Yet another stack of fliers almost done. I sigh, pushing my hair back off my forehead and step back to look at my work. Multi-colored pieces of paper line the walls of the 59th and Lex station, yet hardly anyone is paying attention. This is the third train stop I’ve canvased today, and I’m starting to feel like the effort is futile.

Fucking Finn Turner.

Thinks he’s a damn king and can do whatever he wants. Well, not if I have anything to say about it. And with any luck, the citizens of New York.

I mean, who the hell thinks they can just shut down the whole MTA? Seriously. He’s got to be the biggest narcissist ever. Spinning around, I catch a flash of reddish-brown hair sticking out above the crowd as the 6 Train pulls into the station, the speeding cars kicking up a breeze that scatters some of the fliers I’ve just worked so hard to tack to the wall in protest.

No way. My eyes narrow as I follow the tall man weaving his way through the crowd of morning commuters.

The man himself, the one I’ve basically declared my mortal enemy, is actually lowering himself to join the masses on the subway? I wouldn’t believe it if he wasn’t standing right there.

But yep. He turns around, and I see him straight on. Definitely Finn.

Grinding my teeth, I stride across the terminal, one goal at the front of my mind—to give him a piece of it.

But the crowd surges forward onto the waiting cars, and for a minute I lose sight of him. I push my way forward when I catch another glimpse of him, determined to get on that train.

I make it inside just as the doors start to slide shut. Scanning the crowded car, I spot him back and to the right.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, elbowing my way throw the tight space, ignoring the glares and grumbles passengers toss my way. I couldn’t care less what they say.

Then I’m there in front of him. Not knowing what to say. A little taken aback by the intimidating presence before. He’s way more captivating in the flesh. Not nearly as steely as the images I’ve seen in the media. But just as forbidding. Commanding. Sucking up all the air around him in a way that dominates everyone and everything around him.

Cocky bastard.

Steeling myself against the totally unexpected way my breath catches and my stomach flips, I thrust the rest of the fliers I’m holding up into his face.

“You think you’re going to get away with this?” I demand.

He arches a brow, cool and calm and oh-so-arrogant. I want to wipe the smugness right of his perfect face. Almost as much as I want to kiss it.

What the hell? I shove that aside, not sure where it came from. This man in his fancy designer suit and over-priced haircut, flashing perfect white teeth at me, is not going to deter me.

“You’re not,” I seethe. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Finn chuckles, a low rumble working its way through me in a way I don’t like in the least. He takes a flier from me and studies it, then his eyes meet mine, suddenly full of anger as he jabs his finger at the words. “You’re responsible for this?”

I smile humorlessly, glad that I have, in fact, wiped that smirk right off his lips. Lips that are now curved in a sneer. “Yep. That campaign right there is headed by yours truly.”

“Avery Samuels,” he says, and I don’t like the way my name rolls off his tongue at all. As if he loathes me. Well, buddy, the feeling is mutual.

I jut my chin out. “That’s me.”

His voice drops, so low and menacing. “You need to keep your nose out of my business if you know what’s good for you.”

Is he freaking kidding me? I bite out a laugh. “Threatening me, Mr. Turner? Sorry, but it’s not going to work. There is no way in hell you’re going to get away with shutting down the entire MTA.”

He smirks again, but I see the anger in his eyes. “Just try to stop me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” I retort, snatching the flier back from him. “And I will succeed.”

“You have no idea who you’re messing with, baby.” His voice is still low. Strained. That’s when I realize I’ve been yelling and everyone on the train is casting curious glances our way.

I raise my voice, looking around. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Mr. Finn Turner. The very man who wants to shut down the MTA and bring New York as you know it to a grinding halt.”

Dramatic? Maybe. But it’s effective because now everyone is staring at us, anger in many of the eyes I see.

Finn grabs me by the shoulders, leaning down until I can feel his breath mingling with mine. “Don’t do this, Avery.”

Again that flutter in my stomach. A race of chills down my spine. And not from fear. From the pure power of this man’s overwhelming presence, his voice and touch inciting a battle of conflicting feelings within me.

I gasp. How is he making me feel this way? I hate him. Like, really, truly hate him. He wants to singlehandedly destroy the infrastructure that makes my city thrive. Yet I can’t deny it. The pull I feel toward him is powerful and unexpected.

As if he could totally turn my world upside down in the very best way.

It infuriates me. “Oh, I’m going to do it. I’ll stop you, Mr. Turner if it’s the last thing I do.”

Like I said, dramatic. I may have a flair for it.

He clenches his jaw, the muscle jumping as he continues to hold my arms. The train screeches to a stop, and he releases me abruptly, leaving me feeling strangely lost when he whirls and strides toward the door, bumping into a couple standing near it and sloshing the woman’s coffee all over her companion.

A frustrated grunt rips from my throat as he just waltzes off the train like he doesn’t have a care in the world. No consideration for the destruction he leaves in his wake.

“Asshole,” I mutter, folding my arms over my chest, not liking the way it tightens one little bit.