Come Saturday evening, I’m back at the crappy sports bar, hidden in the corner, waiting for Keeley to take the stage. For the last few days, I’ve been miserable and spent at least half my time trying to track her down. My place has felt empty. My sheets still carry a hint of her scent. It not only makes me hard, it makes me miss her. Britta says I’ve turned into a short-tempered prick.

“What are you going to do?” Rob asks beside me. “Grovel?”

I told my marketing manager about my grand scheme. He agreed that Griff would fall all over himself to pursue a woman like Keeley. He’s all for whatever puts us in the win column.

“It’s crossed my mind.”

The truth is, I’m not sure what to do. I can’t give up on Keeley. I need her help to undermine Griff…but I want her for myself. It doesn’t make sense. I only spent a handful of hours with this woman. I’m surprised by how thoroughly she’s stuck in my head.

“You’ll need a more robust strategy than that. What did she object to most?”

“Everything. But if I had to pick one issue, I’d say the hooker/pimp thing. And the karma.” I look for a way to help Rob—who’s every bit the bastard I am—understand Keeley. “She’s got a soft heart.”

“The sort who roots for the underdog against all odds?”

“Yeah.”

In the past, I would have dismissed her attitude as unrealistic. I like coming from a position of power. I don’t believe in fighting wars from the bottom, just annihilating enemies from the top. That strategy won’t work with Keeley.

“Try some reverse psychology on her. Be contrite. Tell her that you’ve seen the error of your ways or some shit like that. Tell her you realize screwing Griff over isn’t really in your best interest but in his. Frame it as a life lesson for your brother. Maybe that will work.”

I shake my head. “I’ve already thought of it. Too thin. Instead of helping me improve Griff’s moral character or giving me a hand to remove him as an obstacle, she would suggest I talk to my brother. Share my feelings.”

“What good would that do?” He recoils. “I’m thinking you need to find another woman to do your dirty work. While you do, Britta and I will have your back at the office. You need that. I’ve got to tell you, so far the distraction you found for Griff has only succeeded in screwing up your A game.”

He’s right, and I know it. But there’s a problem. “I’ve looked for someone else to occupy my brother. Name one person we know will appeal to him whom he hasn’t already slept with or that he won’t see coming a mile away? Hell, I’d turn Britta lose on him, but…”

“Bad idea. I don’t know whether she’d break down in tears or fry his balls for breakfast. If we’re lucky, she’d kill him.” Rob taps the side of his beer glass. “Since it sounds as if Keeley Sunshine won’t help you get revenge without a damn good reason, I’m not sure what to tell you, man.”

“And I don’t have a better idea. I’ve tried to think of one, too. Griff seems laser focused on this listing. Just about every hour, I hear of some other tool he’s throwing into his arsenal to wow the Stowe heirs. I’m falling behind.” Because all I can think about is Keeley.

“We’re running out of time.”

I turn to Rob. Does he think I don’t know that? That I’m not aware every day—every hour—that all the minutes and seconds are ticking by and I can never get them back? That each grain of sand through the hourglass is taking me closer to losing out to my asshole brother for good?

“Aloha, Lahaina. I’m Keeley Sunshine.”

Tonight she’s wearing a top that’s soft white and lacy with barely there sleeves that brush her shoulders. It almost looks demure, except for the deep V-neck that shows off the swells of her cleavage and her delicate collarbones. Her pink hair is in a messy bun. Everything about her tonight is more sedate, even the sheer nude pink of her lipstick.

“I hope you’ll indulge me while I sing some of my favorite songs,” she continues. “Since I just had my heart bruised recently, they might be a little melancholy. But I figure if you’re here and dateless on a Saturday night, you might be feeling lonely, too.”

Her words dig at my chest. She can’t possibly see me with the bright lights in her face. I’m sitting in a shadowy corner. But I can feel her across the room.

She turns to the old man who plays guitar and nods his way. The music begins. I find myself sitting at the edge of my chair.

She starts with a familiar tune, “Love the Way You Lie.” As a kid, my sister used to play the Eminem and Rihanna version over and over, but Keeley chooses Skylar Grey’s simple, stripped-down rendition. When she sings about me standing there and watching her both burn and cry, I can’t help but twinge with an itsy-bitsy heap of guilt.

“Oh, buddy. Those are some heartrending songs.” Rob shakes his head. “You pissed her off.”

I hear it, too. And I hurt along with her. How can that be? We had one night. Okay, one great night. One magical night. But still just one fucking night.

My obsession should wear off soon, right?

I hope. I haven’t really slept since she left. I definitely can’t be in my bed without thinking of her.

