The Kadiatu Suites was a swank, modern hotel, all polished white marble and champagne silk drapes. The lush carpet swallowed all sound until the noise of the crowd was barely a genteel murmur and the light clink of glasses. Oil paintings from European countries with names I couldn’t pronounce shared space on the walls with classic African tribal art, and waiters in tuxedos that most doctors couldn’t afford swanned elegantly through all the salons and lounges with their high-vaulted ceilings, offering chocolate-dipped strawberries, ladyfingers, miniature cups of tiramisu, and tiny custard tarts topped with blueberries, blackberries, and a butterscotch drizzle. It was all a welcome change from the gorgeous but admittedly rustic beauty of Hunter Knox’s plantation, and under normal circumstances, I would have been busy soaking up all the glamour like a leafy tree in the sun.

But somehow, none of this could make up for the company I was having to keep.

“It is lovely, isn’t it?” Chuck said at my shoulder. “I could almost believe we’re someplace civilized. How soon ‘til you think someone pulls out a rifle and shoots the chandelier?”

I smiled as pleasantly as I could and changed the subject. “What a nice tuxedo you have. Tell me, do you and Hunter have the same tailor?”

“Clothes, clothes, clothes,” Chad said with an eye-roll, lounging against the nearby table with the rest of his Douchebro posse. Unbelievably, they had all decided that it was completely kosher to keep their collars popped at a formal event. “Ladies be shoppin’, am I right, Chuck?”

Chuck gave a little derisive laugh. “Oh, gentlemen, let’s let the lady have her fun.” He turned his patronizing gaze on me. “Why don’t you tell us all about your little outfit? Was it very expensive? Or was it a gift from…a special friend?”

The Douchebros snickered. My smile was starting to get painful. By the end of the night I might need to have it surgically removed with a chisel.

I was doing my best to stay on Chuck’s good side, at least until the results from my ad campaign were in, and that meant doing my best to smile at his jokes and ignore the Douchebros. I only had to make nice until they were distracted by some passing starlet’s tits, and then I could get back to my main mission: Operation Charm. Target? The members of the board.

I’d already chatted to Mrs. Aaronovitch about her dog-breeding program, promised to speak to a Yale admissions officer for Mr. Stiefvater’s son with the low grades but promising extracurricular set, and chatted about volunteering for one of Ms. McGuire’s pet causes, alligator conservation.

And then I had carefully guided the all those conversations toward the wonderful job I thought Hunter was doing with the company, and the exciting future of Knox Liquors once my ads had hit the world. And if you think it’s easy to guide a conversation from the rate of dental decay in captive alligators gathered from the Everglades, to the future of a bourbon company, you are sadly mistaken.

But it would all be worth it, once I had proven myself.

I surveyed the crowd for my next target and spotted Ben Minister, a portly gentleman of fifty with a walrus mustache, a spotless silver suit, and twinkly green eyes. I quickly reviewed my knowledge of him: used to breed Greyhounds, tended to vote moderate candidates, had spearheaded a clean-up of the local pond after two small children caught sicknesses swimming there.

“Mr. Minister!” I flashed him the winning smile that had disposed teachers kindly toward me since kindergarten. “Will you join us? I was hoping to get some news from the horse’s mouth on how the Margaret Lake clean-up is progressing.”

“Certainly, certainly,” he said, his voice like a finely oiled piece of old mahogany that had only just begun to crack and creak in the humid Southern air. “You’re that young lady down from D.C., aren’t you? What do you think of us barbarians down here in the jungle?”

“I think it’s beautiful down here,” I insisted passionately, and I wasn’t even acting. I couldn’t have lied about something like this. “The forests, the hills—even the light over the swamps. Sometimes I watch the sun going down over the lake at Hunter’s plantation—”

“Bet that’s not the only thing ‘going down’ at Hunter’s plantation,” one of the Douchebros muttered. The rest of the posse snickered and high-fived him.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Minister said in a tone that could have formed frost on palm leaves. “What did you just say?”

That’s right, boys. Never impugn a lady’s honor in front of an old-fashioned Southern gentleman.

But Chuck pulled together a fairly innocent look, and let his down-home accent that he usually worked so hard to conceal seep back into his voice. “Oh, nothing, sir. We were just hoping that Ally here was about to share what she’s been working on all this time at the Knox place. She’s been spending so much time on it, and we purely hope it’s something we can help her out on.”

Help yourself to the credit for, you mean, I thought.

“Yeah, Ally,” one of newest Douchebros, Seth, piped up. “Let’s hear all about this great new rebrand.”

