“I met my new editor today.” I cradle the phone to my ear and sink down in the oversized hotel bathtub.

“How’d it go?” Jess asks. “Is he hot in real life or was I right about that photo being manipulated?”

I close my eyes and think of Cole. As a man who commands attention without even trying, he intimidated me right away. The first thing I noticed were his deep brown eyes, which held back the same emotion I noticed in his image. I’ve never been good at reading people, but something tells me Cole has a past he desperately wants to forget.

It’s something I notice because I have one too.

“Yes. He’s even prettier in person.”

“He’s gay then, right?”

I open my eyes and slowly swish lavender scented bubbles around the hot water. “He didn’t give off the vibe.”

“Married?”

“No ring, and the only personal photo he had in his entire office—which is huge and has an incredible view of the city, by the way—was a crayon drawing that was addressed to Uncle Cole. I’m guessing it’s from my previous editor’s kids. She’s his sister-in-law, remember?”

“Are you going to make a move on that fine piece of ass?” Jess quips.

“He’s basically my boss, and what’s the point? I’m coming back home soon.”

“You could stay a while,” Jess says quickly. Too quickly. And I know why, and I can’t say I blame her. Being out of town, out of his reach has given me a sense of relief I didn’t think was possible.

“I might stay a few more days. Go see some touristy sights or a play or something. Or truthfully, I might just sit here in this fancy hotel and write. New York is rather inspiring.”

Jess laughs. “Are you sure it’s not your sexy new editor doing the inspiring? You do write erotica, after all.”

“Technically, it’s dirty romance and not marketed as erotica.”

“Maybe he’ll be good inspiration for that too. You could use a little romance in your life.”

“Hah,” I say with a snort of laughter. “You’re telling me. Maybe I’ll meet some rich investor at the hotel bar. We’ll have a dirty one-night stand and he’ll fall madly in love with me. Then he’ll buy me lavish gifts to win over my affection.”

“I like that plan. See if he has a rich friend for me.”

“For sure.”

“So what are you doing tonight? Aren’t you nervous to walk around The Windy City by yourself?”

“The Windy City is Chicago. This is The Big Apple.”

“Fuck. Right. I always confuse the two.”

I laugh and bring my knees up. “I’m actually going to dinner with Cole. Strictly business, so don’t get any ideas. We got distracted talking about books and ran out of time earlier, so we’re going to finish talking about the editing process over dinner.”

“Maybe he wants more of you.”

“I doubt it.”

“Don’t forget you’re a knockout,” Jess insists softly. “Not only have I been jealous of how pretty you are for like our whole friendship, but you’re an awesome lady too. You have a kind soul, and people like you are hard to find.”

“Yeah.” I have to remind myself to stop there and not mentally break down all the reasons I’m not awesome. It’s hard to undo the damage that’s been done, but I’m trying. Really fucking trying.

I don’t want to be broken anymore.

“I do have time between this and dinner, so I’m going shopping. He said he knew of a good place with a view. So that means fancy, right? I’m so not cut out for this.”

Jess laughs. “I think it means fancy, but not formal dress fancy. Get something sexy. Like a tight fitting dress that shows off your legs. You can’t go wrong there. Send me pics if you need help. I can veto anything you’re unsure about. And make sure you give me details later tonight!”

“I will. But it’s just going to be writing details. Nothing that will excite you.”

“We’ll see. Love you, Ana.”

“Love you, too, Jess.”

I hang up and toss my phone onto the fluffy white rug covering the stark white tiled floor. The whole room is void of color, yet is relaxing and calming. I’ve never been in a place this nice before. I feel so spoiled right now.

Once out and dry, I fuss over my appearance, though I don’t know why I care this much. Yeah, it’s fun getting dolled up and hitting the town. But I’m not being honest with myself. I want to look good for Cole.

An hour later, I leave the swanky hotel and head out, checking the list I made on my phone for the closest places to shop. My agent calls as I’m out, checking on me and asking if I need anything. We’re meeting tomorrow for lunch, and part of me wants to tell the cashier at this overpriced boutique that I’m having lunch with my agent tomorrow just because I feel cool being able to say I have an agent.

I get back to the hotel with hours to spare. I set out my outfit for the night: a v-cut dress, tight enough to gain Jess’s approval, black heels, and matching black pearl earrings and bracelet.

Setting a timer on my phone so I don’t lose track of time, I open my computer and type away. Two-thousand words later, I get up for a drink and a pee break. New York really is inspiring. On a high from pounding out the words—and I love those words—I jump back onto the bed with a smile on my face. I have a little over a half hour left until I need to do my hair and get dressed. I can probably finish this chapter by then.

I reread the last few paragraphs I wrote and dive right back wreaking havoc on my poor characters’ lives. My phone rings and I’m so into the story that I blindly reach for it, bringing it to my face before I glance down.