At the conclusion of the song, the audience applauds. The ovation is muted because the mood in the room is, too.

Keeley smiles. I can tell it’s forced. “Thanks. This next song will be familiar to a lot of you.”

When she breaks out with Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” I can’t stand it. Her nose is red, her eyes a bit swollen. Contrary to the song, she has been crying.

Keeley follows that up with Adele’s “Someone Like You.” A good-bye and a kiss-off. Everything logical in my head tells me not to wait around until after the show to see if I can speak to her, maybe get her on board—or get her back to my place so I can touch her again—but logic isn’t winning the argument tonight.

After a brief break, when she disappears in the back of the joint instead of inviting someone to flirt with her at the bar, she returns for another tear-my-heart-out set, starting with Lady Antebellum’s “Need You Now.” The only thing that’s good about it is how beautiful her voice sounds and the fact that she obviously hasn’t forgotten me. I’m sure of that when she shifts her vocals to Avril Lavigne’s “When You’re Gone.”

The way she grips the mic, the emotion on her face, the pleading note in her voice… Yeah, I’m totally convinced this woman walked away from me because I was a bumbling idiot that morning—but she’s not over me. We’re nowhere near done. Still, I can’t give up on orchestrating Griff’s downfall.

Where the hell does that leave me?

When she completes her final set with Roxette’s “It Must Have Been Love,” the nod to Pretty Woman seals the deal. I have to stay. I have to try again.

No fucking clue what I’m going to say.

As the audience applauds, she takes her last bow, looking so solemn I want to wrap my arms around her. I don’t know if I’ll scrape together the right words to ask if she’ll come back to me and agree to my plan. But…no guts, no glory.

Beside me, Rob slaps me on the back. “Good luck, man. Don’t do anything stupid.”

I grab his sleeve. “What is that? What would be not stupid in this scenario?”

I really don’t know anymore.

“You’re serious?” Rob rears back with a frown. “Wow, I’ve never seen you less than totally confident. If you want this girl more than anything, you have to apologize, offer to start over, and drop this scheme of yours.”

Give up my long-term ambitions for a woman I barely know? “I can’t.”

Rob looks like he both understands and agrees. “I know you can’t. Repaying Griff for his assholery is much more important. Don’t worry about the girl. Play her. Get what you need out of her. Then toss her back in the sea like every other fish. She’s no big deal.”

Then he’s gone. I do a quick search of my soul—it doesn’t take long—and I realize I want both revenge and Keeley. Absolutely. Probably more than I should, but that doesn’t stop me from staring at her like she’ll disappear if I blink.

Am I so hung up on this woman because it’s been years since anyone walked out on me? My ego isn’t fragile. Am I making some subconscious attempt to rewrite my history with Tiffanii and succeed this time with Keeley? No. That mumbo jumbo doesn’t ring true.

Then what is my problem? I need to screw my head on straight.

After I toss some bills on the table, I scrub a hand down my face. Keeley stashes the mic, then smiles at the crowd one last time before heading to the employees’ area of the bar.

“Keeley…” I charge after her.

Fuck it. I’ll dream up something to say. I don’t really have too many impulsive bones in my body, but I think fast on my feet. I’m in sales, so something will come to me. I can sew this deal up. I hope.

Except I don’t want to sell her right now. I just want to see her.

“Keeley!” I call again, louder this time.

She whirls and catches sight of me. She stops dead in her tracks. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk. I never meant to insult or upset you. I’ve felt terrible about the way things ended, our misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding? So you didn’t tell me to spend time with your brother and if my dazzling wit didn’t charm him, it was okay to use my bedroom skills?”

“I know it sounds terrible. Just…give me an hour. Let me explain. I’ll feed you more crème brûlée…”

“I’m not a potential client you can reel in with a free dessert coupon, Maxon.”

That hurts, especially because I know she’s right. “You’re not. I never thought that.”

“So what did you think? That I’d crawl from your bed, put on my slutty dress so I can cloud your brother’s head with lust, and never think there was anything wrong with it?”

Pretty much, and when she puts it like that, I wince. “An hour. Please. Will you hear me out?”

She hesitates, and tears tremble on her lower lashes. “I shouldn’t.”

I’m a bastard but I use her soft heart against her because I want this too much to let it go. “Don’t you believe in second chances?”

“You know I do.” She sighs. “All right. Don’t make me regret this. Where can I meet you? I’m driving myself.”

“We can go wherever you want. Name it.”

“Sale Pepe. I’m in the mood for Italian.”

“I know where that is. I don’t mind driving.”

She shakes her head. “That didn’t work out so well last time. I want a way home, just in case.”

