“She’ll be here soon,” Cole tells me. We’re back at Black Ink, and Melissa, the head of the marketing department, is running behind. Cole has a conference with an agent and has to get back to work. “There’s almost always a crisis going on around here.”

“I don’t know if you could pay me enough to do PR.” I shake my head. “Seems so stressful.”

“It is,” Cole agrees. “Do you want anything while you wait?”

“I’m good. I have a coloring book in my purse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you have crayons too?”

“Hah. No. It’s an adult coloring book.” I pull out a little gray journal that says “Find Peace” on the cover. “It’s very calming.” I debate telling him that this was a recommendation from my therapist. But that means explaining why I went to therapy in the first place.

And that is not something I want to do.

“Oh, I’ve seen those. Black Ink published two last year. They did surprisingly well.”

“It’s a trendy thing right now,” I say. “So, don’t worry about me. I’ll be over here coloring. With pencils, not crayons.”

His eyes linger on me and he smiles. “Okay. Your meeting should last about an hour. I’ll find you before you leave,” he says softly. We’re in the lobby and aren’t alone. The moment we walked through the doors to the press, it’s like a flip was switched, turning Cole into business-mode.

His hand landed on my thigh more than once during lunch, but as soon as he realized it, he snatched it back like my skin was on fire. Luke gave Cole several weird looks throughout our meal, making me wonder if he knows what’s going on. I’ve only seen the brothers together twice—which is a bit of a shame. It’s amazing two people who share DNA can look so different and still be so incredibly good-looking—and they’ve gotten along both times, but something tells me they didn’t always. I can tell there’s history between the two, but I don’t dare ask.

If Luke picked up on something, Lexi didn’t. Harper only wanted her mother, so Lexi was a bit distracted. Would it be that big of a deal if they did know? I color a wing on a butterfly, playing back everything in my mind.

There’s a difference in being desired and being valued. Obviously, Cole and I desire each other. But value? I let out a breath. I’m leaving tonight. Cole will be out of sight and eventually out of mind. Well, until I have to send him my book.

Shit.

“Scarlett Levine?” a woman calls from the front desk. She has to say it twice before it gets my attention. I’m still getting used to the pen name. Melissa is ready for our meeting. She leads me into the offices again, going down a row of desks and into a conference room. I see Cole in his office through the open door. He’s on the phone, taking notes on whatever he’s saying. Suddenly I feel like I’m under the microscope of everyone in this building.

I’m a brand-new author.

I want to make this my career.

I want to build a fan base.

I’m already sleeping with my editor and lying to everyone about it.

What the hell kind of mess did I get myself into?

* * *

Sunlight reflects off the shiny gold key. I flip it over in my hand, slowly walking down the busy sidewalk. I’m not keeping up with the foot traffic, and have gotten bumped into more than once. A text comes through and I feel my phone vibrating in my purse. I close my fingers around the key, holding it tight as if it’s the one ring to rule them all and Gollum is behind me.

I pull out my phone, smiling when I see Cole’s name. My meeting with Melissa ended half an hour ago. Cole is buried under book-world drama and was in a meeting with publishers, authors, and agents that couldn’t be interrupted when I left. He had his assistant give me the key to his house along with a handwritten message to go in, make myself at home, and he’ll be there as soon as he can.

My smile turns into a frown when I read his words, saying the author in question, who’s trying to weasel his way out of the breach of contract accusations, is making things as difficult as possible. Which translates to Cole not being able to leave anytime soon.

I have to be at the airport in four hours. I doubt the meeting will take that long, but four hours doesn’t leave us with much time. After all we went through together this past week—no. It doesn’t matter. I shake my head, trying to rid the vision of Cole standing up, dramatically tossing papers to the side and running out of his office to get to me, to tell me to stay, to confess that he has feelings for me like I do for him.

That’s not going to happen. Life isn’t a love story. Life doesn’t end with happily ever afters. Most don’t even get a mediocre happy-for-now. Life isn’t full of meant-to-be moments. Life is work. Responsibilities. Putting your own desires to the side for the sake of getting a paycheck. I want to believe in epic love. Of feeling so strong everything else is tossed to the wind because without this person in your life, you’re just surviving and not living.

I want it so much it hurts. My heart swells painfully in my chest, longing for something I’ve never had, filling my head with crazy notions that I’d do anything to feel that loved, that desired, that valued. Because when you have someone to share your heart with, everything else just falls into place.

The bad things aren’t as bad when you’re not alone.

And the good is even better when there is someone there to celebrate with you.

I walk up the stone steps and pause on the porch of Cole’s ostentatious townhouse. Uncurling my fingers, I look at the key for a moment. My heart is in my throat. Dammit. I wasn’t supposed to come to New York and complicate my already complicated life.

“Whatever,” I mumble to myself and pick up the key with two fingers. I go to stick it in the lock when the door opens, startling me as well as the women leaving. Wearing matching blue polo shirts and holding buckets of cleaning supplies, I know they are the housekeepers right away. I left right as they came this morning and didn’t get a chance to see them.

