Thursdays were Patrick’s least favorite day.

It wasn’t only because they were usually crammed full with meetings. A conference call at eight a.m. with the Rio de Janeiro and Dubai offices. A midmorning video chat with the London and Vancouver branches, then a planning session with his team to review their presentation for Friday’s bimonthly Global Sales and Marketing meeting. A board meeting rounded off his day at four. That all sucked, but those weren’t the only reasons.

It was because every Thursday at two, he had a late lunch with his mother.

Always at two. Always at the same place, a French restaurant on Boylston, right after her AA meeting. It was a ritual they’d started after he’d marched her into her first meeting and stood guard outside until she was out. Lunch at La Lutte was a bribe in exchange for good behavior, to make sure she skipped the wine and went straight for the caviar.

She’d been sober for a decade, but things remained awkward. Not that they ever weren’t. For as long as he could remember, his mother was emotionally absent, his father physically so. She, at least, was there most of the time. The only memory he had of Reid at home was the banker’s lamp he read by when Patrick was a child, a green glass shade with a touch of old-world elegance. The warm glow stopped coming from his office when he stopped coming home much at all.

It hadn’t been hard for Patrick to figure out what was going on. Watching his father traipse into the house late at night with his clothes askew was clue number one. Watching how he interacted with his secretaries and other industry professionals on the occasions Patrick had to follow him around closed the deal. Reid was wealthy and powerful and bored with his wife, and went rampantly through women because he had the means to get away with it. So in theory, Patrick understood why his mother drank. In practice, a visceral, boyish feeling of abandonment remained, even all these years later. He cared what happened to her—only someone totally heartless would let their own mother become destitute. But he’d always felt she’d turned a blind eye to Reid’s cheating so she could remain in the lap of luxury, not so she could be there for her son. Whatever her reason, they’d never found a way to talk about it, and he’d come to dread the meals that were nothing more than perfunctory check-ins.

As he left his building, stepping into one of the company’s town cars, Patrick wished he and his mother were meeting someplace else for once. Because La Lutte was steps away from the bar where he’d kissed Cassie the other night.

Six days since he’d left her apartment, and he’d barely been able to think about anything else.

What happened with her was still a mystery. With other women, he talked to them first. Watched their mannerisms, asked them questions until he figured out what made them tick. He never went in cold with their desires a mystery.

But he’d been so wrapped up in what was happening with Cassie he’d forgotten his usual routine. He’d been spinning off being nasty and flirting, and it had followed straight through into her bed.

It was the only time he’d been “off script” in years, the only time he’d been driven by his own needs and hungers. He wasn’t detached, wasn’t filling a role so he could escape. He was one hundred percent present, focused and turned-on as fuck. And so was she. No matter how much she barked at him, he knew she liked it—the proof of her pleasure had doused his fingers. And her taunting had both turned him on and made him angry in a way he couldn’t explain.

He couldn’t explain any of it. He shouldn’t have liked the idea that she hadn’t been with anyone else lately, shouldn’t have felt that possessive urge he never felt for anyone. And he sure as hell shouldn’t want to have her again either.

Again was completely out of the question.

One night they could write off, but if they kept sleeping together, someone was going to get hurt. Besides, it didn’t matter if he wanted more, because she didn’t. She’d shown him the door before he’d even caught his breath.

It wasn’t his ego that had been affected. No, she’d pissed him off. Because after all those lectures from her about how he mistreated women, about what a pig he was and how they deserved more than a one-night stand, in the end, that was all Cassie had wanted with him.

She was such a fucking hypocrite.

He arrived at his destination, told the driver he’d call when he was done and went inside. Tightlipped and in her pearls as always, Blair Dunham sat at their usual table, her posture ramrod straight and looking as uncomfortable as Patrick felt.

“Afternoon, Mother.”

“Patrick.” She leaned over for a mechanical kiss on the cheek. Patrick sat across from her and nodded at the server who handed him a menu he’d practically memorized. “Business is going well?”

It was the only question she ever asked. Not about him or how he was doing, just inquiries about her louse of a dead husband’s empire. The one Patrick had been locked into whether he’d wanted in or not.

