Keeley is still asleep when I leave for the office. I know it would piss her off, but I sneak into the spare room. I have to make sure she’s all right, don’t I?

She takes my breath away. Lying on her back with her arm cocked up and knuckles brushing her smooth, pale cheek, she looks angelic. She also appears as if she’s sleeping naked. I want to peek under the blankets to be sure, but I can’t risk waking her up and inciting her wrath. I’m smart enough to pick my battles. Still, I don’t see any sleeves or spaghetti straps. If she’s in the buff, maybe that’s a silent sex invite.

Or not, dumb ass.

When my phone starts buzzing in my pocket, I slip out so I don’t wake Keeley. All through my workout, I speak to a client in Vienna. After a quick shower at the hotel’s fitness facility, I head to the office. There, the pace doesn’t change all day. It’s one phone call after another from clients buying or selling amazing properties on Maui. They have multiple demands. This sort of thing has beaten me down over the last few days. But right now I’m energized. I’m making it happen. Tonight, I’ll go home to Keeley. She’ll fix me food. Hopefully, we’ll talk, preferably in more than monosyllables. Then…who knows?

I smile.

As afternoon slips toward quitting time, Britta drops a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I lost my temper.”

It’s unlike her, so I know Keeley’s ideas about healing the rift between me and my brother upset Britta on some level, probably the one where she’d be forced to see Griff—and maybe share their son—if we mend fences. “Don’t apologize. You have a right to your thoughts and feelings.”

“And she has a right to hers.” Britta looks down, peeling a bit of old turquoise polish from her thumbnail. “I think I was a bit jealous, too. If Griff meets Keeley, even to negotiate peace, I’m sure he’ll be attracted to her.”

Britta sees that, too. Nice validation of my plan…not so nice reality for my assistant’s feelings. She knows precisely what kind of woman attracts Griff since she’s paid attention to the wide swath of females my bonehead brother has “dated” since their split. That tears her up, probably more than usual because she couldn’t really date in the same way. She gave birth to a much bigger responsibility that doesn’t allow for random sating of her sex drive. I’m glad for her that she has a seemingly steady someone now, even if it still seems weird to see her with someone else.

“Hey, why don’t you take off early? Go spend more time with your little man. Jamie would like that.”

“I can’t. He had a field trip today. They won’t be back at daycare until five.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Jamie? Every day but—”

“Griff.”

Britta falls dead silent. She presses her lips together. A furrow takes up residence between her brows.

She’s not the same woman she used to be. Before everything went to hell, Griff and I decided that Britta would become my assistant so the two of them didn’t keep mixing business with pleasure. He hired an empty nester looking for something to occupy her time since the last of her kids had gone to college. Sheila still works for him, I hear. But three years ago, Britta always wore bright colors and a smile every day, along with heels and short skirts and a cocky attitude.

Today, she’s got on a navy pencil skirt that almost covers her knees, a plain white starched blouse, and a beige cardigan that does nothing to liven her up. She’s scraped her blond hair into a tight bun. If she wore makeup this morning, it’s gone now. Britta dresses like a librarian. She acts like an old maid. She looks as if she has the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“No,” she answers hesitantly. “I don’t miss him.”

She sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself.

“Be honest.”

We haven’t talked about this in well over two years. At first, when the anger was still fresh for us both, we ranted and railed and trashed her apartment together. We grieved. We grew close. I wonder why I’ve never wanted to have sex with her. Under her current frump garb, she really is gorgeous. I guess in my head she always belonged to Griff.

In so many ways, she still does.

Britta swallows and won’t quite meet my gaze. “I tell myself I shouldn’t. He obviously hasn’t looked back.”

“But you do?” My heart softens. It’s been doing that a lot lately.

I’m not a fan.

She sighs in defeat. “Sometimes. More than I want to.”

“Me, too,” I tell her. After all, I don’t want her to feel alone.

Besides, Griff is a ghost in the room all too often. I kept meaning to move my offices elsewhere after he left. I just…didn’t. Never enough time, never high on my priority list. I never got around to it.

“But it’s over and it doesn’t matter anymore.” She forces a chipper expression. “Tell me, what’s the deal with you and Keeley? I thought she’d be temporary.”

I frown. “Why would you think that?”