My heart skips a beat and nerves tingle throughout my body when I see the unnamed number. The area code is from my hometown. I stare at the phone as my Game of Thrones themed ringtone plays, breath catching in my chest.

“No,” I whisper out loud. “There’s no way he has this number. Not again.”

The call goes to voicemail and I wait, mentally counting just like the therapist told me to do when I feel close to coming undone.

One…two…three…four…five…

My heart slows and I set the phone down. Just a second later, a voicemail alert pops up. A shiver makes its way down my spine. I don’t have to listen. There’s nothing he has to say that matters to me anymore, and I don’t need to subject myself to it.

But, fuck. I’m curious.

Hands shaking, I unlock my phone. I pull up the voicemail and hit play. An automated message from the library comes on, telling me I have overdue books.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say out loud and drop the phone down onto the bed. I roll my eyes at myself and flop back, too shook up to write a decent sentence right now. Giving up, I spend way too much time getting ready, then go down to the hotel bar for a much-needed drink.

I still can’t relax.

I get a Moscow Mule and sit in a lounge chair reading the newest release from my favorite author, Quinn Harlow. I fan-girled hard when I found out Lexi edits for her as well. Not even a chapter later, Cole calls.

My heart does not speed up at the sight of his number.

My lady-bits do not quiver.

I have no dirty thoughts about him.

Fuck. I’m a bad liar.

He says he’ll meet me inside at the bar and will be here in just minutes. I end the call and use the camera on my phone as a mirror, double checking my hair and makeup. I don’t wear this much paint on my face that often. I love how it looks but am afraid I’ll rub my eyes out of habit. I’m a chronic eye-rubber and mascara doesn’t jive with that. I put the phone down and go back to my Kindle.

I don’t know why I look up when I do, but as soon as I raise my head, Cole comes into my line of sight. Are those butterflies I’m feeling? I haven’t felt anything remotely like butterflies in…fuck…years. It’s probably because I haven’t been around a decent man in years either. Let alone one that looks as good in a suit as Cole does.

“Ana,” he says, drawing near. I stand from the lounge chair, slipping my Kindle in my purse. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I say back and the butterflies take flight. I close my eyes in a long blink. Get it together. We have a professional relationship, and in order to work together on this book, plus the two that follow, we have to get along. I need to ignore whatever lust I’m feeling.

“You look amazing,” he marvels, slowly eyeing me up and down. Okay. Maybe he is into me. Or wants to be in me in a different sense. I’m not a one-nighter kind of girl, but I’m turning over a new leaf. And something tells me Cole would be a hell of a lot of fun.

Fuck. Editor, remember?

“Thanks. I went shopping today. After I left the meeting. Wandered around the city until I found something I liked and would be good for tonight.” Crap. That makes it sound like I put a lot of thought into this. Which I did. But I don’t want him to know that. I should change the subject and move on, but like any sane person, I keep rambling, digging myself deeper and deeper into a social hole of embarrassment. “I didn’t pack anything fancy, I mean, and I assumed this place we’re going is fancy since it has a view. Views are fancy, right? Unless you’re looking at something ugly.” My brain is yelling at me to shut the fuck up, but I can’t hear my own goddamn advice over the sound of my voice.

Cole chuckles and his dark eyes lighten for just a moment. Then he parts his lips and trails his eyes over me again. Slowly. Intimately. Like he’s stripping me naked right here in the dimly lit hotel bar. Warmth tingles at my core.

“Well, you do look good, no matter where we’re going.” Our eyes meet and Cole looks away, shaking him his head slightly. “But yes, I’d, uh, I’d consider this place fancy. We should, uh, head out.”

Is it just me or is he as flustered as I feel?

“Right.” I take a small step forward closer to Cole. He’s a good foot taller than me, even when I’m wearing these heels. He holds out his hand, and I’m not sure if he’s offering it for me to hold, or politely motioning for me to go first. Shit. Why is a simple gesture so complicated?

It doesn’t matter because my heel catches on the carpeted floor and I trip. Cole catches me, hands flying around my waist as he helps me regain my balance.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. A little embarrassed,” I admit. “It’s been a while since I wore heels.”

“I’ve always admired women’s balance in those things.”

“You won’t admire mine.”

Cole gives me a smirk, and it’s like I can read his thoughts. And he’s thinking there is something else he can admire. He slowly slips his hands from my waist and holds out his arm. This time it’s obvious, though I’m fairly certain he’s only offering to link his arm through mine so I don’t eat the floor.

The decadent aroma of food from the hotel’s restaurant mixes with his cologne in an oddly alluring scent. I haven’t eaten in hours and I’m starving. Though I have money now, I still can’t bring myself to waste it on certain things. And food here is expensive. I bought myself the world’s most expensive cup of coffee while I was shopping. It was good, but not worth what I paid.

“How are you liking the city?” Cole asks when we get into the car.

“It’s so different. And busy. And noisy. But it’s a nice change.”

