The cool kiss of the frosted beer in his hand, unlike other kisses experienced this past week, was grounding. The shape of the pint glass perfectly complemented the American Imperial Stout he drank, and Sam took another sip to make sure every detail still tied together the way he wanted.

Eddie's brownstone was as expansive as it was expensive; still, Sam preferred to work from the solitary table by the window rather than take over Eddie's (admittedly unused) office space. The sun was just beginning to set below the New York City skyline, its filtered rays throwing an inconvenient glare across his laptop screen. He shook out his sleeve and checked his watch. He'd been at it for a cumulative four hours, with only occasional pauses to stand and stretch and top off his stout. Anyone else would be satisfied in calling it a day, but Sam was determined to work out the rest of his plan for networking the L.A. event. The sooner he completed the brainstorming stage, the sooner he could get to work on solidifying every detail of the important evening. He liked to know far in advance what he was heading into.

A knock at the door roused him from contemplation. Sam blinked and glanced across the room, unsure if he had heard right and disinterested in investigating.

"You forget your key again? It's open," he called out to his brother. His gaze returned to his computer screen, but snapped back up the next instant when he saw the long-legged figure folding itself through the doorway.

"Sam!” Trinity exclaimed in bewilderment. "I thought I recognized your voice! I mean, not that I wouldn't…anyway. What are you doing here?"

Sam sat back, any thoughts of completing his networking plan now out the window. "I'm staying with Eddie while I'm in town."

Trinity raised an eyebrow. "What? The two of you are staying here together?"

"Our schedules rarely allow us to cross paths," Sam replied. "In fact, I'm not sure why he even pays rent on this place. He may as well have never left Barbados for all the time he spends here."

"You’d like that, wouldn't you?" Trinity mused as she set her bag down by the door. Sam watched her body bend in a graceful, unselfconscious arc, and couldn't find the words to argue for or against her statement. Would he have liked to have avoided being called across the country to be put in charge of onboarding his idiot brother? Of course. Would he have resisted the assignment as strongly, knowing she would be around every corner? He found it increasingly doubtful.

He decided to ignore Trinity's bait. He didn't want to start a fight, at least not this early in the evening. Perhaps an argument was unavoidable, but that didn't mean he couldn't attempt to table it for now. "I assume Eddie's the one you're here to see," he said as he rose. He closed his laptop and pushed it aside.

Trinity nodded, her loose hair falling over one shoulder. She was dressed casually, but she looked no less beautiful for it: her hair was damp from a recent shower, and her makeup was minimal, but her natural radiance was undeniable. "I just wanted to swing by and congratulate him personally," she explained as she toed off her shoes. Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on her clear intention to stay. He was afraid of spooking her. "I just got an e-mail that Eddie's landed a meeting with Goldfinch. They want to sign with us."

"Goldfinch? As in Adrianna Goldfinch?" Sam stared at Trinity as he tried to assess whether she was joking. He decided it was more efficient to just come out and voice his doubts. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Nope." She was suppressing a smile, that much he could see, but it didn't look to be at his expense. Her eyes shone with her own excitement at the news. "Eddie did what the rest of us couldn't. All it took was a phone call and Goldfinch is snared. They don't want anyone else to represent them."

"I must be dreaming," Sam muttered. "Nobody can get on the phone with Adrianna, much less get her to sign."

"I'd all but given up on them," Trinity agreed. She returned his smile with an ecstatic one of her own, finally acknowledging her own excitement. The expression was enchanting. If there hadn't already been a history between them, Sam would have been intent on making some tonight after a smile like that.

She continued to hover in the doorway, and seemed suddenly uncertain about whether she should enter. Sam rose and crossed decisively to the liquor cabinet. "Let's celebrate," he said as he pulled open the tiny glass door. "What will you be drinking? The usual?"

"Look at you," Trinity said approvingly as she alighted on a stool at the kitchen's bar to watch him work. "Drinking? 'Celebrating'? Don't tell me you've actually learned to cut loose a little out there on the West Coast."

"You just like to pretend I'm a monster who doesn't know how to have fun."

"Who's pretending?" Trinity inquired. She batted her eyes, and Sam snorted. He was in too good a mood to dispute the point further. He pulled the freezer open, but Trinity held her hand out before he could go for the gin.

"I'll have a Manhattan, actually."

"Look at you," Sam echoed, but he couldn't ignore the way his stomach flipped at Trinity's sudden change in preference. A Manhattan was his favorite drink. He closed the freezer and went for the whiskey instead. "Is bourbon okay?"

"As long as it's in the proper glass."

Sam snorted. "Can we joke about something else other than my…proclivities this evening?"

"I don't mind staying on the subject of proclivities." Trinity leaned on her elbows and rested her chin in her hands. Sam tried not to let on that he watched her watch him as he went about measuring out her drink. "I've missed this. Watching you make drinks. If you weren't—you know, a zillionaire—you'd be a killer bartender, Sam."

"I can be both," Sam replied. "Although I don't think you give yourself enough credit for being my biggest fan. Then again, maybe that's purposeful."