Ben Minister raised his brows. “I admit I am rather intrigued myself. Hunter has been playing things quite close to his vest.”

“Well, I don’t want to spoil the big reveal for him,” I hedged. “He’s put so much work into unveiling it at the anniversary party; I couldn’t go and steal his thunder like that.”

“Understandable, completely understandable,” Mr. Minister agreed. “But surely you could give us a few hints…?”

And damn, I couldn’t refuse, not without looking like a flake who hadn’t been doing any real work. I had to tell him something at least a little bit concrete, even though I could see the Douchebros practically salivating, eager to get their grimy paws on my concepts.

“Well,” I began hesitantly, “it’s focusing on a lot of the history of the product. We’ve been collecting some oral histories from local sources—”

“Booo-ring!” Chad said with an eye roll that made me concerned for the strain on his facial muscles. “The only oral sources the American public wants are a hot blonde in a—”

Chuck discreetly elbowed him in the ribs.

“I think what my colleague is saying,” he went on smoothly, “is that while Miss Bartlett’s plan is certainly noble, it is also untried. Whereas his own marketing strategy has been the basis for every successful ad campaign since the advent of behaviorism and Dr. Skinner. New ideas are enticing, of course, but a man of your commitments—so noble, by the way, I was so pleased to see someone standing up for his community—a man of your sizeable commitments can hardly afford to take on such a risk when a tried and true method presents itself as an alternative.”

Minister looked back and forth between Chad and Chuck, filled with distaste for the former, and wavering towards the reasonable-sounding words of the latter. He had almost forgotten I existed. Now would be the perfect time to remind him.

“If by ‘tried and true,’ you mean ‘tired,’ then sure. Strategies don’t work perfectly forever. The numbers already show the American public is getting tired of being talked down to. In fact—”

And then I saw Hunter and Paige, and I forgot what words were.

Paige was looking evanescently beautiful in a gauzy princess gown of pale peach pink, her tresses swept up into something out of a Cinderella storybook. Her smile lit the room.

And Hunter…

A black tuxedo hugged every muscled inch of his body, a deep red tie and pocket square flashing like blood against it. His shirt was golden in a way that brought out the feral energy of his eyes. That barely contained energy was in his movements too, quick, sharp, a predator on the prowl. A grin lifted his lips, the light glinting off his teeth.

His hand was resting possessively, as if its placement were perfectly natural, on the small of my sister’s back.

“Excuse me?” Ben Minister’s voice intruded through my haze. “Miss Bartlett? Are you quite all right?”

“Well, she was trying to do math,” Chad said, “probably strained something. You know lady brains can’t handle that stuff.”

Mr. Minister’s lips thinned, and Chuck looked as though he would murder his current ally if there were fewer witnesses. It was probably easier to be business partners with sexist pieces of shit when they were less obvious, but Chuck had the tools he had.

“Sorry, I thought I saw someone I knew for a minute there,” I said with a bright smile, forcing my attention back onto the battle at hand. And at least this was a battle that I knew could be won. “I think you’ll find I know my mathematics quite well. In fact, if we look at sales figures for liquor companies for the past three decades—”

I very determinedly kept my eyes on the board member, and not on the rest of the party, as I resumed my attack on the Douchebros’ allegations. I very determinedly resisted scanning the crowd, or listening for the sound of familiar footsteps.

I may have lost a lot of things recently, but I was not going to lose this man’s vote.

* * *

“Ah, Ally, there you are! We’ve been looking all over for you!”

Damn, damn, and triple damn. After all my efforts to avoid them all evening, ducking and dodging and assiduously avoiding eye contact so that we ended up on opposite sides of the room, my sister and her boyfriend/my hook-up/my client had still managed to track me down like a pair of socially awkward bloodhounds.

Dammit, if only I didn’t have to stump so hard for Hunter and my plan tonight. I could have hidden in the kitchen, drowning my sorrows in champagne and savory canapés.

I gave what I hoped was a convincing imitation of a smile. “Ah, hey guys. How’s it going?”

Hunter made some noises that were probably words saying that it was going great, or poorly, or that everything had exploded. I couldn’t tell, because my eyes were too busy watching the way his arm curled possessively around Paige’s waist, pulling her as close as physically possible, the way Paige was leaning into him, two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly…

“—and that’s basically the long and the short of it,” he finished.

“Oh,” I said. “That’s interesting.”

