Was it really six years ago this month?

It was, and I was just a kid. I shouldn't even think of it, much less dwell.

I'm smart, mature, and knee deep in building my career. Everything that should matter infinitely more than the stupid, physically uneventful night that made Knox Carlisle my young adult idol.

Of course, it doesn't.

I can't get away. The man who's never truly far from my thoughts comes bounding back in when I've left our memories too little, too long. Like it or not, I'm reminded how he turned the worst night of my life into magic, and how big a fool I am for holding onto it when he's been nothing except a ginormous asshole for years.

It doesn't help that my laptop's background has rotated through its seasonal selection of Camelback Mountain pics. A nightscape comes on my screen. I see a familiar star-dashed sky.

It's too much. It hurts to look, and staring is just torture.

But it's even worse looking away.

When I take a few seconds to rest my eyes, when I step away from my computer and come back with a glass of water and an artisan chocolate bar, I hallucinate. I see more than what's there for an agonizing fraction of a second.

I swear on all that's holy I'm able to make out two tiny figures sitting at the mountain's zenith, their legs slung over the winding rocks, eyes fixed on the yawning heavens above.

That's when I hear his words.

Screw him, darling. Chicken-necked immature fuckboys are everywhere. Give it a little time. You're pretty, put together, and sharp as the edge of the moon.

One fine day, you'll find yourself a man. Then we'll laugh our asses off when I do the toast at your wedding, telling your future husband how we spent your prom night like two astronomy nerds fixed on the skies.

Yeah, screw him.

Except, years later, I can't even remember the name of the little idiot who stood me up. It's not him I'm cursing, or laughing about.

It's the best friend I've lost.

It's worse than Knox just disappearing, taking off, fading while he clutches a piece of my heart. I have to see the walking shell he's become, a constant risk each time I stay too long at Jamie's place.

It haunts me, and it shouldn't. I hate him for it, honestly, for keeping me tethered to a past I've tried so hard to bury.

Straight As, stellar networking, and a work-a-holic obsession go far. They just haven't brought me the right opportunity that comes with a one-way ticket out of Phoenix forever.

Not yet. Someday.

And someday seems a little more out of reach when I hear a heavy fist banging on our front door, rattling me out of the Photoshop adjustments I'm making to the latest pair of heels on my screen. I'm sitting with my laptop on our back porch, mom reading next to me. The noise surprises her, too, and she jumps up and heads for the door before I move a muscle, flashing a let me handle this smile.

I try to go back to work. I don't get far when I hear my name in a deep, gruff, achingly familiar voice.

“Mrs. Sawyer,” he growls respectfully. “Is Kendra home?”

“Knox Carlisle, it's been years! Where the heck have you been keeping yourself – and with such a delightful little girl?! Come in.”

I can't make out the small talk as they head my way. My heart is already in my throat, strumming a hundred miles a second. When mom brings him to the breakfast bar I'm using as a desk, a disbelieving smile on her face, I'm on my feet.

Glaring.

Too bad I can't stay mad when he walks in with Lizzie in his arms, the remains of an orange push-up in one hand, an orange ring around her cherub smile.

“Honey, look who I found on the porch! Surely, you remember –“

“I see him all the time, mom.” It comes out sharper than I intend, and my annoyance goes back at me when I see her happy smile drop. “Knox, what's up?”

He turns, casting a wry smile at my mother. “I'm sorry, but we need a word alone. It's nothing too serious, just business. Would you mind watching my daughter for a few, Mrs. Sawyer?”

Business?! I hate what he calls it, I do, but it's not the worst part. If he's here to deal with the very messy, hole-through-the-heart unfinished business between us the last several years, then I'm game.

But I know instinctively that's too good to be true. What the hell does he want?

“Oh, of course. And it's Sandy, Knox. No need for this Mrs. Sawyer stuff here,” mom murmurs, stepping aside. “Can I bring you two some lemonade? Water?”

“Nothing for me, sunshine. Thanks.” He passes the little girl into mom's waiting arms. Her smile and his words raise her smile faintly again. I hate it. “Kendra?”

“I'm coming,” I say, turning around quickly to shut my computer, before I walk past, leading him down the hall to my room without another word.

When we're inside, I shut the door quickly, then flatten myself against the wall. My eyes blink a little too long. My lungs are drowning in cement. Breathe.

“Tell me what you really want.” It's not a question. I need an answer, and then I need him to get the hell out.

Too bad that's impossible. Knox does a typically Knox thing: pacing my room, prowling uncomfortably close to my belongings. Really, just having him here at all is deeply uncomfortable, considering mom's house and the little room I use as a home office is nothing like the palace he grew up in.