"I am your biggest fan," Trinity said earnestly—so earnestly that he knew it couldn't be anything other than a joke. "I'm serious, Sam. If you wanted to forget all this ad agency nonsense and open up a bar somewhere, I'd be first in line."

"No you wouldn't," he said, "because I'd never make you wait. I'd have the bouncer maintain a long queue for appearance's sake, but there are no lines where you're concerned."

"That's no way to run a business," Trinity mused as he slid the Manhattan her way. "I'd be your only customer if you kept everyone else out."

"It'd be the only way I could get you alone." The words were out of his mouth before he could think of a way to terminate the fantasy. This sudden segue back into reality wasn't one he had planned on, but Trinity didn't look affronted by the turn. If anything, she was looking at him with an expression of cautious optimism.

"You've got me alone now," she murmured.

As if Sam wasn't aware. As if every time he looked at Trinity, sitting there with her legs crossed, he wasn't as blown away by her as the first time he ever laid eyes on her. He stayed in the kitchen, keeping the breakfast bar between them for her sake. He didn't know what he might be tempted to do without a physical boundary.

"But I haven't got you," he insisted.

"No," Trinity agreed. "You haven't got…me."

"And maybe…" He leaned his hip into the counter in the quest to be nearer to her. "…that's too much to ask right now. You've always known I was a shrewd negotiator. I'm used to coming out on top."

"All or nothing," she volunteered in a whisper.

"But I'm willing to revisit my original offer," he persisted. "I want to take you out on a date. Please, Trinity. I'm asking you to give us a second chance."

He waited with bated breath for her response. Trinity fingered the stem of the cherry garnishing her Manhattan, sliding it around and around. No clear acceptance of his offer came, but no ready rejection either.

Maybe she just needed that extra push.

Sam came around the side of the bar. Trinity sat back in her stool, and lifted her eyes to study him. He was close enough that he could see the gorgeous starbursts of brown in her otherwise green eyes; as he watched, her pupils expanded a little. He had read somewhere once that dilating pupils gave away unvoiced attraction.

He decided it was more than enough to work with.

Sam slid his hand along her cheekbone, and watched as Trinity's eyes fluttered closed at his touch. Did she know how her gaze had betrayed her? Did she care? This was finally happening. It was a homecoming, yet Sam felt as if he was allowing himself to touch Trinity for the first time. She was the same woman he had married, and yet she was also all-new. There were depths to her, experiences, that they hadn't shared—that he needed to know.

And anyway, the karaoke kiss was too good not to repeat.

Sam leaned in. Trinity parted her lips at the last moment to receive him, and his mouth collided with hers. She had yet to taste the Manhattan he had made for her, but her essence was sweet all the same: she tasted like spearmint, and he leaned in to sample her further. His tongue swept the seam of her lips and she parted for him obediently, instinctively. It was the old signal, and she couldn't help but respond now with an invitation. Sam thrust his tongue past her teeth into the warm satin of her mouth, and Trinity moaned at the intrusion. Her tongue rose to greet his, and in his eagerness to savor every inch of her, Sam nearly pushed her off the stool.

Trinity's hands came up to cling onto his shoulders as his fingers threaded down to the roots of her hair. He made a fist; she gasped. She let him tug her head back, exposing the exquisite column of her throat, and his lips returned to relish the region that had been denied him so long. He nipped and kissed his way along her neck until she was practically trembling to pieces beneath him.

"Sam…" His name escaped her quivering lips. Sam groaned his response and shifted closer. His free hand found the curve of Trinity's waist, and he dragged her off of the stool before she could form a real protest. Her gasp of surprise cut off whatever defense she had been ready to mount.

Not this time, Sam thought as he pushed her back against the wall. He pinned her wrists together above her head as she squirmed half-heartedly. Not again. You can't deny this thing between us anymore. I won't let you.

"I have to have you, Trinity." His fingers glided down to her cleavage and began to push their way beneath her collar. The top button on her blouse worked itself loose, then another, until his hand disappeared completely beneath her shirt. "Come back to me," he murmured. His lips were so close he tasted the aroused little catch in her breath. His cock stirred to life between his legs. His invading fingers pushed past the stiff scalloped fabric of an unfamiliar bra, but he knew too well what lay beneath it. Trinity's nipple was already taut by the time he overtook it.

He felt like a climber rediscovering a well-loved peak. He pinched and rolled the flesh, and lost himself in the keening noises she made. His mouth found the curve of her neck again, and he flicked his tongue out to catch a bead of perspiration that trickled down from her temple. He palmed the entirety of her breast, giving it a gentle, but no less possessive squeeze; her answering moan was winded, wanton. Sam pulled his hand back to start undressing her in earnest. He was confident she would let him.

The front door handle jiggled. The two of them leapt apart like guilty children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Sam turned, shielding Trinity from view as she hastily buttoned her blouse. He heard the telltale sound of a key being twisted inside an already disengaged lock. By the time Eddie figured out how to admit himself into his own apartment, Sam was back in the kitchen, and Trinity was perched on her stool as if nothing untoward had ever passed between them. As if Sam hadn't just been fondling her naked breast seconds before, and as if her nipples weren't still rigid with the memory.

