It had been two days since they’d returned from Monaco, and he hadn’t responded to her calls or texts. Even James was confused. “You have quite the light schedule this week,” he’d remarked, and Connor had jumped on him.

“How is that any of your concern?” he’d snapped. James had simply raised a brow and gone about his business.

It had been hard enough telling Sam they couldn’t continue. He’d spent the entirety of the flight trying to come up with the right words, but there were none. He’d settled on doing it hard and fast, but now he wasn’t sure that had been the right approach.

She’d looked absolutely devastated. However, he’d already been committed. Square your jaw and wipe the emotions off your face. That was the advice his father had given him when he was in fifth grade and upset he hadn’t made the basketball team.

He knew it had been a dick move to leave her at the airport. That hadn’t been planned. But when he realized how heartbroken she was, and how much it hurt him, too, he just couldn’t bear to be in a car with her and deal with the emotions.

It was an asshole thing to do, but probably better for both of them in the long run. Connor was sure he’d figure out his next move quickly, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d gone through the motions. He’d showed up to work promptly the next day, and James had pounced on him for details about Monaco. “Did she like the gowns? The swimsuits?” he’d asked eagerly.

“It’s none of your business,” Connor had snarled at him. James had jumped back the first time, but he’d adjusted quickly. For the past couple of days, he’d largely left Connor alone.

For once, he was grateful his father didn’t give him any kind of actual work besides looking pretty and having drinks with clients. It gave him time to work on his plan.

When he saw her at the fundraiser at the Willard, he thought he’d be nervous—but he was relieved. Secretly, he thought she might not show up after the way he’d behaved. But she was there, right on time, and looked gorgeous. Clearly, James hadn’t dropped the ball at all. He spotted her as she entered the lobby, and broke away from the group he was with. Without saying a word, he offered his arm and she took it.

“Hey,” he said in a low voice. “You look great.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. She wore a Grace Kelly-inspired A-line dress with a sweetheart neckline and painstakingly intricate hand beading at the hem. She refused to make eye contact or her usual small talk with him.

When he touched the small of her back, he felt her cringe. Shit, this isn’t what I intended.

A ridiculous part of him thought they could go back to how they used to be. The flirting and fun. Why hadn’t I just let that be enough? Why did I have to go and mess it all up?

However, he couldn’t accuse her of not doing her job. When it came time to make nice with the guests, she played her part beautifully. She talked, laughed, and smiled right on cue. It was just when it was the two of them that it all fell apart. When nobody was looking, she seemed miserable.

Finally, Connor left her alone when it wasn’t required that they schmooze and look like the perfect couple. He needed to escape. He couldn’t breathe around her. But he found that no relief came—he just turned more anxious.

Connor made his own rounds. He mingled and chatted with donors, but kept a watchful eye on her. Sam circled around to the women in the room. He watched her hug those whom she’d met before, or step back as she admired their shoes or dresses.

After awhile, he saw the Circle of Crones, as he called them, swoop in on her. They were ancient, even by his father’s definition. The matrons of the DC donor crowd, they, or their husbands, were extraordinarily wealthy. When they gave, it was generous. However, to pry that money from their talons was a nearly impossible feat.

He could tell, even from across the room, that they’d started to grill her mercilessly. Connor felt a wave of protectiveness and made a dash across the ballroom to save her. He didn’t care that he left his own conversation somewhat abruptly.

“Do you mind if I steal my bride-to-be for a moment?” he asked the old women as he plastered on a smile.

“By all means,” one of the blue hairs said, and gestured them off with a flick of her gem-encrusted bony fingers.

Connor glanced down and expected a thankful smile from Sam. But all she gave him was a stony expression. Damn. I’d started to expect that smile.

He took her hand and pulled her to a quiet corner of the ballroom. “Sorry,” he stammered. “I, um, I thought you could… you know, use some rescuing there—”

“Have you got your money’s worth from me yet?” she asked coldly.

Connor pulled back. It felt like he’d been slapped. “What?”

“Well, it’s clear you have a specific idea of how your ‘fiancée’ is supposed to behave. So, I’m just wondering, how am I doing?”

“Uh, good?” he asked. This was new territory and she clearly had the advantage. Though he didn’t know how or what that meant. “Sam, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “That line? Really? Wow, okay. Although, maybe you’re right. Because it certainly is you.”

