Hey, Dad.” Cassie bowed her head against a blast of wind. “You busy?”

“Not for you. What’s up?”

She started to answer, then blinked against another gust. A week before Thanksgiving and already it felt like the dead of winter. Her office building’s doorway was shielded from the blustery chill, but once she’d made her way down Congress Street and onto the busy intersection with Exchange, she needed to hold on to her non-proverbial hat. At least this weather gave her an excuse to wear her favorite Alexander McQueen boots.

Not that she needed one.

“Okay, great. I needed to ask you something. Well, tell you something, really.”

“Hit me.”

“I’m bringing someone home next week. For Elísa’s wedding.”

“And you’re telling me this because…”

“Because I know it’s last minute and I wanted to make sure I could bring a guest.”

Cassie turned a corner, hoping he would buy the lie. She knew better than anyone that Flóres family members were known to show up at events with one, two, or even five extra guests. She’d had cousins from out of town sitting on one another’s laps at her own quinceañera. But she was dodging her mother, hoping to avoid the Cuban Inquisition and have her father relay the news.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll let your mother know. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it. I would’ve called earlier about it but things have been crazy at work.”

“Crazy in a good way? We’re getting closer to the partner offer, right?”

Another exhalation. Her father never dismissed her goals and aspirations the way her mother did. Or at least, he never held up marriage and children and asked her why she was the only one of his children on Latin Time as far as that was concerned.

“If I can close this one matter I’m working on, I should make it before the year ends.”

And that was easier said than done. Despite the sale of Hudson’s building and a slew of new authors signing on, it hadn’t been enough to get him out of debt. Bruce and Reynash had agreed to allow him to pay what remained of his debts to them over future profits, as long as he was able to find another investor to bring him into the black. She’d been so busy balancing his neediness among her other clients, she’d barely seen Patrick, let alone gone to the gym or left the office at all over the last several weeks. She’d also had a follow-up call from her friend at Legal Aid, which had sucked. She hated turning the cases down, but she simply didn’t have the time.

Helping Boston’s impoverished wasn’t possible at the moment. She was too busy helping a filthy rich person who’d overspent his money make more of it, so her rich bosses could get richer.

It made her sick, but this was how it was in corporate law. Soon she’d be finished with this case, and would be able to call herself partner. Then she could do things differently.

“That’s great, Pumpkin. I’m super proud of you.”

She smiled at her father’s pet name for her, and his adverb of choice. His expression of affection might’ve been different from her mother’s Spanish ones, but “super” was Miami regional slang, similar to Boston’s “wicked.” It made her miss him, miss home in that familiar, complex way that left her longing and confused.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“So, this guy. Is it serious?”

Cassie’s neck tensed at the question. “No. I mean. I like him, but it’s not serious.”

It was the best she could do. After all, there was no way she was telling her father they had an arrangement involving lots of kinky sex, and that she was bringing him home to shield her from her mom.

“Well I’m looking forward to meeting him either way,” her father said. “Te amo.”

Why was everything always easier talking to him? “Love you too. See you next week.”

She reached Faneuil Hall Marketplace and ducked inside. The indoor shopping area was both a respite from the cold, and home to the bakery she’d been headed toward. She wanted something delicious to sweeten both the good and bad news she had to deliver to Patrick.

She was about to get in line when a high-pitched shriek came from a table behind her. Startled, she turned around and caught a flash of red hair. It was Samantha, yanking a lock of her younger daughter’s hair out of the fist of her elder daughter’s.

“Allegra, stop it.” Sam’s words came out around clenched teeth, her usual calm demeanor swapped for wild eyes and what looked like an about-to-snap patience.

Cassie stepped over to them. “Hey there.”

Sam glanced quickly over her shoulder. “Oh, hi Cassie.” She picked up her purse and fished out a few dollar bills. “Here. Both of you go and pick out something to bring home for Daddy.”

Her daughters pushed out their chairs and sprinted toward the bakery line.

“And stay where I can see you,” Sam called after them, then slumped into a chair.

Cassie took one of the girls’ abandoned seats. “Tired?”

“You have no idea. I need these two off school for two days next week like I need a hole in the—” Her expression morphed into anger. She shot up in her seat. “Allegra Mackenzie Archer!”

Cassie had no idea what was happening behind her, but she had a feeling it was best not to look. Geez, there was no better birth control than watching your friend’s kids misbehave.

Samantha resumed her slouch. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. I’m sorry you’re stressed.”