"Hey, Trinity! You made it!" Eddie called out happily. Sam had to turn away and pretend to busy himself with mixing another Manhattan to buy himself time to cool down. His half-drained stout still sat on the table by the window.

"Hey Eddie." If Trinity's voice sounded less enthused than it should have given the circumstances, Eddie was beyond noticing. He tossed his coat down on the couch and loosened his tie as he joined them.

"You guys celebrating without me?" He clapped Sam on the back and leaned over his shoulder. "That drink for me? It better be. Today I pulled off the impossible."

"So I heard." Sam passed Eddie the Manhattan, and watched him drain it in a single appreciative gulp. "That's not a shot," he noted darkly as Eddie passed him the glass back for a refill.

"You haven't even let us toast you yet!" Trinity manufactured a laugh—it sounded forced to Sam's ears, anyway—and raised her own untouched drink. "To Eddie! The rising star of Jameson Ad Agency! Here's hoping there are many more incredible conquests in your future."

"To Eddie," Sam repeated.

"To me," Eddie said gleefully. He pointed to a far corner of the room like he was Babe Ruth calling a home run. "And to the babelicious burlesque girls that are going to help me win a continuing contract!"

"Burlesque girls?" Sam echoed. Though he had never patronized a club personally, an immediate image of jouncing breasts and helicoptering tassels came into his head. Trinity turned to him with a sharp look, clearly not liking his tone, but the more Sam registered what he had just heard, the more he couldn't believe it. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"No joke," Eddie said. "I've already set up the dinner meeting for…"

"You're setting us up for scandal. Again!" Sam interrupted him fiercely. "The contract with Goldfinch is practically signed, in your hands, and you decide to, what—surprise Adrianna Finch by taking her out to see a bunch of naked girls gyrate in tearaway bikinis? Why is it so hard for you to follow the God damn company rules?"

"Easy, Sam." Eddie looked legitimately confused by Sam's words: his expressive eyebrows pulled together, and his mouth formed a puzzled half-smile that Sam had seen get him out of plenty of uncomfortable confrontations (usually with women) before. "It's just The Bombshell Factory down on New Brooklyn. Everyone's talking about it."

"And you're okay with this?" He threw his question pointedly toward Trinity.

"I'm sorry, but why wouldn't I be?" she demanded. She crossed her arms over her breasts, as if she already suspected the direction he was heading, but intended to make him say it anyway.

It had all the signs of a trap, but Sam was all too happy to oblige. "Do you really want prospective clients to think our agency subscribes to this crass party boy culture? Promotes it, even? Do you really think that's an acceptable image for us? Don't you find it the least bit degrading?"

"I assure you that I personally find nothing misogynistic about this arrangement," she replied. "And that there is nothing that would be publicly scandalous about the placement of this meeting. The Bombshell Factory is hands-down the new 'it' club, and the fact that Eddie even secured a reservation is something of a miracle. Most people I know find burlesque shows fun and empowering—including myself. He's not taking them to a strip club, Sam."

"And frankly, I find your own presumption sexist," Eddie interjected self-righteously. "Trinity, with your permission, I'd like to revisit the idea that Sam is the one in dire need of that live workshop course you—"

"Eddie," Trinity said. "Shut up." Eddie complied with an immediate click of his jaw. Trinity's hazel eyes lit on Sam. "But he has a point. All this focus on Eddie's behavior is ignoring a bigger problem, Sam: your behavior. Your inflexibility is more than just an adherence to the rules—it's actively threatening to set us back in our process."

"What are you talking about?" he demanded. An inner part of him broke off to watch the exchange, viewing their argument from a dejected distance. "If you want to accuse me of anything, you should focus on the fact that I am the only person in this room fighting to make sure Eddie fulfills every requirement so he can succeed!"

"You jumped to conclusions, and let your obsession with the rules get in the way of appreciating a creative win!" she retorted. "Sam, can't you see it? This is what always happens with you! I thought you were getting better. The other night at karaoke you…" She cut herself off abruptly and shook her head, as if she was already trying to shed her memories of that night. Sam's gut twisted. "But now I can see that I was wrong. You're farther from being able to compromise than ever before!"

The room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Eddie glanced between them, and Sam realized that every party to the argument knew what it was really about.

Trinity was the one to break the stillness first. She averted her eyes to the floor, smoothed her already impeccable hair and turned to leave. "I'll be in touch," she muttered as she put her shoes on and snatched up her purse. "Congrats, Eddie. William counts this as a win."

Her words left a sting that lasted long after the door had slammed shut behind her. Sam stood, staring at the door, willing Trinity to return and willing himself to make that impossible change that everyone else seemed to be calling for. How was he supposed to learn to rework his standards...and maybe not have so many to start with? How was it so easy for everyone around him to just go with the flow?

The silence was broken again, this time by a resounding snap! as an ice cube fractured and sank lower in Trinity’s untouched Manhattan.

"Anyone going to drink that?" Eddie asked in the tone of a rhetorical question.