“Big dreams,” he says, picking up a shoe in the corner, next to my bed. “I'm sure every flashy fuck in Old Town Scottsdale will want one. How much is the going price?”

It's another experimental set for Gannon, stiletto heels with black bumblebee stripes and little flourishes like wings on the toes. 'The world's most elegant sting,' the artist calls them, and he wants me to help fine tune his vision.

“Well, that's up to my boss and the marketing team. I just handle design,” I say, scowling. “Put it down, Knox. Please.”

He casts a vicious look. “So, the answer is, not enough. Do you even get paid interning for that troll?”

“It's great experience. Not everything's about money. A woman can't get anywhere without contacts. Names. Reputations.”

“Whatever. Eventually, you'll need money, too,” he says, coming closer again, slowing my pulse as every inch between us disappears. “What happens when you're through with unpaid training, Sunflower? When you're done playing Cinderella all day, working your sweet ass off for someone else's dream, instead of finding a Prince who can help you realize your own?”

My dreams haven't been your business for years, ass, I think to myself, inwardly cringing when my brain flashes back to our night on Camelback. “I don't have time for this. Get to the point, or take Lizzie home. I know putting up with a certain amount of your crap comes with the territory when I'm at your mom's place. But this is my parent's house, Knox. My space. It isn't happening here.”

He's not cornering me in my own freaking childhood room. Stepping up to him, I extend my fingers along my hip, ready at a moment's notice for a strategic slap of last resort.

“You're right. I've wasted enough time, so let's cut to it: I'm your shortcut to those dreams. Fancy shoes, dresses, the next black card soirée at the Eiffel-fucking-tower. You name it, and it's yours. I'll help finance it all, hook you up with the right people, wherever you'd like to go, and when. My gift to you. An all-expense-paid shortcut to an opportunity I'm certain the other ninety-nine percent less talented designers your age would kill for.”

My hand goes limp. His mouth is still moving, but my pounding heartbeat drowns out everything. The floor drops out under me, and I stagger back a step or two.

It's a trick. Some kind of sick little game.

There's no other explanation.

“Wow. And to think, you'll only want me on my knees, wrapped around your finger.” I flash my most sardonic grin. His cold stare wipes it off my face a second later. “I'm not stupid, Knox. I know this illustrious opportunity doesn't come cheap.”

“Obviously. I need a favor,” he says, closing the distance between us again. I swallow a gasp at the last possible second when he grabs my hand, rekindling the electricity that's always there.

How? Why? I hate it more than ever.

I can't believe what happens next. My heart skips more beats than I can count while he stuffs his other hand in his pocket, drawing out a little burgundy box. His thumb flicks it open with a pop and I'm staring at a lost crown jewel from England.

At least, that's where I think the biggest diamond I've ever seen came from, this huge rock he shoves in my face. It's a halo of sparkling beauty, baguettes and platinum mesmerizing my eyes in its emerald cut perfection.

Then the words that turn this immaculate treasure into one more anonymous rock kicked up from the desert. “Marry me, Cinderella,” he says, showing me the first spark in his eyes I've seen for years.

Holy shit. What?

What. Is. Happening?

Whatever twist I expected, wedding proposal was 999,999 places down the list.

“Calm down. I don't mean for real,” he says, his voice rumbling to a low whisper. His fingers lace mine tighter, a balmy warmth that's just enough to keep me from passing out from the shock. “I need your help, and I don't want a bunch of questions. Work with me. Wear this ring for a few months. Tell the world how incredible it feels being Mrs. Knox Carlisle. Do it, Kendra, and I'll make every last dream rolling around in your pretty pink come true. Talking about your brain, darling, in case you're stuck on something else.”

Dear God. The more offended I look, the wider he's smirking.

“I'm serious. Do me a solid, and I'll wave my magic wand. Make your designs gold. Teleport you from Phoenix to New York fucking Fashion Week. Marry me. That's it.”

“Marry you!” It comes out like a hiss. I'm still trying to catch my breath. “Why...why in God's name would I ever do that?”

“Image. Marketing. You told me that's where you're clueless, so let me put it this way: I'm taking over Black Rhino. Wright won't last forever. When he dies, or steps aside, it's my company. And I need a family friendly image if I'm ever getting top job.”

I study his face. It's tense, wrought lines crossing his forehead, which somehow makes him wickedly sexier. “I don't believe you,” I say quietly.

There's more to it. There has to be.

“Don't care, Sunflower. I'm telling you the truth. Nothing less. Help me, and I'll help you do impossible things. I'll throw the whole damn world down at your feet.”

I'm tempted. If only for a second, I bite my bottom lip, trying to resist his breath on my throat as he towers over me, pressing me into the wall as far as I can go.

