at Hacienda del Mar with me and Alice.” He turned to Alice. “My son, young Ricardo, is visiting. I hope you will like meeting him.”

“I’m sure I will,” said Alice, her chilly expression warming just a little at the mention of Ramirez’s son.

How will you be as a mother? wondered Carlos, daring, just for a moment, to imagine her stomach swollen with his child and surprised by how it stole his breath to imagine it. A baby, a little girl or boy with her blonde hair and his dark eyes. Would their child be fair like her or dark like him?

He realized he was staring at her, her smile answering the one that must have spread across his own face.

Ramirez cleared his throat loudly, and both Alice and Carlos turned to face him.

“We’re here,” he said, gesturing out the window.

Carlos looked to his right and watched as they passed through a slowly opening gate and up a long driveway.

“Bienvenidos a Hacienda del Mar!” said Ramirez, preceding Alice and Carlos from the car once Pedro had opened the door.

“I know he’s a jerk, but be nice,” hissed Alice as she scooted by Carlos.

He sighed, following her through the door and into the hot evening. Getting his bearings for a moment, he realized that they were at the top of a steep hill. An enormous rambling mansion was to his left, and before him were the twinkling lights of Ponce and the Caribbean beyond. He had to admit, it was breathtaking.

“Mr. Ramirez!” exclaimed Alice. “What a striking view!”

“Only enhanced by your beauty now that you’re here,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders again. “And it’s Eduardo, please. Certainly we’re close enough friends for first names, querida?”

His tone was suggestive to an extreme and made Carlos narrow his eyes protectively, even as his brain hinted that something was off.

Close friends? After one business meeting?

While he’d been telling the truth about Latinos being touchy-feely two nights ago when Alice had been jealous of Ana María, something about Ramirez’s attentions just didn’t feel right. It was almost as though he had an expectation of more-than-business from Alice. Why?

“Shall we change for dinner?” suggested Ramirez, turning to Pedro and telling him in Spanish to bring in the luggage, after which he could return the car and go home. “And then I would love to take you on a private tour of the grounds, Alice.”

Alice demurred, saying something about freshening up being a good idea as she and Carlos followed a maid, dressed in a traditional black-and-white uniform, up a flight of stairs. She showed Alice to her room first, then asked Carlos to follow her to the end of the hallway, where she opened another door and told him she hoped he’d be comfortable.

Carlos considered walking back down the hall to Alice’s room, but instead he opened his suitcase and unpacked a dress shirt and some crisp khaki pants, changing quickly. Nothing felt quite right since they’d arrived: Ramirez’s manner was too familiar, too entitled, and Carlos didn’t like it, but where had it come from? Also, he didn’t understand why Ramirez had hired a driver and rented a car for a ten-minute ride from the airport to his home. Was that maid who’d showed him to his room an employee of Ramirez’s? Or just another local hired to make a certain impression?

As he buttoned his shirt, his phone dinged, and he grabbed it from the bed.

LETICIA: Where are we going on Friday? I want to figure out what to wear.

Carlos’ eyes widened as he stared at the text.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Lena was going to kill him, but there was no way he was going out with another girl.

CARLOS: Sorry. I’m not going to be able to make it on Friday.

LETICIA: Still away on business? Saturday works for me.

He flinched. How honest should he be?

Honest enough that if Alice ever saw his phone, she’d feel satisfied with his answer. He loved Lena. He loved all of his family. But Carlos was with Alice now, and nothing—not even his family—could change that.

CARLOS: I’m really sorry, but I’m not going to be able to take you out. I’m with someone else now.

LETICIA: …

LETICIA: …

LETICIA: YOU ARE A FUCKING ASSHOLE.

LETICIA: DON’T EVER CONTACT ME AGAIN, HIJO DE PUTA!

A barrage of messages joined that one, and Carlos had no other option but to block Leticia’s number. Mierda, Lena was going to let him have it when he got home. Oh, well, he hoped that she’d understand once he explained everything. There was no going back from what he had with Alice. He loved her. That’s all there was to it.

Which meant that he needed to figure out a way for them to be together. He knew that Alice would offer to remove herself from SST if that’s what it took for them to stay together. But he couldn’t let her do that. Part of the reason that he hadn’t wanted to leave his present position at SST was because it was the only way for him to see Alice every day and take care of her. But if they were a couple? He could see and take care of her out of the office. Which meant that he would be free to pursue a different dream that he’d been on the fence about for quite some time: applying to Wharton. The benefit of this plan, of course, was that when he graduated with an MBA, he could work with Alice instead of for her.

