Days after her little tête-à-tête with Sam at the old bar—and days after another failed singles' night—Trinity found herself back in the same compromising position. This time, there was a booth and table involved, which meant she sat in close proximity to Sam regardless of her feelings on the matter.

And she was having a lot of feelings.

Sam leaned into her, almost as if he could read her thoughts and knew she was already unbalanced by his proximity. "I know it was you who approved this karaoke bar for Eddie," he murmured, "instead of Eddie taking the time to actually call them and setting it up himself. Well done."

Trinity shook her head, even though she knew there was no use denying it. What she was really trying to do was disguise the fact that Sam's whispered accusation, and the hot breath that it came to her on, had raised the hair on the back of her neck in aroused anticipation. Did he mean to talk directly into her sweet spot? He knew she was sensitive there.

Bastard.

"I may have gotten it approved for him, but Eddie did his research," she whispered back. Her gaze flickered across the table to where Eddie and Mr. Hikamori were laughing and commiserating as they pointed toward the stage. "It just so happens that our guy likes to belt out 80s hits with abandon. Eddie did some snooping around his more private social media pages."

"Above and beyond," Sam muttered as he sat back.

Trinity's eyes narrowed. Eddie was going above and beyond, but he wasn't likely to keep with it if he didn't get some positive encouragement soon from someone other than her. "You're just grumpy because the song bucket's stopped in front of you," she said. Sam's bright blue eyes, normally so quick to fix on an object of interest and squeeze out every scrap of information, downright refused to alight on the pail full of paper slips.

"C'mon! While we're young!" someone called from the booth over.

"Well, Sam?" Eddie prompted. He was the one sitting closest to their potential client, his arm casually draped over the back of the booth. Their client, the Japanese CEO of a tech start-up, glanced between the two brothers, obviously picking up on the current of tension that ran between them. It wasn't the first time that night that Trinity wondered what they had talked about at the bar after she left.

"Pull one," Sam said.

The straw in Trinity's (incorrectly made) greyhound nearly shot down her throat. She pulled back quickly with a spluttering cough, drawing three pairs of concerned eyes as she fought to regain her composure. "I'm sorry?" she asked as she scrambled for a napkin. "You want me to...you want me to pull a song for you?"

"Yes." Sam's eyes on her were unblinking, and their familiar icy-blue hue sent a shiver of longing through her. She still fell asleep every night thinking about those eyes. "I trust you," he added.

"It's not really a matter of trust, but thanks for the vote of confidence," Trinity muttered as she dipped her hand inside the bucket. And I think you might be needing that vote of confidence more than I do, she mused as she drew her hand back. "'This Kiss.' Faith Hill." She showed the slip of paper just in case there was any doubt. Eddie rocked forward with a startled bark of laughter; Hikamori looked less certain of the pop country standard, but grinned as he took in their expressions. He must have known he was in for something good.

"He's going to sing?" Hikamori asked in surprise. Trinity glanced sidelong at Sam. She was also wondering the same thing.

"I'll sing it," Sam said. "If you accompany me."

His eyes locked on Trinity, and she could barely believe what she was hearing. Did she really just watch Samson Jameson not only agree to, but personally suggest, a karaoke duet? "You're on," she said. She nodded toward the stage. "And it also looks like you're up."

"We're up. Come on."

Sam grabbed her and pulled her out of the booth. Trinity slid after him, still too unnerved by his sudden change in behavior to focus on their linked hands. What on earth had come over him? It's not like he had all that much to drink. Sam never overindulged, and tended to thumb his nose at the people who did.

Which was why Trinity received her second surprise of the evening when they arrived at the stage. She handed the DJ their slip of paper; the DJ took one look at Sam's rigid posture and poured him a heavy, complimentary shot into a rocks glass, courtesy of the bar's fireball overstock. He passed the drink to Sam and urged him on with a nod toward the stage.

"Wrong glass," Sam muttered as he downed the fireball in one swig.

Trinity forked her fingers. "We'll need two mics, please," she said. The DJ handed her a second one, and she climbed up onto the stage after Sam.

The music started up almost immediately. Trinity glanced wildly between screens, still trying to get her bearings. It had been a long time since she sang karaoke—which, compared to Sam's never, she supposed wasn't that bad. She heard Eddie hoot from the VIP booth, and could only hope Mr. Hikamori was equally enjoying himself in the moment.

