Six months ago, my best friend and roommate was found in the river, her body lifeless. My heart hasn’t felt the same since. Deep scars remain, ones that can’t be seen but can definitely be felt. Rage mixed with sadness courses through me. Our boss, her lover, was a Jekyll and Hyde. She was his lover and she never knew the trajectory of his madness. But there was more to the story than she let on.

They claim it was a suicide. I know different. He’s a powerful, rich man. Senator Branton Archard is as corrupt as most politicians. With Norah out of the way, he promoted me as his secretary, and I hate it. However, without hesitation, I took the job. My mission now is to prove the asshole guilty. It’s taken longer than expected, and I’m nowhere close to finding the answers I’m searching for—what did Norah Cramer hold over Senator Archard? Is that what killed her? And if so, how will I ever find that proof? He belittles me, talks down to me, every day, and I take it. Because I know I’ll eventually find him out.

Dark clouds loom as I stroll in Central Park. I stop and stare at the sky. The orange, yellow, red, and purple of the trees will sleep through the winter. I wish I could hibernate like them. I’ve been living in a haze—like everything is passing me by. My days and nights all seem to mesh together, filled with worry and work. I bundle my coat closer to me, the cold stinging my skin. The temperature has dropped significantly, and I should go back to my apartment, but I can’t get myself to move.

Tears well up and slip down, staining my cheeks with trails of black mascara. I lean against Bow Bridge, staring at the water below. A sigh from a gentleman beside me grabs my attention. He’s a few feet away and takes a long drag of his cigarette. Dark, thick hair waves on his head. Stubble covers his chiseled jaw. His profile’s like a marble statue you’d see in Italy. It makes him look deliciously dangerous. The wool overcoat adds to his extreme good looks, as if he’s a mystery to solve.

The smoke swirls from his lips as he puffs out, gazing into the distance. His Prussian-blue eyes set on mine and I shift. I’m caught ogling this beautiful stranger. I avoid his gaze and chip away at the already dwindling dark nail polish from my thumb. A few tears stream down again and I attempt to wipe them away in haste.

“Long day?”

The handsome stranger’s standing beside me. His eyes focus clearly on mine. His hand is jutted out, the cigarette waiting. I reach for it; my shaking fingers clasp the burning death stick. My skin skims his, and I feel a stir in my heart, one that I can’t explain.

“You could say that.” I put the cigarette to my mouth and take a long drag. The nicotine fills my throat and rolls down my lungs. As I puff out, I can feel the tension dissipate. I hold back a cough, not used to the taste of smoke. I flick the ash down and hand it back.

He takes his own drag again and nods. “Me too.” He breathes as he chuckles softly. “A city with over eight million people, and yet I’ve never felt more fucking alone.”

I look to him as his velvet voice lulls me. He passes the cigarette back and I refuse. “I love and hate this city.” I sigh, taking in the sunset. “The light, the trees, the buildings. Everything is so peaceful at this time of day…and then the night comes and…”

“Desolation,” he finishes. I look up and his eyes are fixed on me.

“Smoking’s disgusting, by the way,” I say with disdain in my voice. He studies me as if he’s confused, like I’m a marvel to him, then his mouth turns up slightly on one side. He puts out the cigarette on the rail and tosses the butt into a nearby trash bin.

“Want to get a drink?”

Shock tremors through me. Who is this man? “Why?”

“Why not?”

“You’re a stranger.”

He sounds amused as he begins, “That’s the perfect reason to go and get a drink with me. We can talk it out.”

“Talk what out?” I ask with suspicion.

“The reason why the both of us are fucking miserable.”

He is hot. I’m lonely. I consider as my gaze sweeps over him. He’s wearing a lush wool coat over a tailored suit, practically looking like a walking magazine ad. To not take him up on his offer would be insanity. “Okay.”

He pushes his elbow out and I cautiously lean over to hook my hand around it. “I think it’ll be best we remain strangers if this is going to be like a confession,” he states as he leads me to a pub around the corner.

“Good idea.” I don’t need to be caught up in anything other than a fling. I’m too focused on my goal. I tell myself this as we walk.

The inside of the pub he takes me to is dimly lit, and we make our way toward the back. I can smell his scent as he takes off my coat. Cologne mixed with tobacco. It’s heady and makes me weak in the knees. He removes his coat and orders lagers for the both of us. Dedication to his body is evident. Broad shoulders and a trim waist. What would he be like in bed? My stomach twists at the thought as he orders and offers to share some fish and chips with me.

We get settled, and he rests his forearms on the table, hooking his long fingers together. “Tell me, now. What’s plaguing you?” That gaze is like lasers searing into me.

“Where to begin?” I shudder and take a sip of the frothy beer the waitress sets down.

“I’ll bet I can guess why you were crying.” No expression is given from me except a lift of my brow. “Your dog ran away.”

I chuckle slightly. “No, no dog.”

“Gerbil?”