“Part of the package when you’re a stay-at-home mom and one of your kids is adjusting to her new ADHD meds.” She reached for her coffee and took a sip. “So when are you gonna fess up about you and Patrick?”

Cassie froze. “You knew?”

“I figured it out at the Lit Crawl. You two couldn’t have looked more smitten.” Sam smiled behind her cup. “I figured it out about Jack and Lilly too, ages before they told us.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I’m me,” she said simply. “I’m a very good observer, but it wasn’t hard to pick up. It was written all over her face. And her collar.”

Cassie stared at her friend, stunned. “You knew…that?”

“I know what BDSM is. I’m a mom, not a nun. Although with how little Brady and I have been having sex, I might as well be.”

Cassie made a face, not knowing what to say. She hadn’t gotten far enough into a relationship to see the sex dwindle, but she could imagine if she and Patrick got that way, it would be the end of them.

“You still haven’t confirmed,” Sam teased.

“That Patrick and I are a thing?”

“Yes.”

It was probably too late to deny it. “Yeah. We’re a thing. But it’s no big deal. It’s just—” her neck tensed again, “—sex.”

Why was she having so much trouble saying that?

“Whatever. I’m not judging.” There was a glimmer in Sam’s eye. “Glad he’s not still being a dick.”

“Well, he still is sometimes, but I like it.”

Sam’s grin grew wider. “Ohh, that’s the way you two roll. Interesting.”

Her daughters returned with a box. Allegra placed it on the table. “We got Daddy a donut,” she said, then turned to Cassie. “You work with Aunt Lilly.”

They called Lilly their aunt now? “Yes I—”

“Hey! I wanted that.”

Cassie sat back, trying to stay out of the way as Hope picked up the donut box and Allegra tried to yank it from her sister’s hand. Sam stood to intervene, but then Hope held out the box in her tiny hand.

“I was holding it for you,” she said to her sister. “I want you to give it to Daddy.”

Something painful shoved at Cassie’s heart.

“That was nice of you, Hope,” Sam said. “I think it’s time to go home.”

She reached for the girls’ coats, getting them situated as she turned back to Cassie. “How’s work going, by the way?”

“Okay.” She watched Allegra help Hope with her gloves. “Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m doing anything worthwhile.”

“You mean case-wise?”

Sure. That was what she meant.

She’d avoided thinking about her current childbearing situation, too busy with work to think about it much. And when she did, she still didn’t feel it was the right choice for her. But now, watching Sam’s daughters sweetly hold hands while they waited for their mother to be ready…

God, ambivalence was a bitch.

“Yeah, work isn’t rewarding at the moment.”

“When was the last time it was?”

Legal Aid had been a mix, satisfying because of the civil cases she worked for low-income families, but grueling because of the pay. She couldn’t remember a time when working for the firm had been rewarding in any way that wasn’t paying off her loans, or getting her closer to her goal.

“Working for the justice, maybe? It was exciting, but I was a clerk. I didn’t have any real clout.”

“Ever think of going back there?”

“And give up everything I’ve spent the last decade working toward?” Cassie shook her head.

Sam put on her coat and shrugged. “If that’s what you want. But if you want to change the world, you’ve gotta be on the ground level. Laws change the world. Not lawyers.” She gave Cassie a hug. “Something to think about.”

As if she didn’t have enough on her plate. “Thanks. I’ve gotta run too.”

Once she’d picked up what she came for, Cassie took a taxi to Patrick’s office. He had a work event that night but wasn’t leaving yet, and she’d wanted to surprise him.

The car pulled up in front of a towering building near the water. The postmodern high-rise was a mix of granite, gold and glass, reaching far into the sky. Inside the gleaming rotating doors was a long, ornate atrium. The lobby’s gleaming marble floors were framed by bushes and plants. A fountain was at the base of the far wall, a piece of artwork the size of a billboard above it.

And she’d thought the outside was swanky.

The reception desk was manned by several people, and above them sat a large gilded painting of two men. One she didn’t recognize, but he had to be Strauss because the other was an older, more hardened version of Patrick. Same dark hair, same sharp green eyes, caught perfectly by the artist’s rendition, except now she knew his history and could see the meanness in his expression.

A likeness of Patrick should’ve been somewhere too, but it was strangely absent.

She could see him turning down an offer of a portrait, though. He never wanted to work here. He would’ve given it all up to stay in Spain for love. Would’ve walked away from his family’s empire entirely, if it weren’t for his duty to his mother. She’d thought he was like Hudson—arrogant, wealthy, no shame when it came to his treatment of women. But the two of them were nothing alike, nothing at all. Aside from them both being Princeton men—a weird connection she hadn’t made until now—they were entirely different. She couldn’t even imagine Patrick being friends with someone like Hudson.