Paige’s face was concerned. “Are you all right, Ally? You’ve been on your feet for hours now, are you sure you’re not getting tired? You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine!” I said, tossing off a laugh to prove just how fine I was. “Just need to refuel.”

I snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and tossed it back, barely tasting the cloying, bubbly sweetness I usually hated.

Hunter snagged a couple of glasses as well, and offered one of them to Paige.

She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not a fan. The bubbles go right up my nose.”

Hunter gave her a dazed little grin and bopped her on the nose with his finger. “That is just too adorable.”

Paige giggled.

Meanwhile, I felt like I might explode. Did I say might? Would. Definitely would. Explosion imminent, self-destructing countdown commencing, and I was powerless to stop it.

“Well,” Hunter said, still wearing that stupid love-struck smile, “let’s go find something that won’t bubble up that little button nose of yours. I think I saw a nice Merlot earlier…”

“My favorite!” Paige said happily. She turned to me. “Ally, I wouldn’t abandon you but I know you’ll do your work so much better without us around to chat with you. We’ll catch you later, and try not to work too hard, okay? Have a little fun!”

“Sure, sure,” I said, waving them off. The second they were out of sight, I grabbed another champagne from a passing waiter who looked so fancy that anywhere else he’d have people waiting on him like royalty.

I was still seething and unbalanced, but I forced myself to sip this glass a little more slowly. I had to be smart about this. I couldn’t get drunk tonight. So I had to make this one last. See, I was feeling calmer and more in control already.

I’d just sip this champagne until I felt like I could head back out into the fray, and then—

“Was that Hunter Knox?”

The cultured voice, vowels sliding from Virginia nobility straight into British aristocracy, was so close that for a second I thought the woman was speaking to me, but then I realized that I was close enough to a circle of wealthy society women to overhear their conversation. Maybe there would be an in for me to chat up the company?

I turned my back to them while subtly edging closer, pretending to be interested solely in the contents of my glass and the handsome oil painting to my right.

“Indeed it is,” another voice, sounding equally made of money, responded. A mischievous tone crept in. “And isn’t he looking handsome! Why, if I were forty years younger…”

This was met with a series of polite chuckles and murmurs. “Oh, behave yourself, Ethel!”

There was a sigh, presumably from Ethel. “Well, if I had to lose out to the younger generation, at least it’s to a nice young girl like that. Who’s her family?”

My heart started, and I edged still closer, my dress almost brushing against the tuxedo of the waiter serving them miniature crab cakes.

Some hushed conversation that I couldn’t quite make out followed, and then, “the Bartletts, I believe…”

“Haven’t heard of them,” said yet another voice, one full of the creaking iron of an old battleship. Her tone turned musing. “Still, seems they’ve raised her right. I asked after her earlier and she’s so polite, so feminine, not like those young hussies you get nowadays.”

This was greeted with general sounds of agreement, then the original speaker’s voice rose over the others loud and clear. “Yes, those modern girls can intrigue a man for a time, catch his eye with their wild ways, but if a man of the world like Hunter Knox decides to settle down, you can bet it’ll be with a sweet old-fashioned girl like that one.”

My hand was trembling on the champagne flute.

My mother, lips pursed, shaking her head at me as she tossed my goth-style prom picture into the garbage can before sliding Paige’s pink princess one into a golden frame, to hang on the wall—

My high school boyfriend the night I brought him home for dinner, taking one look at Paige and instantly forgetting I was there, his hand dropping from mine as his mouth fell open—

Walking past the teacher’s lounge and overhearing my favorite art teacher: “Well, of course Ally’s got some raw talent, but nothing compared to what Paige—”

Somehow my champagne glass had become empty. I walked away as quickly as I could to keep from overhearing anything else, and grabbed another glass off a tray without looking. Had I been thinking something about taking it slow? What a stupid idea, I needed to take it as fast as humanly possible. There was no way I could do this event completely sober. I needed all the champagne in the goddamn world.

My shoulder bumped into something, and I backed up, already starting to apologize, “Sorry, sorry, so sorry—”

It was Ben Minister. He eyed me with concern. “Miss Bartlett, are you quite alright?”

I laughed, probably too shrilly. “I’m fine! Just fine! Just—it’s a little stuffy in here, and I—” Oh God, were those tears forming in my eyes? No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening! “I just need to get some air!”

I escaped as quickly as my high heels and remaining dignity would let me, trying not to let myself remember the dubious expression on Mr. Minister’s face before I’d made my excuses. This wouldn’t come back to bite me—this couldn’t come back to bite me—though it didn’t matter if it did, because I couldn’t have stayed—

I stumbled up the stairs to the roof, doing my best not to spill my champagne. By the third floor it got too hard and I downed the rest of it before setting it on the stairwell, an impressive feat considering that the whole world had started spinning.