My sister would say that Keeley is playing it smart. But the little spitfire with pink hair is usually impulsive and funny and a little bit wild. She’s showing me none of that tonight. If I want her to give an inch, I have to stop trying to take a mile.

“All right. I’ll follow you to the lot.”

Fifteen minutes later, we sit at a two-top in the corner together. The place isn’t very crowded this late at night. The waiter is fast, greeting us before I have more than a chance to thank her for agreeing to talk to me.

She orders a veggie panini and a Pellegrino. Now that I’m with her, my appetite finally makes an appearance for the first time in days. I order rigatoni quattro formaggio and a glass of house red. The waiter seems to take forever recounting everything back to us, but finally the kid—who can’t stop staring at Keeley—scrams.

We’re alone. Well, mostly. A handful of people lounge around the restaurant, but none are seated close to us. Our little corner is as private as anyplace public is going to get.

“What do you want, Maxon?”

Direct. No hint of teasing or flirtation. No smile. I feel slightly panicked and I’m not sure why. Something about her never talking to me again, maybe?

I clear my throat, still grasping for the right words. “I realize everything I said to you the other morning was an insult. I never meant it that way.”

“Maybe you believe that. But it wasn’t just about the way you treated me. I understood clearly in that moment how you see me.”

“No, you don’t. You’re not cheap. You assumed that. I certainly never said it.”

“Maybe you don’t think I’m cheap in the hooker sense, but you view me as disposable. I hadn’t had sex with anyone in about a year. I only share bodies with someone I think I can share souls with, too. You were a mistake. I can’t be with someone who wants revenge more than they want me.”

Her words make me feel like a douchebag. “That’s not how it is.”

Well, not entirely.

She doesn’t respond as the waiter sets her sparkling water in front of her. Instead, she merely raises a skeptical brow at me.

I sip my wine. I need to regroup. Come up with something. Appeal to her heart. Simply being near me isn’t getting the job done.

I stare into my glass. I need to explain somehow, give her a damn good reason for her to both like me again and help me. The only rationale I can think of is the truth. “Remember I told you that my brother slept with my ex-girlfriend? That my assistant, Britta, is like a sister to me?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s because she should have been. My sister, that is.” I tap the table nervously. “I really thought she and Griff were going to make it…”

“Get married?”

I nod. “He’d started talking about it. He loved her—or I thought he did. They seemed perfect together, but the fucking bastard crushed us all and never looked back.”

Her face softens. I’m not looking for sympathy but it feels good to know she’s listening. “What happened?”

I blow out a breath. Now it gets hard. “Three years ago, I picked up an overseas client. Royalty. He bound me to absolute secrecy because he wanted someplace lavish to stash his favorite mistress, and the truth would be a terrible scandal. Legally, I couldn’t tell anyone, not even my own brother. Despite the fact Griff hadn’t assisted with this client, I had every intention of closing the deal and depositing the money in our joint account, like I always did. We shared everything we earned fifty-fifty.”

“Makes sense. Why would he get angry about that?”

“Just before signing, Griff found out I was working this side deal and assumed I was trying to screw him out of both the glory and half the commission on the twenty-million-dollar property. He accused me of trying to undercut him and the business we’d spent six years building together. No matter how much I swore it wasn’t true, he didn’t believe me. He said that because Tiffanii and I were in the throes of splitting up that I’d let her screw with my head.”

“So he left the business. You told me,” she says. “That upset you, so you want revenge, right?”

“Sure, I’d love to repay that bastard, but if all I wanted was revenge, having you ‘distract’ him isn’t personal enough. If I merely wanted to make him suffer, I’d punch him in the face and hustle all his business out from under him. But it’s not that simple. There’s more.”

“I’m listening.”

“By the time the estate closed, Griff had already taken his half of the money from our joint account and moved out of our office—all without saying a word to me. In less than twenty-four hours, he hung out his own shingle and started taking listings. Britta was crushed he didn’t take her with him—or even let her know. They’d been dating for a year. But her nightmare got so much worse when Griff e-mailed me to say that he wanted me to know how being stabbed in the back felt, so he fucked my ex. Repeatedly. He even sent pictures. Wasn’t that thoughtful? Of course, he knew my assistant would read the message first…” I frown. “Britta had just learned she was pregnant.”

I watch Keeley’s soft lips fall open. She covers her heart with her palm. “Oh, my gosh… She must have been devastated.”

“Utterly. But she’s a fighter. She’s come back and has been raising my nephew alone. I make sure she and Jamie have everything they need financially. I visit the little guy and play with him when I can.” But I’m keenly aware that I’m not daddy material. I’m too much like my own father for that. “To this day, Griff has never acknowledged his son and has never given any indication that he cares.”