He never discussed that with her. She was still drinking when he’d had the choice thrust upon him. And talking about it now was pointless, since there was no way to change it.

“It’s going fine,” he said, though it wasn’t quite the truth.

Things weren’t bad, but they weren’t great, not the way they were before the golden age of bookstores ended and the dawn of Amazon began. Dunham and Strauss published imaginative literary fiction and nonfiction, coffee-table art books, textbooks, children’s books and long-forgotten out-of-print works. They had Pulitzer Prize-winning authors, sold as far as New Zealand and as close as the Harvard Co-Op, but it didn’t mean they’d be in good shape forever. That meant constantly figuring out new markets, finding uncharted and lucrative territories. The only tree they’d never tapped was foreign translations, but the way the industry changed, it wasn’t a tree to be barking up right now.

The maître d’ came by and shared the day’s specials. Patrick’s mother smiled, no doubt appreciating the distraction as much as he did. When they’d ordered, the silence settled once again, her ease melting away.

“How was your week?” he asked tersely.

“It was lovely. There was a fundraising event at the library—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She stiffened and studied her water goblet, her fingers pinching the thin stem. “It’s been years since you’ve had any reason to ask me that.”

It was years that he’d watched her finish a three-liter bottle of wine by herself when Reid had spent the night out philandering too. Years when she’d chosen a bottle over being a parent.

But she was right.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

He could sweet-talk nearly every woman in Massachusetts. Why was it impossible to talk to the woman who bore him?

“You were saying, about the library?”

She began talking again, and he listened, but the story was something to fill the time until they could eat and be on their way.

He was distracted, though, when a few women entered the restaurant chattering in Spanish. Patrick immediately tensed. He hadn’t been fluent in years, but he could pick out enough. The conversation was about nothing in particular, but simply hearing the language was enough to trigger him, a tripwire sending him spiraling into the past. Still, as painful as the memories bombarding him were, a few of the nicer ones surfaced. Ones that didn’t make him regret the year he’d spent working in Gustavo Perez’s bookstore in Asturias, Spain.

A widower with three children, Gustavo was looking for help and for someone to let the vacant room above the shop. Patrick’s knowledge of Spanish literature impressed him, and the older man took to Patrick quickly, trusting him in the store and often inviting him to his home for dinners. Patrick in turn had loved how welcoming the Perez family was. One night in their company, and they’d acted as if they’d known him forever. Gustavo’s sisters taught him how to dance, his sons taught Patrick fútbol. They’d spend hours talking around the dinner table, asking him his opinion on things. They even surprised him on his birthday with a huge fiesta of tapas and traditional almond tortes.

All Patrick had gotten from his own family since he was twelve was a card and a check.

No wonder he’d been so desperate for affection. It was probably why he’d been so foolish. So gullible. Why he’d worn his heart on his sleeve from the first moment he met Sofía, then had it stomped on and kicked out the door.

Sofía. Even thinking her name made him wince.

His mother didn’t notice. She was going on about the next charity auction, and Patrick hid his frustration with a chug of his water. Twenty years of his life had passed, and not once had she asked why he was forty-six and still single. Never questioned why, during every one of the lunches they’d had, he’d always shown up alone.

Not that Patrick wanted a wife and kids. He had no idea how to be a spouse or a parent, not after the stellar example she and Reid had given him.

The server arrived with their meals. They got through lunch in near silence, parting ways with another mechanical kiss outside her taxi. There was an hour left before his next meeting, so Patrick walked for a few blocks before calling for the car. He needed to clear his head. Get some fresh air.

He needed to connect. With something resembling family.

Palming his phone as he walked, he went for Jack’s number, then remembered he’d be in class right now. Thumbing over his contacts, he called another number instead.

“Helios Industries, how can I help you?”

“Brady Archer, please.”

“Who should I say is calling?”

“Say it’s his other big brother.”

After a few seconds on hold, Brady picked up. “Patrick?”

“The one and only,” he replied. “Weren’t you supposed to call me a week ago? About that book idea for Sam?”