“Not that many people meet the love of their life in a bar, Maxon. And I admit, that tight animal-print dress just said ‘bimbo’ to me…which I realize is judging a book by its cover and that’s unfair. She’s nice?”

I nod. “And interesting. Smart. She makes me laugh. She even makes me think.”

“You, think? That’s a feat.” Britta gives me a teasing grin. “Oh, my gosh, you like her.”

“Yeah.” I won’t deny the obvious. But I also can’t tell my assistant more. “We’ll see what happens. Maybe nothing.”

“Or maybe she’s the someone you can finally invest your heart in. That would be great. I’d be really happy for you.” She turns quiet. “You deserve better than Tiffanii.”

Can’t argue there. “What about you? You deserve to be happy, too. Are you still seeing Makaio?”

“Yes.” Her smile turns muted.

“He seems like an okay guy. How’s that going?”

“He’s a good man. Kind. Patient. Funny. He seems to love spending time with Jamie. I’m lucky.”

The words she uses to describe this guy suggest he’s top-notch boyfriend material. She might say she’s lucky, but she doesn’t sound happy. She’s not in love, though I suspect she wants to convince herself she is. “You guys have been dating for…six months?”

“Eight.” Her voice has gone quieter.

“Getting serious?” I ask.

I don’t think she’s ready for that.

“He’s spending a couple of nights a week at my place.” Britta hesitates. “I have this feeling—intuition?—he’s thinking about proposing.”

I sit back in surprise. “Really? That’s…fast.”

“A little,” she concedes.

“How do you feel?”

“He says he loves me.”

I analyze her expression, her body language. She’s closed off, her movements small, her voice gone soft. She didn’t actually answer my question. “You don’t love him back.”

I see a crack in her outer shell. “I care a lot. And if he asks me to be his wife, I can’t think of a single reason to say no. He’s loving and steady. He has a good job, a great family. He treats Jamie like his own. He helps with everything when he’s around the house. His heart is open…”

In other words, he’s perfect—for someone else.

“You can’t help it if you’re not ready to move on.”

“I need to be! I loved your brother. But he’s gone, and I can’t stay stuck here.”

She’s got a point…but one point isn’t the whole picture. “If Makaio wants to marry you, don’t you owe him your whole heart? Is it fair to make him settle for only the parts of you that you’ve wrested free from Griff?”

Now she looks agitated. “Maybe knowing I’m committed will make a difference. Maybe that will free up my heart. All I know is that Griff has taken years of my past, and I refuse to give him more of my future.”

That’s wishful thinking. “I get it, but—”

“Why are you grilling me like this? In the old days, you would have just asked if he made me laugh and if he was good in bed. What’s with the probing questions about the state of my soul?”

I can’t refute her. Normally, I would ask those very questions. I might claim I want details just to watch her blush. But I fear the reason I’m different now has something to do with Keeley’s bad influence.

“You’re right. It’s none of my business. I’ll shut up.”

She sighs with regret and shakes her head. “Sorry. You asked fair questions. I just don’t have any answers.”

“I’m always here if you need help figuring it out.”

“Thanks. You’re one of my best friends.” She gives me a sisterly pat on the shoulder. “I mean this in the most loving way but, at least for now, I need you to butt out.”

If she was grilling me hard-core about my love life, I’d probably be touchy, too. “All right. I’m butting out. Just don’t rush into anything, okay?”

“It’s been three years. I’d hardly call that doing a ten-yard dash to the altar.” She picks up the last of her stuff. “I think I’ll go ahead and leave. I can run a few errands before I pick Jamie up. Good night.”

“Night.”

I’ve got two hours before I can go home. I return a few phone calls, answer a few e-mails I’ve been putting off. Rob and Britta have assembled a “war room” in Griff’s former office and filled it with ideas for the Stowe estate. I poke around, see their progress, make a few mental notes. Something is bugging me about everything they’ve laid out so far. I was loving it yesterday but today it feels like too much hoopla. Like we’re planning a rockin’ New Year’s Eve party in March. The strategy seems overdone and outdated. The visuals look like overkill. Everything feels…wrong.

What would be right?

No damn idea. What do I know about the Stowe kids or their preferences? I don’t usually research clients. What’s there to say? They have a house to sell and I know how to list well and find a buyer. End of story.

