I shove down the instinct to stand up and take Serenity Kowall by the elbow and steer her out the nearest window—I shove it down deep enough that my hands don’t even ball up into fists—though I’d really, really like to. She stands at the side of the table, hip cocked to one side, looking like a taller and bitchier version of her former self. Her blonde hair, unlike Juliet’s, is from a salon on the Upper East Side. The hair color is all they have in common.

I look up at her with my eyebrows slightly raised. “We both know why I didn’t call.”

My heart beats so hard in my chest that it’s a distraction. I want to press both hands against it until it’s cooled the hell down.

Serenity pouts, wrinkling her forehead, but her brown eyes don’t hold a hint of sadness. “Of course. Because I reached my expiration date.” She flicks her eyes over Juliet, whose cheeks are a hot, uncomfortable pink. “I see you’re back to the blondes. What’s the rotation now, Weston? Brunette next? Or a redhead?”

“Are you here for brunch?” I keep my tone mild, the hint of a smile on my face.

“I thought I’d stop by so we could catch up.”

“Not much to catch up about, Serenity.”

“Oh, I disagree. All my friends are wondering who the great Weston Grant’s latest slut is. The gossip magazines can be so unreliable. But it looks like you’ve found yourself a nice one this time.”

Juliet’s entire body stiffens at the word slut, and I can’t blame her. I can’t blame her for an instant for reacting to this horrible mistake of a woman calling her a slut on a Sunday morning. Not after what happened with her father. Every ounce of my attention locks on Juliet, and the moment stretches on too long.

“That’s what I thought,” Serenity says knowingly. “How long have you got left, sweetheart? One more weekend? Two?”

Now the color drains from Juliet’s face. I’d give anything on the planet to shove those words back into Serenity’s mouth.

But Juliet doesn’t look down at the place setting in front of her. She doesn’t wilt back in her seat. Her jaw set into a hard line, she lifts her chin half an inch and looks Serenity up and down. “Oh, no.” Her tone matches mine—casual and light, like nothing out of the ordinary is happening here. Like nothing could faze her. Serenity whips her head around to glare at Juliet.

“What is it, Juliet?” I lean toward her, extending my hand across the table, my heart kicking into overdrive.

Juliet puts her hand defiantly in mine, then shakes her head a little. “It’s nothing. It’s that—” Then she looks up into Serenity’s face, her expression apologetic. What the hell is she doing? “I was really looking forward to this lovely brunch, but now I’m starting to lose my appetite. Would you mind being a bitch somewhere else?”

Serenity’s mouth drops open and her eyes go wide, bugging out like a suffocating fish. I swallow the laughter bubbling up in my chest. Then she snaps her lips closed. I raise my other hand, giving her a little wave. “Bye bye, Serenity.”

Her face burning red, she turns away from the table. She’s three steps away before she decides to get the last word in. “Your time will be up before you know it.” She forces the words out through gritted teeth.

“You only got a week?” Juliet calls after her, laughing a little. “I’m getting two.” Then she turns back to me and squeezes my hand in both of hers, dismissing Serenity without another word. “Oh, the drinks are here.”

A waiter steps up to the table carrying a tray with two mimosas garnished with plump fruits, and Juliet lets go of my hand, leaning back to give him space to serve. I want to give her a standing ovation. “Juliet, I—”

“Let’s not talk about it,” she says, giving me a little smile. “I don’t want that horrible woman to ruin our brunch.” I believe her when she says it. She lifts her champagne glass from the table and raises it in a toast. “To Sunday mornings.”

“To Sunday mornings.” We clink our glasses, and for a split second I think it’s over, it’s all in the past, it’s done. 

But I see a flicker of doubt on Juliet’s face when she puts down her glass.

“What’s on your mind, angel?”

She grins across the table at me. “Nothing but you.”

I don’t quite believe her. Not this time.

When we step back across the threshold of my penthouse, Juliet lets out a long sigh. “We have a problem, Weston Grant.”

I square my shoulders and face her. This is going to be about Serenity Kowall. This is going to be about the many, many women I’ve been with in the past. If now’s the time for us to have that conversation, I want to get it the hell over with so I can enjoy whatever time I have left with Juliet. “I have an idea what that might be.”

She lifts one eyebrow and sets her bag down on one of the tables in the foyer. “So you’ll give me a ride?”

I already have my mouth open to explain that something is different with her, that how much I care about her is so different that sometimes it takes my breath away, that women like Serenity Kowall don’t mean a thing to me and never have— “Wait. What?”

“I’m way behind in my coursework for school, and I have two classes and a shift at the Rose tomorrow. All of my books are at my place, but—”

“A ride?” I pull her toward me, then glide both hands up her neck to her jawline and go in for a kiss, hard, heavy and hot. She melts into me, and it’s at least a minute before we come up for air. “Please.” I smile down at her. “I’ll send someone for the books. Meanwhile—”

“What did you think it was going to be about?” She says it like there’s no possible way she could have any other problem on earth, but that doubt flickers across her face again.

“Books,” I murmur into her ear. “I thought you’d insist on going home to study.”

“I should go home to study.”

“I have an entire den that’s all yours. I won’t even bother you.” I kiss her below her earlobe, then breathe in her scent. 

She sucks in a long breath. “What if I want you to bother me?” 

I keep one hand on her, my thumb rubbing up and down the back of her neck, making goosebumps rise. It only takes a few seconds to pull out my phone and text the details to Dave. Then I leave her spare key on the table, next to her back. “I’d say, with traffic, we have about forty-five minutes before your books arrive. We should make them count.”

I don’t have to tell her twice.