I spilled out onto the roof, which was deserted, thank God. The evening air had barely a hint of a breeze, mostly muggy and humid, making me feel even more tipsy than I actually was. I felt like I was drowning in thick, wobbling Jell-O, each breath I took choking me, weighing me further down.

I was fine. I was fine. I was not drunk and seething with jealousy. I just needed to sit down for a bit.

Just sit. I wasn’t going to go to sleep. Even though it would be so easy to go to sleep, to just sit down and rest my aching feet and let all my problems melt away as I drifted off into slumber…

I watched the sun set over the city, the smog splintering its rays into paradoxically beautiful prisms of color, red and purple and pink and gold, a sunset straight out of a postcard from the board of tourism. I thought of the sunset over the lake at Hunter’s plantation, just as beautiful but somehow less showy, the colors deeper, more permanent.

Then I thought of Paige, some future Paige, watching that beautiful sunset with Hunter. I thought of him leaning in to kiss her, his eyes lit by that sweetly dying light. I thought of Paige’s slight gasp, quickly smothered by those soft, insistent lips, of her delight as she discovered those intoxicating kisses I already knew all too well, that scrape of his stubble, that taste that was him and only him.

A tear dripped down my cheek.

“Miss Bartlett?”

I hadn’t heard Chuck come up behind me. I braced myself.

Chuck. Just the very last person I wanted to see.

But he didn’t say a further word, just offered me his handkerchief.

“Thanks.” I scrubbed furiously at my face, then handed it back. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” he said, his voice low and soothing as a lullaby. “You’re a strong young lady who can take on anything. You’ve really impressed me with your tenacity.”

The words leapt out of my mouth before I could stop them: “Glad I’m impressing someone.”

Oh, Ally, Ally, Ally, I could almost hear my mother saying. When will you ever learn to think before you speak?

It didn’t really matter that I couldn’t recall the context of that memory. It could have been any time within the past twenty-four years of my life.

“Hunter not appreciating you?” Chuck’s voice held nothing but sympathy, and he waved away my sound of protest. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of prying further. I’m sure I’ve heard this story before; he leaves a string of hearts in his wake, young Hunter. He doesn’t understand how deeply women feel things, particularly smart, passionate, artistic young women like you.”

Flattery will get you everywhere with me. Even if you’re a snake. “Well, I guess I am—” But I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and Chuck plowed on.

“There’s nothing malicious about it; it’s just that when you get right down to it, the man’s rather shallow. He sees a pretty face and the women he strings along hope he sees something more.” He shook his head, mournful and earnest. “Don’t be embarrassed, Miss Bartlett. I’ve seen it all from him at least a hundred times before.”

“It’s not like that!” I snapped, the tears threatening again, but I held them at bay with an iron will. I couldn’t let him think I was some floozy, sleeping her way to the top; not after all I’d sacrificed to keep my good name. “Hunter and I—‘s not like that. We’re just—I’m jus’ sick of Hunter being so self-centered, is all. All ‘I’m Hunter Knox’ like that—like that…”

I waved my hand, trying to convey what I couldn’t with words. Some distant part of my brain noted that my hand was unsteady and I tried to keep it from wavering. I couldn’t let Chuck guess how much alcohol I’d consumed. I couldn’t let him guess because—

Because—

It was really hard to remember the reason. He was being so nice to me.

He patted my shoulder. “Oh, really? Hunter may have his faults, but being egotistical in business—well, frankly it doesn’t seem like him.”

His disbelief goaded me further. “Well, it is! He can’t see how people are trying to help him, he just wants to do it all himself, and all he can do is, is, is—insult everyone, call them names, say they’ve wasted their life on the job they love—I tried to…I mean, other people really care about the company, but he jus’, just is all—” I forgot my need to keep my gestures small, waved my hands like I was conducting a large orchestra—“wanting to run everything himself, gotta turn everything around all by himself and it’s like the family name is freaking sacred or some shit—some ish, some—” I blushed at my profane slip but more words kept burbling out of my lubricated throat. “It’s more than just a product to him, like—like—like he’s a freaking mishin—mish—missionary or something!”

There was a grin in Chuck’s voice, but my mind couldn’t quite put a reason to it. Reasons were very far away and unimportant at the moment, unconnected to me and my anger and the muggy night air.

