Lillian and I wake up hungry on Sunday but neither of us want to cook. When our hungover brains realize we don’t have milk for coffee, it’s the final straw. We dress like deadbeat teenagers, shove dark sunglasses on our faces, and head out. Speaking is unnecessary—we know where we’re going.

Our favorite little French bistro on 9th is a zoo. Chattering voices and screaming babies everywhere. But the hostess, Jessica, knows us. Our standing reservation moves us to the front of the line. Within a few minutes, we’re led onto the crammed patio and deposited at a small table. Privacy is nonexistent, but at at least we’re in a corner facing the street.

“You girls look tore up,” says Jessica cheerily. “You want coffee?”

“God bless you,” intones Lillian.

She winks. “I’ll have someone bring lavender water, too.”

“You’re a saint,” I add.

A busboy brings the coffee (in a large carafe thanks to Jessica) and tall glasses of blissful lavender water. Our server stops by momentarily to see how much of a hurry we’re in. His blonde hair is damp with sweat, but he still manages to look like he just stepped off a catwalk.

“No rush, Jeremy,” says Lillian. “We’re hungover as hell. In fact, leave us alone until the coffee’s gone.”

“Ohhh,” he gushes, fluttering sinfully long eyelashes. “How was the wedding? I heard it was glam.”

I groan, which lifts one of his eyebrows. Lillian snorts. “It was stu-fucking-pendous.”

His eyes widen with excitement. “You girls will spill everything to Uncle Jeremy, won’t you?”

“Creepy,” says Lillian.

“And then there’s the third person usage,” I mutter.

Jeremy laughs and wiggles his fingers. “I’ll be back.”

“Bye Uncle Jeremy,” we say.

Lillian allows me to pour my second cup of coffee before reinstating the Inquisition. “You really didn’t give Alex your number?”

“I did not.”

She shakes her head in disapproval. “After he saved you from Damien?”

“Even if I were interested in Alex Hughes personally, it’s not going to happen. He comes with an expiration date.”

“Did you find out how long he’ll be in the area?”

I shift on my seat and stare at the sidewalk. “No. He’s opening a restaurant somewhere downtown. It’s in the construction phase.”

“Thebes, you seriously didn’t ask him how long he’ll be here?”

“Nope. I assume he’s just here for the weekend. Checking progress and whatnot. He’s probably flying back to Boston tomorrow.”

“Boston?”

“Yeah,” I say, squirming under the pressure of her stare. “He did most of the talking. But he didn’t spell out his travel plans, and I didn’t ask.”

“He was waiting for you to ask, dummy.” I shrug and her following sigh is the equivalent of a ten minute lecture. “Don’t tell me you’re not attracted to him, Thebes. He’s smokin’ hot.”

My memory flashes to Alex’s face, then to our dance to Otis Redding’s Cigarettes and Coffee. I recall his strong hands sliding up my back, imparting heat and thunderstorms through my body. The confident way he moved, his hips pressed to mine…

“I won’t lie,” I tell her.

“You’re blushing,” she whispers, then gasps. “Did he kiss you?”

I touch my cheek and indeed, it’s too warm. I clear my throat. “My forehead, and my cheek when we said goodbye.”

She whistles. “He wants you bad.”

I stiffen, frowning. “Alex has no idea who I am. What he wants is an idea of me. He’s smooth, Lil. Too smooth. Get what I’m saying? The man has skills that come through extensive practice. I’m not going to be another notch on his twenty-thousand dollar bedpost.”

She nods thoughtfully. “Aside from all that, you kind of want to be a notch, don’t you?”

I know what she’s asking. Are you finally over Damien? “Kind of.”

She grins broadly. “Now that, my friend, is progress!”

The matter of Alexander Hughes momentarily settled, our conversation turns to her hours-long flirtation with Adam Price. They have a lunch date on Thursday. She’s ecstatic. Frankly, I haven’t seen her this besotted with a man in years.

Eventually, we order food. Fresh yogurt and fruit. We then split a stack of pancakes, which we smother with enough butter and syrup to counteract all prior calorie saving efforts.

We eat fast to avoid being grilled about the wedding, but Jeremy nevertheless pesters us while we settle the bill. After successfully haggling for a bigger tip, as well as inviting himself over for dinner on Tuesday, he whispers fiercely, “Shit! I almost forgot to tell you the amazing news. I have an interview tomorrow at a new restaurant on 5th. Some weird name. A root or something?”

I have a funny feeling in my stomach and it’s not pancakes. “Hemlock,” I say.

“Yes! That’s it!”

“Isn’t Hemlock poisonous?” asks Lillian, frowning.

“Yes,” I say flatly.