Heading downstairs, he paused at Alice’s door for a moment but decided against knocking. If he was alone with her, even if it was to share his decision to apply to grad school, he’d be distracted the second he laid eyes on her. He’d reach for her. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself; he’d be cock-deep inside of her three minutes later. The best he could hope for was that tonight, once their host had gone to bed, he could sneak into her room and spend the rest of the night with his hand over her mouth making her come.

As he came to the bottom of the stairs, the same maid who showed them to their room passed him, and he asked her in Spanish where he could find Ramirez. She shrugged and kept walking.

Carlos turned one way, only to find himself in a large, empty room that looked like some sort of secondary living room. It was dark and had only a lonely sofa against the wall. He turned and went the other direction, finding Ramirez in a den-like room with leather chairs and an enormous flat-screen TV.

“Hola,” he said. Then remembering Alice’s admonition, he added, “Your house is very beautiful.”

Ramirez reached for the remote and turned off the TV, then stood and faced Carlos. “All settled in?”

“Sí. Gracías.”

“Drink?”

“Thanks,” he said, stepping farther into the room.

“You’re, uh, very clever,” said Ramirez in English, pouring some amber-colored liquor into two glasses. “My assistant doesn’t make mistakes. You chose not to make a hotel reservation.”

Carlos didn’t answer, just eyed Ramirez as he offered Carlos the glass.

“It’s rum.”

“Thank you,” said Carlos, taking a sip.

“So,” said Ramirez, perching on the arm of the couch, “things have certainly changed between you and your boss since we met in Philly last week, eh?”

“How do you mean?”

“Last week, you wanted to fuck her. This week, you have.”

Carlos flinched, lowering his glass. His voice was a flinty growl. “Insult her again, and I will flatten you, Ramirez. I don’t care whether or not this is your home. I won’t let you talk about her like that.”

“I really don’t mean any disrespect,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. “Though I do wonder…”

“What do you wonder?”

“Which one of us she’s playing.”

“Playing?” he asked, feeling warm. No, feeling murderous.

“Does it bother you that your woman was coming on to another man?”

He stared at Ramirez, wanting to punch him in the face, but something about what he was saying didn’t feel entirely wrong or untrue, and it just about made Carlos want to be sick.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, ho ho ho,” chuckled Ramirez.“Probrecito. No lo sabes, eh?” Poor thing. You don’t know, huh?

“Sabes…que?” Know what?

Ramirez placed his glass on an end table, plucked his phone from his back pocket, and read his texts: “‘Eduardo, I do hope we will become far better acquainted during my time in Puerto Rico…and not just as business associates.’” He looked up quizzically. “Or this one…‘I could do far worse for myself than a handsome Puerto Rican.’” He chuckled again. “Except she wrote that to me, not you.” He scrolled through his messages, then stopped at another. “‘Oh, you are naughty, Eduardo, but naughty is a lot more fun…after dark.’” He turned the phone around, holding it up for Carlos’ inspection. “Want to take a look? There are a bunch more.”

“No,” hissed Carlos, throwing back the entire contents of his glass.

“Gentlemen.”

Carlos jerked his head around to find Alice standing in the doorway of the den, looking so crazy beautiful, it made his heart clutch.

There were two things he needed to know:

One, when had she exchanged those fucking texts with Ramirez?

And two, why?

***

“Querida,” said Ramirez, “you are a vision in blue this evening. Why, I could almost—” His phone rang, cutting off his speech. He looked down at it and frowned. “I need to take this. You’ll excuse me? Your helper can get you a drink.”

Walking from the room, Alice lifted her gaze to Carlos, who looked…

Furious.

“Carlos?” she said, walking over to him and placing her hand on his bare arm.

When she’d dressed tonight, she’d only thought of him—of how she longed to find herself back in his arms, of how long it had been since he’d told her he loved her, of how hard she would work to find a solution for the problem of them working together. She knew that it had bothered him to see Ramirez acting so familiarly, but the first chance she got, she’d planned to tell Ramirez that the texts were a mistake and that she was no longer available.

The look on his face made her wonder if she was too late.

“On Thursday morning, on the way to the airport, you were texting him, weren’t you?”