Except my gut tells me not this time.

When I plop behind my desk again, my eyes go immediately to the clock on my laptop screen. Seventy minutes until I can close up shop.

Could this day drag on any more?

I can fill it by staring at a wall and thinking about all the fantastic things I’d like to do in bed with Keeley. With the sleek line of her shoulders and back, along with the feminine flare of her hips, she’d look great if I fucked her from behind, filling my hands with her tits. Mentally, I throw in a few of her gasps and cries because of course I’m going to make her come. On the other hand, she’d look great on top, too. That bright hair thrown back, exposing the delicate, pale curve of her throat, breasts bouncing with every thrust as she grabs my shoulders and cries out my name.

Yeah, I can picture it now.

Unfortunately, it also makes my cock so hard my pants are damn uncomfortable. And I still have sixty minutes before I can leave. Even when I get there, no matter how much I want to touch Keeley, she’s not going to say yes simply because I want her to. If I press her, she’ll remind me that she’s not fair game.

Maybe I should pull my brains out of my dick and focus on work.

Google tells me that the Stowe descendants are George, twenty-seven, and Vivienne, twenty-three. Their father died a decade back after a lingering bout with cancer. The elder of the Stowe kids finished an MBA from Yale three years ago and has been running the family business day to day since. Shortly thereafter, their mother moved to Maui and remained until she died of an unexpected heart attack ten days ago. Vivienne graduated from Vassar last year and, though planning to be married soon, is making the Stowes’ legacy, their syrup company, her number one priority. The Burlington Free Press even included a picture of the siblings clutching hands and sharing a moment of grief on the snowy day of their mother’s funeral.

I sit back, ponder. By all accounts, these heirs value family, tradition, and their New England roots. George was quoted as saying that he had never stepped foot in his mother’s Maui home and never planned to. He sounds proud of that fact. It seems a bit like sour grapes to me, but I imagine that if I’d come from a normal family—which I didn’t—if my father had died and my mother took off to someplace seemingly exotic seven time zones away, I might be bitter, too. Confused at the very least.

It also makes me realize that George and Vivienne probably aren’t attached to the idea of having Griff list their place, as their mother had been. They simply don’t have a good reason not to. If I give a better pitch than my brother, I might have a real shot at this listing.

With a curse, I tear everything pinned up on the war room’s walls down, tuck all the ideas away in a drawer, find a marker at the white board, and write two words: Think Simple.

I return to my laptop and pound out an e-mail to Rob and Britta, linking them to the articles I’ve read about the Stowe siblings. I close with assurances that we’ll regroup and discuss tomorrow. We can get this done.

I’m onto something. I feel it. Griff is going big, bold, loud—and he’s in deep with that strategy. Somehow, I know that’s so wrong and I’m completely right. I’m going to find a way to win. I just need one more advantage to get it done.

Keeley. I look at the clock and I smile.

Now it’s time to go.

Game on.

* * *

When I enter the condo, I find all the doors and windows open. Ocean salt mixes in the air with ginger and sizzling sesame oil that smells like one of my favorite restaurants.

Keeley is cooking. More than my stomach jumps with excitement.

“Hi.” I set my keys and laptop on the bar and peer at her behind the stove. “What are you making?” And what are you wearing under that little sundress?

She turns with a distracted glance. “Asian.”

I peer closer. “I had a wok?”

“No.” She huffs out a breath that says she doesn’t want to speak to me but knows she has to. “When I finished school, I came back here to start homework. The groceries arrived on time, but you have almost no pots, pans, utensils… How did you think I would cook the food?”

That might be a fair question. “I had, um…a couple of saucepans, didn’t I? A skillet, a cookie sheet, and some other stuff.”

She rolls her eyes. “And how long have you lived here? Never mind. I already know your excuse. You’re not home much.”

“Right. So, the wok came from where? Did you have one in your boxes?”

“No, I used my homework time to run to the Target in Kahului to buy a few things I’ll need if we’re going to eat reasonably in this place for the next month.” She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a strip of paper, and slaps it on the bar. “Here’s the receipt.”