She looks at me with dawning comprehension. “Wait…”

“It’s Alex’s restaurant,” I sigh.

“Ohmygod, Alexander Hughes?” shrieks Jeremy. He’s no longer pretending to be discreet. “You know him?” His fingers clamp onto my forearm. “Thea, doll face, you have to put in a good word for me. I heard he’s overseeing the interviews tomorrow. This is a big time opportunity. His servers make bank! I need this so bad.”

Lillian is grinning madly. “Looks like he’s still in town.”

I gaze into Jeremy’s distraught, hopeful face. He has student loans a mile long and is one of the most sincere, hardworking people I know. He’s also never asked me for anything before. I don’t have it in me to refuse him on principle.

“If I do this, Jer, you owe me. And I mean huge.”

The clouds in his face part on a grin. “Whatever you want, whatever, anything,” he rambles. “Free massages for a year. A lifetime if I get the job.”

The offer is solid, as Jeremy is a licensed masseuse. I think of the white business card on my coffee table. Maybe Alex won’t answer. I can leave a message.

“I’ll give him a call,” I say, and wince as Jeremy screeches.

Less than fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in our living room staring at my phone. My palms are damp, my heart racing. Alex’s number is entered—all I have to do is press Call.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” murmurs Lillian.

“Not helping,” I snap, and press the green icon.

One ring. Two rings…

“This is Alex.”

I choke on a quickly drawn breath. Lillian pounds on my back, which sends me into a coughing fit.

“Are you all right?” There’s a hint of amusement in the dulcet voice.

I wheeze. “Yes. Yes, fine. Thank you.”

A pregnant pause is followed by the sound of a door closing. Background noise fades. “Ms. Sands?” he asks softly. Intimately. My skin hums.

I scramble for fortitude. “Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me.”

I can see Lillian from the corner of my eye. She’s staring at me like she’s never seen me before. I turn my back and walk to a window. My lungs burn as I fill them to capacity, then release a slow breath.

“Are you still there?”

“I’m sorry, yes.”

“Stop apologizing,” he says, and I can hear his smile.

“Okay. I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?”

“Of course.”

“I’m actually calling on behalf of a friend of mine.” He doesn’t say anything, so I continue quickly, “His name is Jeremy Pattens. He’s interviewing for a server position at Hemlock tomorrow. He’s phenomenal. Reliable. Smart.” More silence. “I just wanted to put in a good word for him.”

“I see.”

His reserved tone makes me blink. I review my words carefully but find no fault. In the sphere of society Alex occupies, it’s perfectly acceptable to make calls such as this. In fact, it’s expected.

“Uhh—” I begin lamely.

“I want something in return for my special consideration of your friend.”

I almost choke again. “I’m sorry?”

“Come to dinner with me tonight.”

Nerves explode in my stomach. I blurt, “Are you blackmailing me?”

His low chuckle brings the hairs on my neck to attention. “That’s a rather dramatic way of putting it, but I suppose I am. You’ve rejected my advances twice now.”

“Three times,” I murmur.

“Ah, yes. Refusing to give me your number last night makes three. Although, if you’ll recall, I did get that dance.”

My mind spins, trips, and lands in a ditch. I finally ask, “Why?” and my puzzlement is obvious.

There’s a creak of sound; I imagine him leaning back in an office chair. “What do you want to hear, Thea?”

“The truth, of course.”

“I don’t think you would appreciate bluntness.”

There’s no way to misinterpret his words, delivered as they are in such a primal tone. I swallow past my dry throat. My chest and face are burning. In a last ditch effort, I say curtly, “This isn’t very professional.”

“I am not pursuing you in a professional capacity.”

“I—”

“Eight this evening at the US Grant. I’ll be in the Lounge. Do you know the hotel?”

“Yes,” I say weakly. It’s a ten minute walk from our condo.

“Would you like me to send a driver?”

“No, but—”

“I’ll see you this evening, Ms. Sands. Please wear your hair down.”

I glance at Lillian, whose mouth is as open as mine. “You can’t be serious,” I say, and belatedly realize he’s hung up.

“What the shit was that?” asks Lillian as I lower the phone.

I fill her in on his half of the conversation, finishing with, “I’m suddenly angry.”

“Me too,” she says roughly. “Who the hell does he think he is? You have to stand him up.”

I groan and sink onto the couch. “I can’t do that to Jeremy. This would be a huge break for him.”

“He’ll get over it,” she says quickly, then sighs as her heart weighs in. “No, you’re right. Drinks and a free meal can’t be that bad, right?”

“Right,” I deadpan.

“Are you going to wear your hair down?”

“Not a chance.”

She smirks. “He’s a neanderthal.”

“Yes.”

“He’s also sexy as hell.”