What a different man he’d turned out to be.

She walked up to one of the receptionists. “Hi, I’m here to see Patrick Dunham.”

The young man looked up at her. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” Hadn’t thought about that part.

“Do you…know Mr. Dunham?”

Biblically. “I do. My name is Cassie Allbright. Could you let him know I’m here?”

He did, talking quietly into his headset. His brows lifted as he looked up at her. “You can head on up. Thirtieth floor.”

Her heart pounded strangely as she rode the elevator. When she reached the executive level, a smiling young woman led her down a long hallway to Patrick’s office. It was a large space, but furnished simply other than the massive wall of books behind him. He was on the phone, looking unbelievably dapper in a crisp black suit. Cinched at the waist, the cut only accentuated the broadness of his shoulders and the power in his arms. She’d bet it was imported Italian wool and expensive as shit, but she wouldn’t have minded wrestling it off him if she wasn’t in the state she was in.

He hung up the phone and walked toward her, closing the door behind them. “Hey. This is a surprise.”

“I know. Hope that’s okay. I had something I wanted to tell you, and—” she held the box up, “—I brought treats.”

“You’re the only treat I’m interested in.” He nudged her coat open, thumbs brushing over her hips. One kiss to her neck had her shivering. Stupid, stupid cycle. “But whatever it is, it smells amazing.”

They sat down together, and she untied the string securing the box. “It’s a preview of the sugar and carb-fest we’ll be having in Miami next week: fried dough nuggets and cinnamon churros.”

He took a bite and closed his eyes. “Goddamn. That tastes almost as sweet as you do.” His gaze swept over her again as his grin grew fiendish. “I wonder what it would be like to combine the two.”

“Wish I could.”

“Some reason you can’t? That door locks.”

Time to share Exhibit A. “I have my period, which is good and bad news. Bad because I’m physically out of commission for the next week.”

“Bummer. I’d looked forward to eating you out on my desk.”

He lapped at the powdered sugar his last bite had left behind on his upper lip. Cassie groaned at the sight of his tongue.

“What’s the good news?” he asked.

“The good news is, when it’s over, we won’t need condoms anymore.”

“We won’t?”

“Nope. I started the pill a month ago. Been through a full cycle on it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?”

“Surprise,” she said. “I wanted to wait until I’d gone through a whole pack and saw the placebo pills worked. They do, so I think we’re good to go.”

“I guess I won’t need the mega box of Trojans I bought for the trip.”

She giggled. “No. But we probably shouldn’t hang out this weekend. I’m gonna be cranky as hell, and not the best company. It’s best to leave me to my heat pack and container of gelato.”

“Uh-huh. And what flavor will I be bringing over later?”

She couldn’t stop her wide smile. “Caramel.”

“Done.” His phone buzzed with an alarm. “Crap. I’ve gotta get going.”

“That’s okay. I need to get home. I have to start working on my maid-of-honor speech.”

“Nothing like waiting till the last minute, huh?”

“Hey, my sister’s worse than I am. She only picked out bridesmaid dresses a few weeks ago. I finally had it fitted this week.”

They finished the last bites of their snack, stood and gathered their things. Patrick buttoned his suit jacket closed. “What’s this dress going to look like?”

“Black lace. Floor length and sleeveless.”

“Nice. You bought shoes for it yet?”

She laughed. “I assume that means you’ve noticed my shoe obsession.”

“I have.” His eyes sparkled in the last remainders of daylight streaming in through his windows. “What’s the deal with that?”

“My shoe fetish?”

He grunted. “Don’t say fetish.”

Cassie slipped her fingers beneath his lapels. God, she’d miss this flirting when their understanding came to an end—the brief, passing company of this delicious and powerful man.

“I’ll never be a size two, but shoes I will always fit into. And they make me feel sexy and confident.”

“You’re confident and sexy regardless of what’s on your feet.” He skimmed his nose along her neck. “What’s your shoe size?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Why do you think?”

She slipped backward. She should’ve said no—she wasn’t comfortable with him buying her anything more than the hotel room she’d agreed to—but she couldn’t stop herself. “I hope you’re not planning on buying me glass slippers, my friend. I’m no Cinderella.”

“And I’m no Prince Charming. But I like fucking you in fancy shoes.”

“That’s a deal I can’t pass up.” Cassie kissed him. “Size seven. See you later tonight.”