I glance at it. She managed to fill my kitchen with stuff for less than a hundred and fifty dollars. Frugal. I would have ordered a bunch of crap from Williams Sonoma and paid the exorbitant shipping fee for the convenience. But the fact that she stopped what she was doing to take care of me…

Well, probably not all for me. She’s feeding herself, too. But she’s including me, so that counts. And it smells spectacular.

“I’ll give you cash,” I promise her. “I didn’t consider that my kitchen wouldn’t be stocked. Sorry.”

She softens and shrugs. “I know. But you’re on dish patrol. I’ll finish my homework then, so we can get started on…whatever.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks for laying out my yoga mat, by the way. I really enjoyed my morning workout. What time did you leave?”

“Six thirty. The usual.”

“You put in a twelve-hour day?” She frowns like she’s worried.

Does that mean she cares a little?

“Eleven. I worked out first. Actually, I cut today a little short, but coming home to these smells makes it worthwhile. What’s in there?” I try to peer across the space between us and into the wok.

“Not telling. You have to try it first and let me know whether you like it. I set some placemats and silverware out on the lanai. And some wine. This will be ready in two. Go change.”

“You’re bossy.”

“You need it,” she tosses back without missing a beat.

I laugh, relieved that she’s giving me more than clipped, one-word answers today.

After a quick change into shorts, I come out of my bedroom to find her carrying two plates outside. The evening is warm, pleasant. Sunset beckons over the glittering blue water, filling the sky with shades of pink, orange, and yellow. I pour wine as the sultry breeze grazes my skin. It’s nice out here. Why didn’t I ever spend time outside before? I can’t really remember a reason. Just…busy.

But I’ll change that to savor every moment I can with Keeley.

She sits beside me, staring out at the water and sipping her wine. “Good day?”

“Interesting. Britta sends her apologies for yelling at you. She’s got a lot going on.” Vaguely, I worry about whether Makaio will propose to Britta and how she might answer. The idea of my parents divorcing niggles at me, too. But I can’t borrow any more trouble now. I need to focus on prepping Keeley to become the distraction Griff can’t afford…while figuring out how to bend her no-sex rule—a lot. “I might be making some progress on the big deal I was telling you about.”

“Yeah?”

I shovel the first bite into my mouth. My taste buds are ready to declare undying love. This is probably more vegetables than I’ve eaten in the last month, but everything is so crisp and fresh. I’m devouring it with my eyes and my mouth—and I’m loving it. Maybe she’s right about dining out too much. Nothing at a restaurant ever tastes like this. “Hmm. This is amazing.”

She smiles proudly. “Now you can say you like tofu.”

I choke and try not to spit it out. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t think about it. Keep chewing. Tell me about your deal.”

We talk a bit. As long as I don’t think about the fact that I’m eating soy milk that’s coagulated into curds, I enjoy the flavor. I show her some pictures of the estate and walk her through what I’ve learned about the sellers.

“I think panoramic pictures and big parties and streaming a live YouTube event is the wrong plan,” I muse aloud. “On paper, it should be right. This is a really unique, breathtaking estate. But to convince these sellers, I think less is more.”

She looks at the pictures on my phone, then takes another sip of wine. “Absolutely. Flaunting this estate and celebrating it for these two syrup heirs who may never understand their mother’s decision to leave them even before she died will be a losing strategy.”

There. Keeley put into words exactly what my instinct was telling me.

“So it stands to reason that the approach I use for sheiks, European business moguls, Asian dignitaries, and assorted royalty around the world isn’t the one I should take now.”

She shakes her head. “Not for two grieving, salt-of-the-earth siblings.”

I send her a challenging stare. “I thought you didn’t know anything about business.”

“I don’t. But I know people. And from everything you’ve said, those two want this over and they want top dollar for their mom’s place. I’ll bet they want to put the funds back into the business and honor their family’s legacy.”

What she says makes a lot of sense. I should have thought of that sooner. I know business…but I never thought people mattered that much. I’m marketing houses. I’m making money. None of that is about individuals.

But maybe that’s why Griff is more successful at selling. He’s good at reading folks. He watches, listens, pays attention. Which is why I could never understand how he completely misunderstood my intentions when he walked off without saying a fucking word. How did he not get that I loved him and I would never have betrayed him? Why did he think I was capable of such deceit? Not that I’m not a bastard. I am. But if I wanted to mess with a loved one, I’m not the kind of coward to stab them in the back. I’d punch them in the face.