“Shiiit,” she murmured.

The last thing—the very last thing she’d ever want to do was hurt him.

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head, his face taken aback and hurt. “Okay. So it’s true.”

“I was trying to convince myself he was a better match.”

“Than me.”

“No! Well…yes,” she admitted, feeling miserable. “But we weren’t together yet. I was just scared—”

“He’s a pompous, entitled, smarmy little shit with three ex-wives. Is that what you want? To be number four?”

“Please, Carlos…that was before—”

“You need to figure out what you want, Alice.”

“I know what I want, and I want—”

“Hi.”

They whipped their heads to the side to find a little boy standing in the doorway, holding a soccer ball.

“H-Hi,” said Alice. “Ah-hem. You are…?”

“Ricardo Ramirez,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “Mucho gusto.”

Frustrated that she couldn’t continue her conversation with Carlos, she had no choice but to take the little boy’s hand. She mustered a smile for him. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Miss Story.”

“Sí, I know. My papá told me to be on my best behavior and maybe I would have a new stepmamá soon.”

Alice blinked at the child, her shock making speech impossible.

Carlos cleared his throat meaningfully, raising an eyebrow at Alice.

“I think—I think your father has oversold the situation,” she said, lifting her chin. “I am not in the market to be someone’s stepmother.” Reviewing her words, she hurried to reassure him that her feelings weren’t personal. “I mean—if I was, you seem like a terrific…well, you’re a very polite child. Ummm…” She turned to Carlos. “Help?”

He rolled his eyes at her before turning to Ricardo.

“Hey, muchacho, quieres jugar un poco antes de cenar?”

“Sí! Mi papa nunca tiene tiempo para jugar!”

“Que sorpresa,” said Carlos dryly, opening his hands for the ball, which Ricardo threw to him with a gap-toothed grin. The child ran outside, and Carlos started to follow, then turned around and grabbed Alice around the waist with one strong arm. He hauled her against his chest and kissed her hard, like he was branding her or punishing her a little. “Don’t play with me.”

She wilted against him, wanting to cry with regret and relief. “I’m not. I swear.”

“We’ll see.”

He released her with a cross look, then followed the child out a set of open French doors that led to a bright-green lawn adjacent to an aqua swimming pool.

She looked around the den, her sights falling to the recessed bar beside the massive TV, and she approached it to fix herself a drink. Opening the cupboard, she found it bare, but on the counter was a bottle of very good rum, so she poured herself a glass and then turned toward the patio by the grassy lawn where Carlos and Ricardo were playing a pickup game of soccer.

He was good with the boy, she realized, squatting down to give him tips and encouraging him when they started playing again. At one point Ricardo scored a goal on Carlos, and he hoisted the little boy on his shoulders and ran a victory lap around the lawn.

“I see the children have found each other.”

Alice turned to see Eduardo approaching.

“Carlos isn’t a child,” she said.

Eduardo smiled at her indulgently. “But he is much younger than us.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she took another sip of her rum, watching Carlos and Ricardo.

“Now you and I? That’s what I call a perfect match,” he said, running a finger slowly down her bare arm.

Alice stepped away from him, giving him a haughty look as his finger froze in midair. “I’m sorry if I misled you.”

“Misled me? Not at all. You were very clear that you were open to more than a business relationship with me.”

Carlos, who was within earshot, threw the ball to Ricardo, then turned to look at Alice, his dark eyes searching her face, waiting to hear her answer. Her heart flooded with love for him, stronger and more certain than any feeling she’d ever known, and she turned to Eduardo, lifting her chin and narrowing her eyes.

“Circumstances have changed. I’m no longer interested.”

“Amorcito,” he said, “it’s fine with me if you want to go slumming for a little while. I don’t mind waiting.”

Carlos stopped the ball that Ricardo kicked his way but then straightened up and advanced on Eduardo. Alice stepped quickly in front of him, her back flush against his chest.

“I’m with Carlos now, señor.”

“Ah,” he said, his smile humorless as he stared at them. “But for how long?”

“For as long as he’ll have me,” she said softly.

Carlos’ arms encircled her waist from behind, resting, one over the other, on her stomach. The gesture was possessive, and she welcomed it, leaning back into him, feeling his forgiveness wash over her like a soothing breeze on a scorching day.

Eduardo nodded. “I see.”