The waiter comes by with hot plates and sets them down. He tries to break the tension by engaging in small talk that makes me gnash my teeth. Finally, I growl at him until he gets the message.

When he slinks away, Keeley blows out a breath. “I don’t blame you for feeling as if your brother has behaved like an absolute bastard. That’s a lot to overcome. I’m sorry for you, for Britta, for your nephew. I hope karma gives Griff exactly what he deserves. But, Maxon, if you repay anger with vengeance—no matter how good the reason—what do you think happens next? It becomes hate. Hate is awfully hard to come back from. He’s your family. This festering fury isn’t helping either of you. Maybe you should just call him, clear the air, and—”

“Fuck that. He walked out on me.” I realize I yelled at her and I feel like an asshole. “Sorry. I know you’re trying to help. If Griff had shown one iota of remorse, if he’d given us any indication that he missed Britta, wanted his son, or gave a damn about his only brother, I might be willing to let this go. Sometimes I miss him and the closeness we used to share like hell. But he left. He has to be the one to come back.”

“Is pride more important than family?”

I curl my fingers around the arms of the chair. If I don’t, I’m pretty sure I’ll hop to my feet like a fidiot and say something I’ll regret. “You have a knack for asking the one question designed to crawl under my skin.”

“No, Maxon. I ask you the question designed to make you think.”

It’s working. And I’m annoyed. Though I shut my mouth before I say anything else. She has a point, and I need to consider it. I take a bite of pasta. It’s decent. The wine is better, and it’s way more likely to improve my temper.

“He hurt everyone who cared about him,” I finally say.

“I get that. And I grant you that I’m removed from the situation, so I don’t exactly understand the betrayal you felt. What I am sure of? If you try to make him feel the hurt you’ve suffered, you’ll be no better. Take the moral high ground. I don’t know you well, but I believe your grandfather. You’re a man of honor, even if you don’t know it yet.”

She did not just say that. Yes, damn it, she did. “It’s not that simple. This shit eats at me every day.”

“Stop letting it.”

I grab my wineglass and lean in, teeth clenched. “What would you do to get back at the pot-smoking ex who ran out on you? How far would you—”

“I wouldn’t. I refuse to give him that much of my energy. But losing the deadbeat dragging me down didn’t have the same impact as your brother. I didn’t love Tim.”

And I’d loved Griff. I sigh. “I can’t just let it go.”

“Then…I’m not sure we have a reason to see each other anymore.” She looks sad at that prospect.

I feel fucking wiped. “Not even to date?”

“Do you really date? You don’t make time for the ocean that’s literally in your backyard. You’re preoccupied with business and one-upmanship. I can’t imagine you actually have time for me.”

When she stands, I feel my guts drop to my toes. I hop to my feet. “Don’t go, Keeley. What about the money I offered you? That’s got to mean something.”

She shakes her head. “I would never sacrifice my conscience to line my wallet.”

Without meaning to, I’ve insulted her again. “I can’t say the right thing here…”

“You can. You just don’t want to. You’re not ready yet. I’d offer to listen if you wanted to purge your feelings or guide you through some meditation meant to reduce anger—”

I snort. I don’t mean to. It just slips out.

A sad smile lifts her lips. “That’s what I thought, so I didn’t offer.”

“I want to see you again, Keeley. I like you.” I swallow. “A lot.”

That’s a pretty big admission for me. I can usually say I like a hookup’s tits. I might even say I like her laugh or her eyes or whatever. But I feel like I know Keeley in a way I probably shouldn’t after so little time together. And what I do know, I’m enamored with.

“Somehow…I really like you, too. I wish things could have been different.” Her blue eyes fill with regret as she tries to sidle past me for the door.

Of their own free will, my fingers wrap around her wrist. “Don’t walk out on me, too.”

I can’t say precisely why I’m… What’s the word I’m looking for? I search my mental thesaurus and can only come up with one: begging. Sadly, that’s accurate. I have a sneaking suspicion my urge to have her near has less to do with repaying Griff and more to do with my desire.

“I need to go,” she murmurs. “Give me your number. I’ll…think about it.”

With most anyone else, I’d call bullshit. But Keeley has never been less than mindful and ethical and wonderful.

I hand her a business card. My cell is listed on the front. She takes it without a word. Instead, she kisses my cheek, gives me one last look of regret, then shoulders her way past me and out the door.

My head tells me that, Griff aside, it’s for the best. As Keeley pointed out, I don’t have time for romance. I don’t need someone so sentimental they overlook the practical. The chemistry between us would probably fizzle out in another night or two anyway.

So why do I feel as if letting her go might be the biggest mistake of my life?