“You’re right. That makes so much sense. I need to tell Rob and Britta.” I reach for my phone.

“Finish your dinner first. Nothing worse than cold snow peas.”

“And tofu,” I grouse.

She laughs at me. The sound sparkles. The waning light of the day makes her fair skin shimmer with a warm glow. I’m drawn to her as if I’m the dark daring to peer into the light.

“All right.” I take another bite. “Thanks for listening, by the way.”

She nods. “So…I guess if I’m going to tempt your brother into losing his mind, I need to know about him.”

I nod. Down to business. I can respect that, even if I’d rather keep things between us personal. “Griff—Griffin, which he hates—is three years younger than me. He’s almost my doppelgänger. But of course I’m way more awesome.” I flash her a cheesy grin.

“I had no doubt.” She rolls her eyes. “What is he like?”

The fact that I’m not good at reading people does not help me with this question. “Um…”

“What does he like to do? What are his hobbies? What does he value? What are his goals?”

I frown. Three years is a long time, and I don’t know how much his interests might have changed. After he left, I tried to close my memories of him away into a little box and nail that sucker shut. The knowledge feels rusty.

“He likes to succeed as much as I do. He’s better at socializing, so he’ll put on a gregarious face and act like your best fucking friend. But under the facade, he’s a ruthless bastard, too. Like me, he’ll crush anyone in his way. He values hard work and everything that comes with it—money, success, beauty… If I had to guess, his number one goal is to beat me.”

“So how is he different than you?”

Good question. We had roughly the same upbringing, with a mother who didn’t know how to control two rambunctious boys, so she gave up trying, and the same asshole of a father, who didn’t mind doing whatever it took to squeeze the most out of us.

“Up until he walked out, I would have told you Griff was the most loyal bastard imaginable. The one time I saw him love, he went full throttle—hard and open. He didn’t care what anyone thought.” Well, except our dad.

“And that bothered you?”

I shrug as I finish the last of my dinner. “I didn’t think about it. I didn’t love. Too much of a weakness, so I overcame it. I don’t know if Griff ever did.”

Keeley looks totally horrified by my answer. “Who told you love was a weakness?”

“Dear old Dad. If you think I’m a raving son of a bitch, you ought to meet him.”

She frowns as if she would rather not. “So you think Griff loved Britta?”

“I would have sworn he did, but it didn’t matter in the end. I’m sure he thought that, as my assistant, Britta was in on the secret deal I was working at the time, the one he thought I took to undercut him. But she didn’t know about it, either. I gave her some tasks associated with the purchase, but I never told her the client’s name or the address of the residence. She was totally in the dark.”

“You’re right. He should have asked questions, but if your father only taught you disdain for love…”

“That might be an understatement. He told us both from the time we were kids to learn from his mistake and to marry only if a woman upped our stock. If she brought cash or a pedigree to the marriage, that was logical. But love did nothing except give a man an Achilles’ heel enemies could use against us.”

At her look of horror, I’m almost embarrassed by my upbringing. Most people would be jealous. Big house, gated community, the best schools, all the new toys and gadgets, trips, money, opportunities. I was full of first-world problems.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“It doesn’t sound good,” she contradicts. “So his marriage to your mom isn’t…happy.”

I scoff, then snag a swig of wine. “No. Dad has had more mistresses than new ties over the years.”

“Do you resent him for it?”

Interesting question. “I don’t know. It just is. I don’t like him for it. I think…” I sigh, grappling for a way to explain my family. “I first found out about his extracurricular sex life when I was eight. I’d done really well on a math test he had warned me not to fail. After school, instead of going home, I convinced a friend’s mom we carpooled with that I had to go to my dad’s office. I pleaded some emergency. When I got there, I barged in and found his secretary on her knees in front of his massive office chair, her head bobbing in his lap. They jumped apart guiltily.” I close my eyes, still remembering how much that day shattered the boy I once was. “He wore a ring of her lipstick around his dick.”

Keeley holds her breath. “What did you do?”

“My friend’s mom dropped me off in front of my house, but I ran to the nearby park instead and hid. I didn’t make it home until almost midnight.”