“Crap. I was. Sorry. Things are…tough lately.”

To ask or not to ask, that was the question. “Things at work, or things at home?”

A sigh preempted Brady’s response. “Home.”

Patrick frowned. Jack had been waiting for Brady to come to him, but that wasn’t happening. And he wasn’t the kid’s pseudo other brother for nothing.

“You want to talk about it?”

A beat of silence was his answer. Then, “No. Not right now, anyway.”

“Got it. I’m here if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.” Brady cleared his throat. “You joining in the festivities tomorrow night?”

Patrick reached the intersection of Boylston and Copely Square and looked around. Autumn was still a day away, and already the first breaths of yellow were visible on the tips of the trees. But New Englanders savored what remained of their sunny days, and students were milling around on the green. A young couple was stretched out on a blanket, kissing and laughing.

“What festivities?”

“Cassie and Lilly’s birthdays. Jack said we’re hitting a dance club Friday night. After the girls are done at Hard Wood.”

“The strip club?”

“Cassie’s idea. Nick and Gabe are going too. We’re meeting up with them after. Unless you feel like joining them for some Magic Mike action.”

“Not particularly.” Part of him wanted to go though, to stand in her face and stop her from ogling other men. To remind her she’d been practically ready to stick a single in his boxers last week before she’d shoved them down. It fueled his renewed resentment of her.

“So, meet at the dance club then? Sam said they should be done by ten.”

On the grass, the couple nuzzled one another. “Cassie invited me specifically?”

“Not specifically, but I assumed it was all of us.”

Nice. It was Cassie’s freaking birthday, and she didn’t care if he was there or not.

If she could move on so quickly, then so could he.

“The dance club sounds great. Shoot me the address when you know it. I’ll meet you there.”

He needed to cleanse his pallet. A new flavor, to get Cassie out of his system. And he was going to find one, right in front of her prissy, fresh-out-of-a-strip-club birthday-girl ass.

---

Patrick had only been to Pleasure a handful of times.

It was smack in the Theatre District, an upscale lounge where the über sexy gathered after dark for a mix of hip-hop, old-school rap, Latin and techno. The name matched the vibe, and real-life pleasure was what he planned on seeking when he left. The line to get in was down the street, but Patrick had been on the scene long enough to have connections. He bypassed the waiting people and shook the bouncer’s hand before slipping inside.

The crowd was packed with beautiful women. Sleek couches lined the dance floor, the track lights above it switching from blue to purple to orange along with the heavy beat. Patrick had an agenda tonight, one that involved talking to some of those beautiful women, but he needed to make an appearance with his friends first. He’d already arrived an hour later than everyone else.

Weaving through the crowd, he located Jack alone on a sofa, a table full of drinks and coatroom tickets in front of him, his gaze fixed on the writhing bodies in the middle of the room.

“Where’s Brady?” Patrick asked.

Jack nodded toward a corner of the room. “Talking to Sam.”

Patrick looked off to the side. The couple wasn’t talking. They were arguing. “I think you’re right about something going on there.”

“I agree. I’m bringing it up to him tomorrow.”

The words were there, but Jack’s eyes were still on the dance floor. Patrick followed the direction of his friend’s gaze until he found what Jack was watching: Lilly and Cassie, dancing and laughing and not wearing a whole lot of anything, aside from sashes with the words “birthday girl” printed on them.

Patrick took a step closer without realizing he was doing it. Cassie’s tight red dress was low cut. And backless. With tiny straps. And as some guy came up behind her and spun her around, Patrick got a glimpse of her matching red heels, ones with ribbon ties wrapped around her ankles and cinched in a bow.

“Holy shit.” Wait, had he said that out loud?

“I know.”

Okay, apparently, he had. If Jack thought anything of it, he didn’t say. He was too busy watching as the same guy that had twirled Cassie around reached for Lilly. She waved him off, dancing instead with her brother as her gaze met Jack’s. They seemed intrinsically aware of one another, an invisible line of heat or ownership or love or all three connecting them. Cassie, however, hadn’t so much as glanced Patrick’s way. That guy hovered over her again, and it was almost embarrassing to watch. He couldn’t dance for shit. Patrick wanted to give him credit for trying, but seeing his hands on Cassie’s hips as she moved perfectly to the beat sent an aberrant and fierce wave of jealousy through him.