“Oh, sorry, Miss,” one of the women say. She’s young, probably no older than twenty-one and has pretty blue eyes. “I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s okay. Great timing, right?” I chuckle and stand aside to let them through.

“Thanks,” she says and carefully pulls a vacuum cleaner out with her. “Have a good day.” She walks down the steps and the other woman, who’s older with neatly braided gray hair, gives me a quick look up and down.

“I’ve been cleaning Mr. Winchester’s house for a long time,” she tells me. “It’s nice to see he’s not alone anymore.” She gives me a warm smile and follows the other housekeeper, going about her day with no realization that her words are leaving me stunned.

Cole hasn’t dated anyone in years? He’s been so alone even his housekeepers noticed? I don’t need to know why. I don’t want to know why. And I’m not thinking about that deep sadness I saw in his eyes.

God, I’m a horrible liar.

I close and lock the door behind me, and then head upstairs. The bed is remade, ten times neater than the way I had it when I left. My PJs are neatly folded at the foot. I take them and stick them in my suitcase, and go into the bathroom to grab my toiletries, which have been dried and organized as well. Once everything is packed, I take my laptop to the sitting area in the master bedroom and start writing.

An hour later I realize my steamy love story has taken a bitter tone. I’ve added more angst, more disappointment, and have pretty much written off the chance of the lovers actually getting together. Sighing, I minimize my writing program and open up Facebook.

My personal profile is set to private and is pretty pointless to have at this point. I deleted most of my pictures and hardly post anything in fear of getting stalked. Again. I keep it not so I can “stay in touch” with family, but to mindlessly creep on people I used to be friends with. I spend a few minutes scrolling through my newsfeed, wishing I could post about the fun times I’m having in New York.

I switch over to my Scarlett Levine page, happy to find friend requests from Lexi and a few other people at Black Ink. Melissa from the marketing department stressed the importance of a strong social media presence. I feel silly posting as Scarlett now, but it gets easier and feels natural, she promised.

I spend another half an hour posting as Scarlett—it’s weird that posting on Facebook is actual work—and then call my mom. Another street got hit with smashed mailboxes last night, leaving us to believe it really is rebellious and bored teens and not a threatening message for me and me alone. We talk for twenty minutes, and then I wander around the house and end up in the kitchen looking for something to eat.

And now there are only two hours left until I have to be at the airport. My stomach churns, but I’m not sure what this discord is from.

Worry I won’t see Cole before I have to leave?

Or frustration with myself that I want to see him again.

I walk into the large pantry, searching for junk food. I need to eat my feelings right now. Cole seems to keep mostly healthy food stocked, so I settle for a bag of pretzels and some sort of fancy carbonated flavored water. I sit at the kitchen table, not trusting myself to not get crumbs all over the freshly cleaned couch.

My phone vibrates again, and I eagerly reach for it with the hopes of a message from Cole. But what I see makes my blood turn to ice.

I hope you’re enjoying New York City. You never liked crowds before.

It’s from the same number that texted me before about my purple dress. Instantly, my heart races and the pretzels I just ate threaten to come up. My breath catches and I can’t get any air. I stand, recoiling from the phone. I clasp my hands over my elbows and look around.

The house is too big. With places to hide. And wait. And plan and plot. I shake my head. If Steven saw my photo in The New York Times to know the color of my dress, he knows where I am. It doesn’t mean he’s following me. Watching me. Right now. While I’m alone.

My phone vibrates again and I’m scared to look down, scared to read the message. Images from every horror movie I’ve ever watched flash through my mind and goosebumps break out over my flesh. Slowly, I edge toward the table, forcing myself to look at the screen.

I miss you.

No…just no. I sharply inhale but get no oxygen. I don’t know why I thought I could do this. Thought I could move on, start a new life. Get away from it all. My hands shake and I feel like I’m spiraling down a dark hole, spinning so fast I can’t stop. Going down, down, down faster and faster. The world fades into black and I can’t slow down, can’t get a grip. I throw my arms out, desperately trying to get a hold of something—anything—to keep me from crashing at the bottom.

“Ana?”

Heavy hands land on my shoulders, steadying me. I’m not spinning. Not falling. I open my eyes, blinking in the light. Cole’s face comes into focus, features twisted with concern.

Tears fill my eyes. He doesn’t speak, just pulls me close. Holds me. Comforts me. Saves me from the darkness. A single tear rolls down my cheek, spilling out onto his chest. I’m still shaking. Another minute passes and I can breathe.

“What happened?” he asks gently.

“Do you remember how I said everyone has a crazy ex?”

“I do.” He strokes my hair and takes my hand, pulling me into his lap as he sits at the table. I keep my arms fastened around him because for some reason while I can’t trust anyone else, I trust him.

I feel safe with him.

I don’t need to put up a front with him.

I can be myself around him.

God dammit, I’m falling for him.

“Well, mine takes crazy to a whole new level. A criminal level and he just got out of jail.”