“I know!” he said, then glanced around when he realized a couple of people had jumped at his voice. “I know, okay? I just… I don’t like the idea of being too emotionally involved.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before taking me to Monaco and fucking me for four days,” she whispered to him.

“I know,” he agreed. “That was a mistake.”

Her eyes widened.

“I don’t mean that. You weren’t a mistake. Jesus Christ. I mean, it was a mistake of me… doing that. It shouldn’t have happened. Look, I don’t—I’ve never liked the idea of being tied down.”

“Oh, now I’m tying you down?” she asked. “You’re the one who was engaged before. Not me. So, clearly, you do like being tied down. Just not with me.”

His head spun. He couldn’t keep track of what was happening, especially since her words seemed to make sense. “Listen, I want you to understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” she said as she shot him a scathing look.

“I don’t think you do,” he said. “When I came up with this crazy idea of hiring you, I’ll admit it was totally impulsive. That’s not what I had in mind when I came to your work. I was pissed off, and it seemed like a good idea at the time, and I—”

“And you just thought you’ve bought everything else in life. Why not a fiancée? I’m a fucking moron,” she said as she shook her head.

“Let me explain,” he said. “And it’s not you. I took advantage of the whole thing.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And I let you. Can I go now?” she asked, like she was asking permission from a parent. “I have a headache.”

“Can I just try to get you to understand?”

“I read once that after twenty minutes, there’s no point in talking or arguing anymore. Both parties have said all they can say at that particular time. So please, will you just let me go? You can make up whatever story you like to tell these people.”

He sighed and looked around. Nobody watched them. It was like they didn’t exist. “I’m not your keeper,” he told her.

“Could have fooled me,” she said and headed toward the door.

He watched her leave, and felt like an asshole. How could you do something that would make her react like this?

“Connor, where’s the fiancée off to?” One of the donors, already drunk, wrapped his arm around Connor’s shoulders and leaned into him.

“Women stuff,” Connor said. “You know how it is.”

“Actually, I don’t,” the donor said.

“Excuse me?”

“Gay. Remember?” he asked and wiggled his brows at Connor.

“Oh, yeah. Well, consider yourself lucky.”

“Right,” the donor said, suddenly pissed off. “Because it’s so hard being a straight, white, rich male.” He wandered off, and Connor berated himself. How could I piss off one of the most promising donors?

His touch had faded, and he could only blame himself. Sam made him crazy, and drove out all thoughts of the business from his mind. He couldn’t stand that she was mad at him, but he couldn’t come up with any way to win her over again.

He pulled out his phone and wondered if he should call her, or text her. But when he scrolled to her name, he just couldn’t do it. Instead, he erased Sandra’s name and typed in Sam. It was the least he could do.

Connor’s notifications on the dating app had piled up. Simply to clear them, he clicked on it and went to “erase all.” But he saw that a familiar-looking girl had matched with him, and viewed him recently.

“Jenny_fromthe_Ward” didn’t look particularly like his type. Although that night in Monaco, he’d swiped right like a maniac without even looking. He clicked on her profile and went through the handful of pictures. She was kind of cute, petite with a severe black bob. “I’m an event manager,” she’d written.

Event manager? Shit. He realized exactly who she was. What were the odds of Sam’s coworker getting matched with him on the app? Well, pretty high, actually. Everyone was on it. And he’d never not matched with anyone before.

What if Jenny told Sam? The girl didn’t seem particularly confident or outgoing. Was she a gossip? How close were they exactly? And what if Sam figured out he’d matched with this girl while they were in Monaco?

You’re overreacting, he told himself. There’s no way that will happen.

Connor clicked off the app quickly, as if that would do anything to erase what he’d done. Again he went to Sam’s name in his contacts, but he couldn’t think of what to say. Maybe he should just give her more time to cool down. Do something now, and it might blow everything up.

“What are you doing over here like a wallflower?” His dad came out of nowhere, as per usual. “Go out there and mingle. Where’s Sam?”

“She was just here,” he said. “And I’ve mingled them to death.”

“Yeah? Carlos didn’t seem too happy just now,” his father said, as he nodded toward the donor Connor had just insulted.

He sighed. “He’ll get over it.”

“I certainly hope so. The last thing we need is one of the most influential young donors in the city claiming Trezor is homophobic, racist, or both.”

Yeah. I’m the one who’s going to give us that reputation.