I narrow my eyes on her. “Don’t start.”

She smiles guiltily. “Are you going to wear the diamonds?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “I need them.”

When I sold my jewelry, I kept three pieces. The only ones with any sentimental value—gifts from Oliver on my twenty-first birthday. Individually, the earrings, necklace, and bracelet are lovely. Tasteful. Worn together, they make a different impression.

Alex Hughes wants Thea Sands, tattooed mystery woman. Instead, he’ll have a boring date with a flawless socialite. After tonight, I doubt I’ll hear from him again.

I decide on a navy silk sheath dress, matching stilettos, and a delicate white cardigan. My dark hair is swept back, not a strand out of place, and knotted at the base of my skull. Two-carat diamond studs sparkle in my ears. The three-carat, teardrop pendant above my cleavage winks happily in reply, triggering an answering gleam from the tennis bracelet on my wrist.

Before leaving, I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom a final time. Lillian sits on my bed in pajamas, sipping tea and watching me.

“It’s disturbing how easily you do that,” she says mutedly. “It’s like you’re possessed by Katherine. Or worse, Tabitha.”

“Perfect.”

She glances at her watch. “It’s five after eight. He’s gonna be pissed.” She pauses. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

I smile but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “This is exactly what I’m trained for.”

Lillian sighs.

* * *

The US Grant is a palatial, luxury hotel in the heart of downtown. Upon entering the lobby, the sounds of the street immediately vanish. My surroundings are a masterful blend of classic and contemporary design. Hand carved ceilings, gleaming gold and black travertine floors, and immense crystal chandeliers. Modern, original artwork on the walls. Sleek furniture in a muted color scheme.

I walk past a cluster of couches and chaise lounges, most of them occupied by would-be blue bloods. They sip twenty dollar cocktails and trade investment tips. Unlike my mother and sister, I’ve never belonged in this world. I am an impostor.

It’s going to be a long night.

The Lounge is a throwback to original speakeasies. Its decor is Art Deco and elegant, with elevated community tables, gleaming dark wood, and smokey glass pendant lights. It’s fairly crowded for a Sunday, and jazz music weaves a silky backdrop to polished conversations.

I see Alex almost immediately. He sits in an alcove furnished with bench seating, dimly lit. Intimate. Despite the crowd, he’s alone in the space. I wonder fleetingly if he requested the solitude, or if his air of power spoke for him.

A phone is pressed to his ear, a frown knitting his brow. He speaks softly, rapidly, his gaze trained through a nearby window. As I step closer, I take in his unshaven jaw, starched white dress shit, and the tailored lines of his dark suit. From the gleam of handmade leather shoes to the dull sheen of his grey silk tie, he is Old Money personified. Virile and predatory.

My confidence melts away. I lied to Lillian—I don’t know what I’m doing. The storm of desire gathers ominously on the horizon. I am completely out of my depth.

I’m working up the nerve to sneak away when his gaze snaps to my face. He barks curtly into the phone and ends the call. He doesn’t stand. “You’re late, Ms. Sands.” His eyes flicker over my body and warm when they reach my hair. “And obstinate.”

“You’re bossy, Mr. Hughes.”

He smiles slightly and pats the bench beside him. “Come here.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“Come here now.”

The playfulness in his eyes does me in. I walk across the alcove and sit demurely, a safe two feet from his reach. Knees together and angled to one side. Ankles crossed. A model debutante.

Alex shifts closer, draping his arm on the back of the bench. I can feel the heat of his hand near my shoulder.

“You’re… persistent,” I say, staring straight ahead.

“And you’re wily.” He hails a server with a careless gesture. The man approaches swiftly, apparently on-call for such a summons.

Alex says, “She’ll have a Manhattan.”

“A glass of red wine,” I interject.

He doesn’t look at me, but his lips curve. “Gimlet.”

“Perhaps a Cosmo.”

Our poor server is beginning to sweat, his eyes darting between us. Alex’s fingers trail across my shoulder and I shiver. “Dry Martini.”

Distracted by his hand, I echo, “Dry Martini.”

“And for you, sir?” asks the server, relieved.

“Sidecar.”

“Very good.” The man scuttles away.

Alex’s full attention shifts to me. He’s close enough to smell: soft spice and a musk that is purely male. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

“Not especially.”

“Good, neither am I. They have small plates we can order here.”

I nod. “Fine.”

A thumb rubs lightly over my shoulder blade. I want to smack him for his presumption. I want to sink into his touch. I do neither, instead shifting forward until his hand drops. Alex smiles like I just revealed a secret.

“You’re unnerving,” I say unthinking.

His smile widens. “Why did you wear your hair up?” he asks.