She braces a hand over her heart, and I can almost feel her worry. “Your parents must have been worried sick.”

“I was too pissed to care. A neighbor finally found me.” I’d been hiding between two bushes, dry eyed and hungry and confused as hell. At that age, I wasn’t precisely sure what my father was doing with that other woman, but I knew it was wrong. “When I got home, my mother screamed out her anger that I worried her for nothing before she retreated to bed. Once we were alone, my father sat me down and told me not to be a righteous little pussy about what I’d seen that afternoon. Then he took a conference call with someone in China. We never spoke about it again.”

“Did you ever tell your mom what you saw?”

I shake my head. “You have to understand… I was a kid who wanted to please the father who never seemed to have time for me. I thought keeping his secret—and a lot of the others I learned about over the years—might make him care more. Besides, I think my mom knew and tattling would have been merely rubbing her face in all her misery.”

“Does Griff know what kind of man your father is?”

“Of course,” I assure her. “He figured it out a few years later when he discovered Dad banging his third-grade teacher.”

Keeley pushes her bowl away, shaken. “I can’t imagine… My father loved us with all his heart. The day he passed away, he squeezed my mother’s hand in his hospital bed, kissed my forehead, and promised her that his love for us was deathless, even if he wasn’t. He was a good man. Despite having remarried a few years ago, my mom still wears a locket with his picture around her neck. I miss him.”

Tears shimmer in her eyes. The memory is one she holds close to her heart. She’s proud to wear the emotion on her face.

I’m not the enemy, but if I was, she just exposed a big chink in her armor. Does she know that? Or does she trust me enough not to use her feelings against her?

I like that idea.

“And mine is a selfish, womanizing pig. Griff and I saw a thousand instances of that as teenagers. When we were little kids, he seemed to take delight in watching us twist and contort, trying to please him. But when we interned with him a few summers, we bonded over our dislike of the way he treated us. We swore we’d never be anything like him.”

Yet I fear he’s exactly who we’ve both become.

Our shared boyhood crap held us together until three years ago, when that goddamn deal with the freaking Middle Eastern prince splintered our pact into a thousand pieces. If I’m being really honest, I’ve been somewhat lost since.

“I’m getting the picture,” she murmured. “Did you try to talk to your brother after he left?”

“Sure. I thought someone had stolen money from our bank and broken into our office at first. I called him that morning he didn’t show up for work. He answered with ‘Fuck off, you backstabbing shitbag’ and hung up. So I went to his place. He lives in a guarded complex. He told the guard there to advise me that I was no longer welcome.”

That’s one memory I would rather forget, driving over to Griff’s building and trying to reason with security as the pounding rain soaked my freshly starched shirt thirty minutes before I was supposed to FaceTime this royal prick every square inch of the property he was signing for later that day. Security wouldn’t budge, and I drove away soaked and confused and fucking sad.

“That’s it?”

“What else did you want me to do? He wouldn’t see me. He wouldn’t see Britta, even when she sent a letter to his house to tell him that he would be a father in seven months. He just cut us cold.”

Keeley pauses, and I see the wheels in her head turning. “Then came his nasty e-mail with the pictures of him and Tiffanii naked?”

“Yeah, and there was nothing to say after that.”

She nods. It’s a lot to absorb, and it sounds as if she had a really awesome childhood with parents who loved her. No wonder she’s not really grasping all the baggage from mine.

“It’s safe to say that your dad’s behavior affected Griff, too?”

I never thought about it quite like that. I mean, we were both warped. That’s a fact. Emotion never entered into our decisions. Showing weakness was the worst thing we could do. I thought I had feelings for Tiffanii, but lifelong commitment to one woman was something I shied away from because, of course, why pluck a single flower when I would always want to plow the whole field? I really thought that until recently. Griff’s departure had me examining the past. Keeley’s perspective makes me reevaluate my attitude. No doubt about it…filtered through her lens, my life looks fucked up.

“It must have. I’ve wondered for years if he left Britta and Jamie without blinking because the responsibility scared him or, like Dad, he was just incapable of caring. I don’t know.”

“What do you think he saw in Britta? I mean, you said he has a ‘type’?”

“And she’s the epitome of what trips Griff’s trigger.”