“That said,” Alice continued, “we are here to discuss business. And I dearly hope our conversations will be fruitful. I am no less interested in your vineyard proposition.”

“Dinner is served, señor,” announced the maid, standing between the open French doors and ringing a small brass bell.

“Bueno,” said Eduardo, his face unaccountably stony, given her remaining enthusiasm about their business venture. “We may as well eat.”

***

Ramirez sat at the head of the table, sucking down rum like it was going out of style and jumping down his son’s throat every time the boy asked a question, which was making Carlos’ already hot temper fiery.

Several times, Alice tried to engage him in conversation about the vineyards in Bahía de Plata or about the possible joint venture in Ponce, but Ramirez was an asshole, responding with one-word answers as he gestured for the maid to keep filling his glass.

They had started with salmorejo, a cold crab and tomato soup, and the maid had just served a salad of octopus with a citrus vinaigrette and tropical fruit when Carlos’ phone rang. He ignored it until it started ringing again. Pulling it from his pocket, he saw that it wasn’t Lena or Leticia calling as he’d assumed, but Shane.

“Will you excuse me?” he asked his surly host, who gestured for him to go as he threw back yet another glass of rum.

Carlos gave Alice a grim smile before leaving the dining room and returning to the patch of lawn where he and Ricardo had been playing.

“Shane?”

“Carlos! Thank goodness! I tried Alice four or five times, but I don’t think she has her phone with her.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Here, yes. There? No.”

“What do you mean?”

“I played eighteen holes with my friend Skip Jones and his father, William, over at Bryn Mawr Country Club today. When I mentioned our possible vineyard venture in Ponce, William answered that he’d gone to Wharton with a fellow from Puerto Rico whom, he’d learned, had fallen on hard times. I asked for the name of his friend, and you can imagine my shock when he said Eduardo Ramirez.”

Carlos flinched, looking over his shoulder before asking. “What else?”

“Well, it seems that our Mr. Ramirez is not a winning bet and hasn’t been in quite some time, though he’s still managing the appearance of success. William said that he’d almost been ‘taken for a ride’ by Ramirez but backed out of a deal at the last minute. Some of his friends weren’t so lucky.”

“What kind of deal?”

“It seemed he was trying to start a rum business.”

Carlos nodded, his fury mounting. “What does he want with Alice?”

“What do you think?” asked Shane. “No doubt her fortune.”

“Asshole!”

“Yeah. I looked into him further, Carlos. Yes, he purchased some land in Ponce a few months ago, but it’s already been repossessed by the bank. Though there may have been a plan to start a vineyard at one time, Ramirez is broke. I mean, way overextended. He’s going to declare bankruptcy any day now.”

Carlos thought about the driver and rented limo, the living room with a lonely sofa, the maid who didn’t appear to know the layout of his house. This visit was a sham, just a big play to try to impress Alice and get into her pants—or her bank account.

“Priscilla’s beside herself,” said Shane. “I guess she and Margaret were really pressuring Alice to go for him.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure? Pris said something about her e-mailing him or—”

“I’m sure, Shane. I’ll take care of it.”

There was a short pause before Shane said, “Of her.”

“Always.”

“I knew it!” exclaimed Shane. “You two are—”

“Figuring things out,” he said quickly. “Not a word to Priscilla, huh?”

Shane chuckled good-naturedly. “Don’t worry.”

“You knew?”

“Suspected.” Shane paused. “The way you say her name…it feels different. The way a man calls to the woman he loves…like how I call Priscilla ‘P. But Pris told me I was wrong.”

“You weren’t.”

“You’ll protect her?”

“With my life.”

Carlos could feel Shane’s smile when he responded. “I know she’s in good hands.”

“I should go back to dinner. Alice’s all alone in there,” said Carlos, but then he remembered something: the solution to the problem of him and Alice working together. “Shane, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course. Name it.”

“In my desk. Bottom drawer. In the back…”

“Yeah…”

“There’s a large envelope, stamped and addressed. It’s my admission packet for Wharton. Can you send it in for me?”

“So you decided to go for it, huh? Damn, that’s good news!”

“Don’t get too excited. I’m a long shot. I’ll be competing against guys from Yale and Harvard.”

“Yeah, well, none of them have a recommendation from me!”

Carlos chuckled. “True enough.”

“You started SST with Alice from scratch. They’ll be panting for you. No worries. I’ll send it first thing tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Shane. For that…and for calling me.”