“You said you’re from Kentucky, right? You don’t have an accent.”

I nod. “Born and raised there, and not everyone does. Though I’m not from a super small town like you’d see in movies.”

“Or read about in romance books,” Cole teases and I laugh.

“Or that, I suppose. It’s decent-sized, but you’d call it small after living here. Have you been in the city your whole life?”

We talk about our hometowns, and the small talk feels genuine and not forced as filler to take up time. Before I know it, we’re seated at a French restaurant with a view of the city that does not disappoint. A reality TV star spots Cole as soon as we give our drink orders—Cole orders me wine and I find his confidence so fucking sexy—and comes over, all hugs and excitement.

“Black Ink publishes nonfiction,” he explains once she leaves. “I edited her book last year.”

“Wow,” I say and it hits me that the editor-in-chief handles the big guns. Books by famous authors, the bestsellers, and celebrity memoirs. And now he’s working with me, a brand new author with under a thousand likes on my Facebook author page.

The wine comes, and I eagerly suck it down as fast as I appropriately can. I begrudgingly set my glass down, eyeballing the red liquid. I can’t drink away my nerves. Well, I can, but I don’t want to regret anything in the morning. I fold my hands in my lap and look around, taking in the expensive decor.

“Is that Cole Winchester?” a man calls, being led to his table by a waiter dressed in all black.

“Grant Miller. I haven’t seen you in ages.” Cole stands to shake the man’s hand.

“Oh my, am I interrupting a date?” He eyes me and flashes a smile.

“A work-date,” Cole says with a slight laugh. For some reason, his words are like a slap in the face.

Work, right. That’s all this is.

“A new author?”

“Yes, this is Scarlett Levine,” Cole introduces me by my pen name. “Her debut book comes out through our house this upcoming summer.”

“Very nice to meet you.” Grant shakes my hand. “Cole and I go way back. I write a column for the Times. What do you write?”

“Contemporary romance,” I say.

He brings his hand to his chin and inspects me. “Would you be up for meeting at the bar after dinner? Tell me a little about your book, let me snap a photo or two. Your face will look great on my site. I’m always looking for new literature to rave about.”

“Uh,” I start, mind going a million miles an hour. I assume Grant means he writes for the New York Times and having a mention there would be abso-fucking-lutely amazing. My penname gives me anonymity but my photo…fuck. I really don’t want to go into why I want to stay low on the radar due to a psycho ex-boyfriend.

“Of course,” I force out, smiling graciously. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

We say our goodbyes as I mentally tell myself it’ll be okay. He doesn’t read the paper, let alone a digital column about authors.

“Are you all right, Ana?” Cole asks.

I blink, surprised he even noticed the blank stare in my eyes. I’ve gotten good at hiding it over the years.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

His dark eyes hold concern. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Overwhelmed, maybe? But fine.” I reach for my wine and take another drink, then look down at the menu.

“Wow. This is all in French,” I say aloud, looking down at the menu. “I don’t speak French.”

“I do.” Cole looks up, eyes meeting mine. I watch his full lips pull into a grin, and his whole face lightens. His stubble-covered jaw moves when he talks and I watch, transfixed, trying hard not to think about how that would feel against the soft flesh of my inner thighs.

“Really?”

His handsome face moves in a nod. “I spent a semester in France during college. No real reason other than I wanted to go. Though it comes in handy now. I travel a bit for work. Black Ink has houses all over the world.”

“I’m jealous,” I tell him with a smile, feeling that familiar tug on my heart, longing to push the limits and go somewhere I’ve never been. “I’d love to travel.”

Cole’s fingers wrap around his own glass of wine. “Maybe you’ll go on some international book tours in the coming years.”

And now I’m smiling at the thought. We order our dinner, have our wine refilled once more, and talk throughout dinner. Cole has been to so many places and has met so many famous people through work. His life sounds so exciting because of it. He tells me about behind-the-scenes disasters and authors who are nightmares to work with. We laugh and discuss all things publishing.

Though that’s all he talks about: work. I try to sneak in a few personal questions—what does he do for fun…what kind of shows he watches—just the normal getting-to-know-you type of shit. And every time he either takes the conversation back to work or directs it to me. It’s obvious he’s avoiding talking about himself, and while it’s odd and almost rude, I think it’s more him wanting to hide from the past than not thinking I’m worthy of knowing his true self.

For some reason, I get the feeling he doesn’t know his true self either. It makes him mysterious…and distant.

Cole pays for dinner and looks down at his wrist, reading the time from a large-faced watch. He hasn’t checked his phone the whole time we’ve been seated. I wish I could say the same, but I use it as a distraction when I’m nervous, and being around Cole makes me jittery.

Though I can’t say why for sure. He’s polite. Professional. Calm and collected. He’s closed-off and guarded, but so am I.

There’s something else about him, something I can’t quite put my finger on, which only enhances my attraction to him.