“Blonde?”

I shake my head. I can accuse Griff of a lot of shallow shit because I know he’s screwed hordes of willing women. Hell, in college he used to love the tourist hangouts because the ladies were drunk and easy and looking for a good time. Britta seemed to change all that. Or I’d thought so until the day he left.

“Smart. Sharp. Someone with attitude and verve. Good tits help.”

Keeley swats my arm. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“Tits?” she challenges with a cock of her head.

“Do you like breastsss better?” I intentionally stumble over the word because, really, it’s not the easiest word to say.

“Yes, especially when you’re not being an ass about it.”

I try not to roll my eyes. “Don’t make me call your girl parts a vagina,” I warn. “That’s a pussy. Yours is a really pretty one.”

Her expression turns tart. “Mine is off-limits to you. We’re talking about your brother.”

“But not in the same sentence as your pussy.”

In all honesty, I’m poking at her. I don’t know why exactly. To lighten the mood? So she stops feeling sorry for me? So things seem less heavy? Probably all that. When I’m with her, I have so many thoughts. But they’re more than thoughts when they make my chest squishy. They’re feelings.

Jesus, I’m allergic to those. I need to stop.

“All right,” she sighs in exasperation. “So your brother likes smart women with personality?”

“Yeah. He has this…thing about dating a woman who’s his intellectual equal, who is also good with banter. Arguing—sorry, debate, as he calls it—is his foreplay. He needs someone who can keep up. It’s no fun to verbally beat someone who didn’t have a prayer of winning in the first place.”

“For real?”

I can’t tell whether she’s intrigued or horrified. “When he met Britta at a caravan—that’s the term for a bunch of Realtors spending a morning hopping from property to property en masse to preview new listings for their clients—she was filling in for her sick boss. She looked impeccably beautiful. Crisp white shirt that hugged her body. The open collar revealed just a hint of cleavage… The black skirt flirted with her knees and wrapped to a slit up the back that showed most of her legs. She wore these ridiculous heels with wraparound strap thingies. She had great legs. Don’t get me wrong. She looked professional as hell. Put together, low-key makeup, understated jewelry. But she looked like a woman. And she put him in his place with a sentence. That’s definitely Griff’s thing. He likes to conquer the strong and dirty up the pretty.”

Keeley looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Then you picked the wrong woman for this task. I’ve never been understated or professional in my life.”

“I can make you those things.”

“You want to change me?” She raises a brow in warning.

“No, I like you as is. But for the purposes of derailing Griff… Think of it as a—what do you women call it?—yeah, a makeover. If you really decide to be an innkeeper, it could help you.”

The accusation on her face relaxes, and I’m damn glad I think fast on my feet.

“Maybe,” she concedes.

“Besides, I’m only altering the way you appear temporarily. It’s you he’ll want. Your humor and wit. Your charm. Your intelligence. Your quick comebacks.” And her compassion. He’ll like that, too. “Once my brother has conquered and dirtied, he wants someone he can relate to. I don’t know if he’d ever admit it, but that’s what he once liked most about Britta. She understood and accepted him.”

Keeley nods as if she grasps all that. “That makes sense.”

“Right. To stay with someone long term, you have to talk after you boink, I guess. I’ve never experienced that, but I’m sure it would be nice. Tiffanii wasn’t a conversationalist—unless she was the subject. Every time I tried to talk to her about my past, she’d tell me to see a therapist, then shove her earbuds in her iPad and watch another YouTube video about makeup.”

Keeley rolls her eyes as if she has a strong opinion about Tiff that isn’t good. “You think I’m smart, huh? That my personality is slightly dazzling?”

When she smiles, I’m captivated by this little dimple in her cheek. I never noticed it before, but it’s a spot of cute on an otherwise beautiful face.

“Fishing for compliments?” I tease back.

I like this happy Keeley way better than the serious, digging-in-my-psyche version.

She looks like she has a quick, playful reply right on the tip of her tongue, then reconsiders it. “Mostly I just want to know why you chose me.”

It’s a fair question. I can’t put it into words except to say, “It’s a gut feeling. I looked at you beyond the makeup and the dress and I heard you. The way you sang. I could hear…your heart, I guess. That probably sounds stupid because you were totally singing about thinking of me and touching yourself.”