Then I remember who I'm dealing with. My eyes narrow, and I stare into his, insult overriding fear. “You can't make me. Frankly, I can't believe you're asking for this kind of favor, Knox. After our history the past few years...”

“Look,” he growls, reaching for my face. He cups my chin, digging his fingers gently into my tender flesh. “Forget what happened at Danny's place. Put your feelings, and your ego aside. It's business. That's all this is. One chance for two people fighting like hell to get ahead, two people who once shared their dreams like kids trade bubblegum. Are you really telling me you've forgotten –“

“Stop.” I sigh, cutting him off, pulling away from his grip. “You're the one who made it painfully clear things are different. I haven't forgotten anything. I never will, not after what you did to me when I walked in and saw you –”

“No. We don't need to go there.” His voice matches his eyes.

Blue diamonds stare through me, fanning the shameful heat beneath my skin. I'm light-headed, way behind on work, and sick to death of this strange new twist to our cat and mouse game. The very same game I've tried to stop playing a thousand times.

I wish I knew what he's hiding.

We haven't been this close for years, but I know Knox Carlisle, and I also smell when he's lying. Lies hang off him like whiskey perfume, dark and powerful. Intoxicating.

Stretching my fingers, I form a wall with my palm, wondering if I'll have to deploy my strategic slap after all. But before Knox is able to bury me deeper in his stark, demanding gaze, we hear Lizzie's laugh closing in with mom's footsteps. They're coming down the hall.

We've been at it too long. It's probably much too quiet for her liking.

“Don't answer me today,” he says, brushing past, heading for the door. “Take some time. Twenty-four hours, Sunflower. I'm confident you'll find a way to swallow your feelings, and do what's right for both of us. Never let emotion chew your career up. Not if you want to get anywhere this lifetime.”

Before I can say another word, he rips open my door. I watch him break into the world's biggest grin when he sees his daughter, snug in mom's arms. “Daddy!”

“There you are, pee wee!” Lizzie laughs in his hands as he hoists her up, holds her toward the ceiling, before he pulls her little face securely to his shoulder.

Great. I can't possibly stay hurt. Can't keep the angry cloud on my face while I've got a perfect view of this innocent little thing who somehow came from the biggest bastard in Phoenix.

“She's a treasure, Knox. Really. Did you two need anything?” Mom smiles, hiding the concern in her eyes as she casts a look toward me. Even when she's worried, she never stops playing gracious host.

“We were just wrapping up. Truly appreciate your hospitality, Sandy. Kendra, I think you've still got my number, yeah?” He looks at me, his face lit with a wry, artificial smile. I nod. “Fantastic. We'll talk soon, I'm sure.”

“Bye, Lizzie.” I hold up my hand, waving it, totally ignoring the asshole holding her until he turns his eyes.

I don't say goodbye to Knox, which gets a dirty look from mom. I don't even follow as she shows them out.

I'm at my desk, pretending to work, but honestly struggling to un-fuck my head after our bizarre encounter when my door bursts open. “Kendra Elliot, I'm very surprised at you! How could you be so cold to that nice man and his little girl? I thought you two were friends?”

“That was a long time ago, mom. He just wants a favor.”

I'm well aware I sound like an enormous bitch right now.

But she doesn't know our history. She doesn't know what he did.

She doesn't know how he crushed my heart and rubbed the wreckage in my face like a bouquet of dead roses.

She doesn't understand how a man who used to be my teenage idol became the closet living thing to Lucifer himself.

My what-if. My disappointment. My torment.

Marry him? In this lifetime? Hell to the no.

“Well, hun, when you're in this house, you'll treat our guests with the respect and dignity your father and I raised you to with. Dinner in a few.”

“Got it, mom. Thanks.” I add the last part sarcastically as she flashes me one more disapproving glare, and then bows out.

As soon as my door closes, my face is in my hands. Nobody gets it.

Sure, I'll mull his offer, but just as a formality. I've never needed anyone's help. Shortcuts haven't gotten me where I'm at now, and I don't think they're a magic bullet to the dream career dangling up ahead.

In my heart, I already know there's no way, no how, I'll ever marry Knox. But there's no need to tell him as much just yet. I'll wait, purely so he'll taste a tiny sip of my pain.

After his self-destruction, his heartache, his games, it's the least he deserves.

I don't want him to suffer. I just want him to bow the hell out of my life, and disappear.

Fade, like the ugly phantom he's become, no more than a crude resemblance to the gorgeous man I almost loved.

I don't want his money or his connections. I want peace, an end to the agony every time I look his way, these bitter memories throbbing deep in my soul like a hidden tumor.

He can still give me the greatest gift of all.

If we move on. If we forget. If we stop chasing shadows that aren't even part of us anymore, and pretend we never had a clumsy, half-lit thing that went sour.