Jealous. He never got fucking jealous.

Cassie Allbright, finding new ways to piss him off since 2018.

He should go out on the dance floor. Find his own partner to get sweaty with. But Patrick was unable to focus on anyone other than Cassie. If he’d thought she was attractive before, now he couldn’t stand to be within ten feet of her without wanting to tear her apart. Not since he’d tasted her kiss, felt her skin, seen the color of her nipples and heard the noises she made when she came.

The song ended, and Jack crooked a finger, motioning Lilly toward him. She bounded across the floor and up the steps to where the couches were. Jack pointed to the empty spot beside him, and Lilly quickly sat, going a bit limp as he kissed her.

It was a kiss of possession, and for the first time, Patrick was envious of what they had.

“All right, little girl,” Jack said. “Time to take you home.”

Lilly stood, removing her sash. Jack picked a coatroom ticket from the table as she scampered out to say good night to the others.

He glanced up at Patrick. “You found your next conquest?”

Patrick tried not to look at Cassie, but it was too late. She was already headed their way. “Not exactly.”

“Well, have fun.”

Brady and Sam joined the group as well, saying their goodbyes along with Jack and Lilly. A chorus of happy birthdays were exchanged before they made their way out. Patrick shook hands with Nick and Gabe as Cassie dropped onto the sofa.

“That was fun,” she said.

“Sure was,” Gabe replied. “But I think the two of us are going to call it a night as well.”

“Awww, you guys too? It’s not even midnight.”

“And Nick and I are turning into pumpkins soon. You’ll be okay if we head out?”

Cassie spread her arms along the back of the couch. “Oh, don’t you worry. I’m a big girl. I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone to keep me company.”

Someone, huh? She crossed her legs, showing off more skin than Patrick could handle, but she’d yet to acknowledge him. And he was just…standing there.

Gabe kissed her cheek, and Nick followed suit. “Get home safe, honey.”

“Thanks for a fun night,” Cassie called out as they walked off. She reached for a glass of water and brought it to her lips, still avoiding eye contact. Patrick could’ve walked away, but if she was acting this rude, he might as well pick a fight with her in return.

“Enjoying your birthday?” His question wasn’t really picking a fight, but at least he sounded flippant as all fuck when he asked it.

“It’s actually tomorrow, but yes, I’ve enjoyed the night.” She glanced up at him. “The strip club was especially enjoyable.”

“I’ll bet. Did you get your money’s worth?”

“Oh, yeah.” She toyed with her straw. Watching her fingers had him recalling her touch with perfect accuracy.

His cock remembered it too. Goddamn it, he was hard just being near her now.

“So.” She lifted an eyebrow. “No new concubine thrown over your shoulder? Are you losing your touch?”

She looked both condescending and incredibly hot in the same breath. “I’m not losing anything. My night hasn’t even begun.”

She swung one foot out, rocking her leg suggestively. “And what makes you sure anyone here is interested?”

She was interested. He could tell from her body language, from the way her eyes were flashing, color rising on her cheeks. Even the way she was showing off those shoes was a sign she wanted him. She might’ve been combating him with words, but there was a fire behind their banter now, and after all, this was what they did. Their fighting was foreplay.

Patrick got as close as he dared. “I’m sure at least one person is interested.”

She grinned, full and wide. “Why don’t we find out.” Cassie uncrossed her legs, sat up and put her drink down. “Go ahead. Try your game on me.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You want me to seduce you?”

She shrugged. “If you can.”

Patrick’s body reacted even more, adrenaline rushing through him. Maybe she was bluffing, but if not, she was throwing the one-time thing out the window. And he’d never wanted a second time with a woman so badly.

He sat beside her and held out a hand.

“Hi, I’m Patrick. Can I buy you a drink?”