“Because I wanted to.”

“Did you grow up in California?”

I blink, regrouping. “Yes. La Jolla.”

“Where did you go to college?”

“USC.”

“Major?”

“Business.”

“But you’re an interior designer now. How did that happen?”

The server brings our drinks. I seize the opportunity to stall the conversation, taking small, measured sips of my martini. Alex drinks as well, but his eyes stay on my face. As I watch, the blue in them darkens. My senses unfurl and I’m flooded with his scent and nearness. Fucking pheromones. I look away quickly, aware that my breathing is labored. Where’s my armor?

Then I understand: there’s no armor that can protect me from Alexander Hughes.

“You’re blushing, Ms. Sands.”

I pivot to glare at him. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s all the serial killer eye contact you insist on.”

His chest shakes with silent laughter; the accompanying grin makes him look like a devilish boy. “Ah, there you are. I was wondering when the mask would drop.” He glances at his watch. “I’m rather impressed with myself. I figured it would take an hour.”

My fight or flight response instantly quickens, only I’ve never been much of a fighter. I set my drink down carefully and stand. My voice is almost steady as I say, “I’m sorry, this was a mistake. Please don’t let my behavior affect your decision tomorrow. Jeremy is an excellent candidate.”

“Sit down, Thea,” says Alex sternly. He isn’t smiling anymore—quite the opposite. His expression is positively glacial.

I grab my clutch from the bench. “I have to go.”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs. “Don’t run from me.”

Opened wide by his words, I’m suddenly full of jagged edges and weeping wounds. “You don’t understand,” I whisper, panicked. “I can’t do this.”

He stands and I move too slowly—his arm snakes around my waist. His fingers splay on my lower back, not so much embracing me as holding me still.

“Can’t do what?” he asks, his mouth close to mine. Too close. I can feel his breath on my lips. “What are you afraid of?”

I push against his hard chest. After several pointless tries, I grab his lapels and exhale laughter. It’s not a pretty sound. “Alexander Hughes,” I say, shaking my head helplessly. “You’re so used getting whatever you want. Well, Mr. Hughes, you can’t have me.”

“Again, I disagree,” he says, low and heated. His arm gently flexes, pulling me flush against him. I gasp as evidence of his arousal presses against my stomach. He is fire and unrelieved heat, the center of the sun.

“Please,” I whisper, but have no idea what I’m asking for.

“I want you,” he murmurs in the same, raw tone. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw that photograph. And I know very well the attraction is mutual. We’re adults—I don’t see what the problem is.”

Searing, ugly feelings lance through me. I am no longer hot but cold. Very cold. I’m disgusted with myself and with him. I hiss, “Take your hands off me or I’ll scream.”

He stills. Dark clouds fill the space between us; sunlight dims. His arm drops away and I take a quick step back. I’m shaking, full of thunderstorms and self-loathing. I look at Alex and see Damien. I am not well.

“Goodbye, Thea,” he says tonelessly.

I flee.

Ten minutes later I’m home. At the sound of the door, Lillian jumps up from the couch. She takes one look at my face and turns whiter than the curtains behind her. The remote in her hand silences the television.

“Jesus, what did he do?”

“N-nothing,” I stammer. “I just—I blew it. He totally overwhelmed me. He tried… he tried to seduce me.”

Lillian crosses the room and takes me in her arms. I’m quite a bit taller, but she tucks herself into me with practiced ease. She is soft, safe, and warm. Her hand draws circles on my back. “It’s okay, Thebes. It’s okay.”

She’s the only person alive who knows how fucked up I am.

“Why couldn’t I just enjoy it?” I whisper into her hair. “A beautiful man showed interest in me. I insulted him, threatened him, and ran. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” she says fiercely. “You’ve been hurt viciously in the past by people who were supposed to love you no matter what. There’s something wrong with them. Not you.”

My mother. To some extent, my father. My sister, Tabitha.

Damien.

Lillian continues, “You felt vulnerable and it scared you. Alex Hughes is the wrong type of man to break your fast on. You need someone steady and stable, someone who will earn your trust before asking for your heart.”

I sigh. “He didn’t want my heart. Just my vagina.”

Lillian snorts. “I’m all for women’s lib and sexual freedom, but let’s be real. Even if we don’t think it’s happening, our hearts sit up and wag their tails when our vaginas are compromised.”

“God,” I moan, half-laughing.

She leans back to see my face. “You’re so strong, Thebes. Any other woman would be hysterically crying right now.”

I blink my dry eyes, smirking. “Crying is for sissies.” We both know I haven’t cried since Damien left.

She squeezes my arms. “That’s my girl. Now come watch trashy television with me. I’ll feed you Ben and Jerry’s.”