Maybe there was no hope for Sam. He looked even paler than usual, and the shadows beneath his chiseled cheeks seemed to deepen the closer the lyrics came to lighting up. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he raised the mic to his mouth.

"I don't want another heartbreak, I don't need another turn to cry…"

Trinity's jaw fell open. She had never heard Sam's singing voice before—hell, she hadn't been certain he even had one. He never sang to himself in the shower, and he never hummed along to the radio, not even when a song they had danced to at their wedding came on. The deep baritone that came out of him now was better than she could have possibly imagined. How had he hid this side of himself from her all these years?

Sam wasn't even looking at the words on the screen. He was gazing around the room, tracking the delighted expressions he saw and appearing to gain confidence with each sweep. Trinity caught his eye and grinned encouragingly. She started swaying to the beat, even going so far as to put her arms up reverentially as Sam's rich voice massaged Faith Hill's lyrics. Someone in the VIP booth started clapping—her money was on Eddie—and soon the whole bar was joining in. An older man wearing a cowboy hat got up and pulled the woman he was with to her feet. She followed along beside him in a line dance, laughing gaily. Trinity noticed the matching rings that glimmered on their hands every time they clapped in sync.

Something inside her clenched at the sight, something she had thought long-buried and forgotten. Sam nudged her, and for a wild moment she thought he meant to call attention to the same couple—but he was only cueing her to start in on the next verse. Trinity shook out her shoulders and started in.

"Cinderella said to Snow White: 'how does love get so off-course?'"

She powered through to the chorus; when Sam's voice joined in with hers unexpectedly, a pleasant shiver of surprise raced through her body. Their voices blended so well together, it sounded like they had been rehearsing this moment for their entire lives.

The background singers on the recording took over and started chanting: "this kiss, this kiss". Trinity let her mic fall to her side. She gazed around, suddenly unsure what to do with herself during the lull, but such was the risk one took when singing live. She glanced at Sam, grinning, to see what he would do to fill the time before their big finish.

The big finish came earlier than expected. Sam, who had replaced his own microphone on the stand, suddenly seized her around the waist and pulled her tightly into him. The bar erupted in a frenzy of ecstatic cheers as he pushed the hair back from her face and swooped in.

Their lips collided in a stunningly well-timed kiss. All the old instincts came tumbling back: Trinity melted against the strong circle of his arms, letting Sam take charge of her completely as she succumbed to a moment of pure bliss. He wasn't always the one calling the shots when they kissed, but when the mood took hold of him, and he took hold of her….

Trinity sighed into Sam's lips as the barroom seemed to fuzz and go out of focus around her. The music, even the cheering that accompanied their unexpected merger, was soon drowned out by the frenzied beating of her heart. Her blood pumped, sending a sweet rush all through her as Sam caught her next breath and deepened the kiss. The hand at her cheek swept into her hair, his fingers plunging through the gentle waves she had chosen to wear down for the evening. He tightened his grip on her scalp in the same instant his tongue pushed its way past her lips. She moaned as she received him, and had the sense to be glad Sam's mouth stifled that, too. They had never locked lips like this in front of so many people, not even at their own wedding. She definitely didn't need anyone else knowing just how vulnerable she was in that moment.

When Sam finally pulled back, Trinity clung onto his shoulders to keep her knees from buckling. She stared up at him, and saw her own stricken expression mirrored in his breathtaking blue eyes. The cheering all around them slowly bled back into her awareness of the moment.

Oh God. Not only had she just kissed her ex-husband, but they had an audience.

She pulled away with a sheepish grin for show, and even went so far as to give a little bow. All a part of the act, folks. She was good at putting out fires back at the agency, and she was confident she could snuff this one before it even started…

...until Sam stepped to her again, and Trinity knew he wanted that second kiss the crowd was calling for. She wanted an encore, but she couldn't let herself have it. She smiled for show and playfully pushed against his chest, before stepping down off the stage and passing the DJ her mic. She didn't look for Sam as she wound her way between the tables back to the VIP booth.

She had let Sam get too close, and now look what she had to show for it. She was haunted by the lingering pressure of his mouth against hers, and now there was a room full of witnesses to her weakness. She had warned herself about staying firm now that they were no longer married. Thankfully, nobody but Eddie knew the full story, and she intended to keep it that way. She intended to not let it happen again.