“Take care of her, okay?”

“You know it,” he said. “Bye.”

Pressing the end button his phone, he stood on the grass under the stars for two minutes, breathing in the air of his home country as he tried to figure out the best course of action. God damn it, this guy had been nothing but trouble from the start.

Carlos entered the dining room and took his seat, turning to Alice. “What did I miss?”

“We were just talking about the vineyards. The land isn’t far from here,” she said. “Eduardo said he could take us to see it in the morning, and we can talk about our investment.”

Carlos sat back in his chair, eyeing Ramirez, the dirty, cheating snake.

“You know?” said Carlos. “I’d like to see a survey of the land after dinner. Certainly you have one?”

Ramirez sneered. “It’s at my lawyer’s office. Safer there.”

“Hmm,” hummed Carlos, taking a sip of rum, no doubt the result of Ramirez’s last failed venture. “Then let’s stop at your lawyer’s office first thing? Before we visit the actual plot of land? We can look at the survey then.”

“I don’t even know if—well, I mean, my lawyer could be out of town.”

“Surely he has an assistant who could accommodate your request? You have investors in town who want to see a survey. I’m sure they’d be only happy to—”

“You’re very presumptuous,” said Ramirez, turning back to Alice. “My business is with Miss Story, not you.”

“Actually,” said Carlos, “your business isn’t with anyone, is it? I mean, no one reputable, anyway. There is no land, is there?”

Alice jerked her head to look at him, her brows furrowed. “Carlos! What are you—?”

“Quien eres tú? Un puto campesino! You have no right to grill me with questi—”

“You are a cheat and a liar! I should beat you!”

The maid tapped Ricardo on the shoulder, taking his hand and leading him into the kitchen.

“For what? For not wanting to share my holdings with Miss Story’s coffee boy? You’re out of your league, muchacho! Callaté tu boca and let the grown-ups talk!”

“What in the world is going on here?” demanded Alice, staring back and forth between the two men in shock.

Carlos turned to Alice. “That was Shane on the phone with a warning.” He shot a disgusted glance at Ramirez, gesturing to him with a flick of his chin. “He’s in debt up to his ears. There’s no land. No vineyard. Only a desperate man hoping to land a rich girl.”

Alice turned to look at Ramirez, her mouth opened in dismay. “Is this true?”

“Miss Story. Alice. We are cut from the same cloth, you and me. Ivy League schools. The best of everything. If anyone’s a fortune hunter here, it’s this pendejo who follows you around like a fucking puppy.”

Alice flattened her hands and banged them on the table, standing slowly and staring down Ramirez with eyes like daggers.

“How dare you?” she spat. “A fortune hunter? Ha! He trusted me when I had nothing to offer. This man,” she said, laying her hand on Carlos’ shoulder, “this beautiful, smart, talented man is the very last person in the world you could accuse of being a fortune hunter! Furthermore, if I’m cut from any cloth on earth, please, God, let it be from his, because he is loyal and honest and true. If he says you’re a schemer, you’re a schemer. If he says you’re garbage…you’re garbage.” She squeezed Carlos’ shoulder, and he stood up beside her, looking down at his fierce, righteous, brilliant woman and thanking every star in the sky that he’d gambled everything on her once upon a time. “Carlos, my love…is Mr. Ramirez garbage?”

“Sí, mi amor,” he said. “Total and complete basura.”

“Good enough for me,” said Alice, pushing her chair away from the table and stepping around it. She offered Carlos her hand, and he took it, raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss to it.

“Let’s get packed and get out of here,” he suggested.

“Sounds like a plan.” She nodded, letting him lead her from the room.

“You deserve each other!” yelled Ramirez, throwing his half-drunk glass of rum in their direction, the tumbler nailing Alice in the ass and the contents spilling down the back of her blue dress. She gasped in shock, trying to look over her shoulder at the mess.

Carlos dropped her hand, pivoted, and advanced on Ramirez with unrestrained fury. “I told you I’d deck you if you ever disrespected Miss Story in front of me again.”

He grabbed Ramirez by the collar of his white polo shirt, drew back his fist, slammed it into Ramirez’s face, and then dropped him back onto his chair with a split lip.

“And treat your kid with a little more fucking kindness, pendejo puto.”

Finished taking out the trash, he strode toward Alice, took her outstretched hand, and escorted her from the room.