“Well, not you specifically.”

“Of course it was me,” I refute with a wink. “Everyone in the room knew it.”

“You mean, except the three other guys who wanted to pick me up?”

“They were dense. You could look at them and tell their IQs were in the neighborhood of their shoe size.”

“Maxon…” She laughs at me as if she can’t do anything else.

At least it clears up the last of the tense air between us. But I’m not dumb. She’ll go about her business tomorrow, then come back with more questions. She’ll dig deeper and want to understand. Really, I’ve never dissected my life like this, and it’s funny how much I’m realizing just by saying it out loud. At this rate, why would I ever need therapy when I have Keeley?

“To be honest, after you teased the audience and put that one wrestler wannabe in his place, I knew Griff would be intrigued. Then I pictured you in something tailored and classic yet feminine and put it together with your sweetly assertive personality. I knew my brother would go insane.”

She takes a sip of her wine. “If you wanted me for your brother, why did you sleep with me first?”

How much do I tell her? Anything I say makes me sound like a dirtbag. Then again, I’ve never apologized for who I am. Why start now? “I couldn’t help myself.”

Her face softens. She has to be thinking that she couldn’t help herself, either. Some gentle sentiment I can’t quite decipher pours from those blue eyes. Despite all the sparkly shadow and heavy black liner, I see it. Hell, I feel it.

But Keeley doesn’t speak it. She merely nods.

“I understand wanting what you want when you want it. The truth is, we can’t always have that.”

A veiled warning not to come on to her again. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to heed that. We’re sitting close. During the conversation, night has fallen and the moon makes her glimmer under its soft silvery beams. She’s chewed her bottom lip so much it’s swollen and red. Our forearms are so close I can feel the body heat rising from hers. If I lift my hand, I could tangle our fingers together. I think about it. I think hard. One little move and I could be touching her…

But that would make me an even bigger asshole, wouldn’t it?

Having this sudden conscience is annoying.

I pull back. I try to be all suave about it, lean back in my chair like I didn’t want to jump on her all along.

Not sure she’s buying it when she leans back and crosses her arms over her chest pensively.

“Yeah. Whatever,” I flip back at her.

Keeley sends me a skeptical glance but lets it go. “So what’s next? How do you make me into Griff’s fantasy girl?”

I’m happy to be back on conversationally easier ground. “I’ve made you some appointments next week. My brother can be an SOB pig but he loves a lady. Polished in public, slutastic in private. I also called a former client of mine. Clarisse has trained pageant contestants. Don’t give me that face.”

That only makes Keeley’s expression stormier. “I am not going to look like a mannequin in sequins.”

“You’re not,” I rush to agree. “But she’s also a body language coach. She’ll teach you to sit, stand, walk, and talk all while flirting in the subtlest way. Griff eats that shit up. After that, you’ve got a full two days at the spa. In the meantime, my sister is learning his schedule. We’ll figure out a time, a place, and a look that’s just right for the occasion. Then we’ll go in.”

“And when do you start teaching me about business and what to do so that I can eventually buy my own B and B?”

I pause. It’s a fair question. Besides, keeping my end of the bargain will enable me to spend more time with Keeley.

“Saturday. I’m dropping by to preview a place in Kahakuloa for another client. After that, I should be free for the rest of the day. I know some houses for sale not far from there that might be good properties for your purpose. Why don’t we walk some of them, talk about the pros and cons, what to look for and what to run away from, how you’d utilize them to your maximum benefit…that kind of thing.”

“That would be great.” Her warm smile returns.

Every time I see that expression, I relax and simply enjoy her beauty. And of course, I have to smile back.

“It’s a date, then.”

Her smile falls. “It’s not. We’re business partners. We’re giving each other something we want so we can get ahead. Once Griff trusts me, I’m going to do my best to help you repair your relationship with your brother. But you and I are not dating. We’re not having sex. We’re not anything.”

My immediate reaction is to be pissed off. My head knows that’s the deal we struck. The rest of me isn’t accepting it.

“Figure of speech.” I shrug by way of apology.

But deep down…yeah, put me in the stupid column. I’m still determined to have my cake and eat it, too. I will have this woman again. I’ll spend day and night working for it until I earn her.