I laugh louder, feeling my troubles lighten. “No. Nothing to do with pets.”

He keeps his eyes on me. It’s disconcerting. The fish and chips are set between us. He starts to munch on the food. I watch him, smooth and graceful in his movements. He picks up a fry and holds it to my lips. “I’m not really hungry.”

“They’re good.” His eyebrow cocks up and I give a slight grin. “Come on, sweetheart, open those lips for me.”

I try not to laugh but can’t help it. My mouth parts and he slowly places the fry against my tongue. His finger glides across my lower lip and lingers before he then licks his own finger clean of salt. “Good?” he asks. I nod. “Good. Now, you lost your job?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?” I stay still. “Ah, a breakup.”

“No, it’s not that…”

His brows furrow, and a crease appears between them. “Divorce?”

“No. My best friend died.”

His body stills and he breathes in as he takes a large sip of his lager. “I think we’re going to need something stronger than just beer.” He raises his hand and calls out for two shots of bourbon. “I’m so sorry. When did this happen?”

“Six months ago.” His gaze lingers on me. He’s so quiet, thinking things, judging me. “Do you pity me?”

“No. I know how it feels to lose someone.” He watches me intently, his deep blue eyes so focused it’s virtually easy to spill my secrets.

“I don’t have anyone I can talk to. Confide in.”

“Confide away. That’s what we’re doing here.” He smiles and it pains me. He’s so beautiful it’s difficult to look at him. I wonder why the hell he’s here with me when he could be out with some stunning runway model banging her into oblivion. I don’t dwell on it, and take the opportunity to talk, which is much needed.

“She was my roommate and co-worker. We’d only known each other a few years, but we were close. And the thing is…I knew something was wrong. She tried to tell me she was in danger. I ignored it.”

“What do you mean?” Concern swoops over his brow. He leans in close, the food forgotten.

“She drowned. They called it a suicide, but she told me she was pregnant. There’s no way she would’ve thrown herself off a bridge. She didn’t leave a note; there were no signs of depression. In fact, she was excited about the baby.”

His thumb plays over his plump bottom lip in contemplation. “What about the father?”

I shake my head. “He’s a scumbag.”

His eyes darken as his form hardens. “You think he harmed her?”

I don’t speak, giving him the nonverbal cues to an answer. He waits to respond as the waitress brings our shots. He grabs his and signals me to take mine. We both shoot the liquor down and I wince from the burn. “Want me to take him out?” he asks, a tiny hint of a grin playing over his angular, firm expression.

I think about it a moment and hum. “Not yet. I’ve gotta find the proof first. He’s a crooked son of a bitch. I know there’s some kind of evidence.”

“And how do you expect to find it?”

I smirk and don’t hold back, not sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making me bold or him. “He’s my boss now. And I’ll stick around the bastard until I find what I need.”

“You’re spying on him?” he asks, his tone astonished. His stern brow is furrowed, his expression intense. “That’s dangerous, love.”

I shrug, the booze heating my veins. “I have to do something. My friend said there was something she had of his. Something bad. I think she wanted to get back at him for leaving her once she told him she was pregnant. I just don’t know what it is or how to find it. But I know deep in my bones he’s the one who did this to her.”

I’ve said too much. He’s probably noticed my worry, and tries to lighten up the dark with a joke. “And when you do, then I’ll take him out.” He winks his twinkling blue eye. For a second I think he’s serious, but he changes the subject quickly. “And you? No boyfriend troubles like that, I hope?”

I snag another fry as he signals the waitress for another round. “No. The last guy I dated was unfaithful. Now I just have my slimy boss trying to hit on me all the time.”

“Your friend’s lover?” I nod. His jaw ticks as he takes a deep breath. “What a dick. You can’t seem to catch a break, can you?” He jests, but his smile falters and he gives me that deep stare. There’s something behind his veneer that I want to understand.

“My life could be a soap opera.” I keep eating the fries, reminding myself I should take it easy and go to the gym. Archard likes me in tight clothes. He’s already said things about the fact that I’m not as thin as Norah. He’s a pig.

“I’m sorry that’s happening to you. That’s some tough times you’ve had.”

“I try not to dwell on what I can’t fix, and try to fix the things I can.” Fuck Archard, I’m eating all the fries. “Why’s your day shit, by the way? What happened to you?”

He runs his hand through his thick hair and shakes his head. “I don’t know if I want to talk about it.”

“Now that’s not fair. You made me talk about me.”

“I never agreed that I would though.”

I huff out and roll my eyes. “You’re sneaky.”

That half grin of his appears again as he takes out his wallet. “Let’s get out of here.”

I watch as he drops a hundred on the table and shrugs his overcoat back on. He helps me with mine and then grabs my hand. I grasp it, and it’s warm, large, and comforting. I know where the night will lead, and I’m ready. Ready to feel something exciting, something new, something amazing. I’m ready to take a leap into the unknown. To hell with the consequences.