“That sounds awful,” Chuck sympathized. “Do tell me more, you poor thing.”

And God help me, I did.

* * *

“Well, I thought that went well, don’t you?” Hunter said.

I did not think that had gone well. I thought that had gone the opposite of well. It had, in fact, gone so thoroughly not-well that in a crescendo of complete unwellness, the evening was ending with me having to ride back to the plantation in a car driven by an obscenely happy Hunter, who insisted on humming happy songs under his breath, making random positive comments about my sister, grilling me about how my efforts had gone and why he hadn’t seen me for the last quarter, and touching my arm.

Like, maybe if he had just confined himself to touching my arm, I would have been more kindly disposed toward him. But probably not.

It didn’t help that my head was already starting to hurt like a motherfucker.

“Whatever.” I purposely didn’t look him in the eye as I said it.

“Somebody have a little too much to drink again?” he teased, playful as a kitten.

“Don’t count on it,” I snapped.

“Ooooh, did your mother call you and offer comments on your dress? Is that why the long face?”

“Just keep your eyes on the damn road,” I retorted.

“No need,” he said with a grin so cheesy it could’ve been its own pizza topping. “We’re already there.”

I looked out the window and saw the white columns of the manor house rising in the darkness, the cicadas singing a welcoming lullaby.

“Fucking finally,” I muttered. I swung the door open and stomped out, slamming it behind me. “You drive like my grandma. What, are you afraid Chuck’s going to send a damn helicopter to survey your cautious driving ass?”

It wasn’t my greatest parting shot in my history of parting shots, but I’d take it. I whirled around and headed for the guesthouse, intent on collapsing into bed as soon as I made it through the door, dreams of sugar plums and recriminations dancing in my head.

Only it seemed that Hunter had no plans to let me make it to the guesthouse.

He planted himself in front of me, blocking the path.

“I can actually go around you, you know,” I pointed out. “You’ve got broad shoulders, but it’s not like you can block all points in space and time.”

“I don’t need to,” he countered, moving to intercept me as I tried to go around him as I’d threatened. “I just need to wear you down until you finally give me a straight answer on why you’re acting like a bratty teenager instead of my brilliant-minded work colleague and personal guest.”

My fists clenched. I could feel a tremble working its way outward from my heart, working its way into my voice. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Hunter Knox. I don’t owe you anything.”

“Maybe so,” he said, his voice a dark rumble. “But I’m going to get one regardless.”

I tried to shoulder past him, but he threw out his strong arm and I ran right into it, that hard muscle under his tailored tuxedo, the fabric crisp and smooth and smelling of his cologne and of him, and oh God, he smelled so good, oh God, he was so warm, I just wanted to taste him, I just wanted to melt into his arms…

His arm wrapped around me, pulling me to his chest.

My heart was beating a million times a minute.

“Admit it,” he growled, his voice darker than midnight, and my knees wobbled as arousal swept through me. “Admit it, Ally: you’re jealous.”

“Of course I’m jealous!” I exploded, ripping myself away from his grasp. My tiny fist hammered onto his chest. “I’ve just been trying to be professional, because goddamnit, some of us have to earn every inch of our way to the top in this business, and I didn’t want people to think I’d earned mine on my back! But—but you asshole—” tears were threatening to choke my voice now—“we shared something good, something, something real, and now you’re just—goddamnit, just onto the next girl, and it’s my goddamn sister, how could you—”

“So you don’t want me dating Paige?” he asked, an emotion I couldn’t identify flitting behind his stoic mask.

“No!”

“Okay, then.” And then he smiled. “I won’t.”

I gaped at him. “What…?”

“I won’t,” he repeated, more gently this time. His hand reached out, cupping my cheek. “I didn’t want to hurt you…I never want to hurt you…”

“You did a good job anyway,” I whispered.

His eyes were molten pools of gold, and I was falling into them. “You’re all that I want…”

He leaned closer.

My lips parted, my breath stolen from me by his mere presence.

Our lips met, hesitantly at first and then with growing passion. His arms pressed me against his hard body, my hands clutching possessively at the small of his back, bunching the fabric there as I claimed him with my mouth. He nibbled at my lower lip and I moaned against him, parting my lips invitingly until he thrust his tongue inside, tasting me, exploring me, making me squirm against him in desire.

And then—

And then he pulled back and gave me a gentle peck on the lips, a wistful smile on his face before he walked away, leaving me reeling and more confused than ever.

But also a little bit…hopeful?

Until I realized: what the hell had I just done?

And what was I going to tell Paige?