"Wooo!" Eddie hollered, half-rising out of the booth as soon as she was within fist-bumping distance. "You guys killed it, Trinity! I had no idea you could sing like that!"

"I had no idea Sam could sing like that," Trinity replied as she slid back into the booth. It wasn't long before the heat of Sam's body joined her again. She smiled, broad and all-encompassing, and looked everywhere but at her ex-husband. Did she imagine it, or was he sitting a lot closer than before? Maybe it was the lights from the stage that had heated him up, but his presence beside her radiated like a furnace.

"Mr. Jameson—" Mr. Hikamori's cheeks were flushed, and his eyes sparkled as he basked in the afterglow of their performance. "I was just telling Eddie that you have totally blown me away this evening. I'll admit I had my reservations about signing on with you initially."

"Is that so?" Sam picked up his abandoned Manhattan, before setting it back down again when it became apparent Eddie had refreshed it for him. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"No! No! I'm the one who's sorry," Hikamori persisted. "I had heard rumors that you were uptight. Unadaptable to ideas and inflexible to change."

Trinity took a loud sip of her drink and tried to ignore the way Sam's body increasingly gave over to petrification beside her.

"All unsubstantiated shit talk," Eddie quickly jumped in.

Hikamori nodded vigorously in agreement. "You have really impressed me tonight, Mr. Jameson. This is why I love going to the karaoke bars—you never know what unexpected things you're going to find out about the people you are with. That's what I want to bring to our ad campaign: unpredictability. Courage. I want our customers to cheer our boldness and our competitors to tremble at our hidden reserves of strength."

"I'll drink to that!" Eddie said. "Congrats, Mr. Hikamori. I think we've just established ourselves as partners."

"Congratulations, Eddie. Sam." Trinity raised her glass, and the four of them leaned in to toast together. "I'll see that a contract's drawn up tomorrow. Shall I fax it over to your office, Mr. Hikamori?"

"That will be fine. Thank you, Miss Patterson."

The use of her maiden name shouldn't have startled her as much as it did now. She'd had more than enough time to get used to it—still, she could tell it startled Sam as well. Eddie glanced between them, before starting in casually: "You know, Mr. Hikamori, for a guy who claims to love the Great American Eighties, I have yet to see you prove it. What do you say to a duet?"

"You're on." Mr. Hikamori laughed and followed Eddie out of their booth. He clapped a hand to Sam's shoulder, before moving off after Eddie to hunt for the bucket.

"Thank you," Sam said quietly once Hikamori was out of earshot.

His gratitude surprised Trinity. She set her drink down and turned into him "For what?" she asked.

"For going up there with me. For being more than just a cheerleader tonight." Sam's hand found her knee beneath the table and squeezed it. She didn't draw back. "No, that's not right. I'm not giving you enough credit. You've always been more than just a cheerleader, Trinity. You...thank you. We couldn't have locked in this client without you."

What could she say to that? How could she tell Sam that his gratitude meant more to her than even the unexpected kiss they shared? He was seeing her—really seeing her—when so often in their marriage she had felt overlooked and unappreciated.

Trinity's hands hovered indecisively in her lap. She longed to slide her fingers over Sam's, to fit them in between his knuckles and lace their hands together on her knee. A more physical, needy part of her ached for the hand on her knee to ascend up her skirt, without any permission or guidance. She wanted Sam to take advantage of their sudden privacy the same way he had taken advantage of his time on stage. She wanted to see a side of him he had never shown her before. She wanted him to blow her away.

"Oh, and Sam?"

Trinity jumped, and Sam's hand withdrew as Eddie unexpectedly returned to the table. He swooped in and snatched Sam's Manhattan for himself, raising his eyebrows as he leaned in. "I've been thinking more about that sexual harassment seminar. Maybe I'm not the one that would benefit the most from it, you know?"

"Eddie." Sam hissed the warning between his teeth. Trinity turned away to hide her amused smile. She pretended to admire the bar's reproduction of "Dogs Playing Poker" hanging overhead.

"I'm just saying." Eddie clapped his brother on the shoulder, a lot harder than Mr. Hikamori's earlier pat of approval. "I'm not the one kissing Jameson Agency employees."