“I haven’t leaked it yet.”

“Why?”

“Arrowsmith’s got something on me, too. We’re hanging our sins over each other’s head, waiting to see who blinks first.”

“Let’s make him flinch then, hubs.”

“There isn’t a we in this operation. You worry about giving me heirs, and I’ll worry about Arrowsmith.”

She studied me; her blue eyes tranquil. I could tell she was no longer fearful of me, but I wasn’t sure if that satisfied or annoyed me.

“I mean it, Flower Girl. Don’t butt into my business.”

She was still smiling.

“What are you looking at?” I glowered.

“You held my hand in yours the entire length of the drive. Since you took the contract from me.”

Dropping my gaze, I immediately withdrew from her.

“Haven’t noticed.”

“You’re handsome when flustered.”

“I swear, Persephone, I’m going to relocate you to your precious Namibia if you don’t stop grating on my nerves.”

“So now I annoy you constantly.” Her blue eyes shone. “That’s one, steady emotion. Twenty-six more to go!”

There were twenty-seven emotions? That seemed completely unmanageable. No wonder most humans were categorically useless.

The driver opened the back door. I slid out first, taking my wife’s delicate hand in mine as the cameras clicked, devouring us, wanting more from the woman who had decided to lock her fate with The Villain.

I tucked my wife behind me and marched past them, blocking the blinding flashes with my body so she wouldn’t trip and embarrass me.

It was showtime.

The charity ball reminded me why I didn’t do people.

Out of the bedroom, anyway.

A rancid cloud of perfume hung over carefully sprayed hairdos. The checked marble floor of the nineteenth century hotel twinkled, and the aristocrats immortalized on the paintings framing the ballroom glared at the guests disapprovingly.

Everything about the event was fake, from the conversation, to the veneer teeth and crocodile tears over what we were raising money for—clowns for kittens? Ant sanctuary? Whatever it was, I knew I stood out like a sober guy at a frat party.

I led Persephone inside, ignoring the few people who were dumb enough to approach me.

That was the beauty in being Boston’s most hated businessman. I didn’t need to pretend I gave a damn. I wanted a private word with the man who was suing my company, so I came here with a check the organizers couldn’t refuse. But my willingness to socialize or play the game was below zero.

I snatched a flute of champagne from a waitress’s tray for Persephone and a cognac for myself, snubbing a hedge fund manager who came to introduce himself with a boring-looking woman I assumed was his wife.

Something fast and hard bumped into my leg. It stumbled backward, landing at my wife’s feet in a tangle of pudgy limbs.

Persephone lost her grip on the champagne, spilling her drink all over her dress. She let out a breath while I grabbed the stupid thing and scooped it in the air. It was kicking and screaming.

“What in the—”

“Let him go!” my wife cried out, swatting my hand away. She crouched down, giving everyone in the room a front-seat view to her cleavage, and righted the thing—fine, child—who’d crashed into us, helping him to his feet.

“Are you okay, sweets?” She rubbed his arms.

The child looked vaguely familiar, but since I wasn’t acquainted with any kids, I figured they all looked the same. Like squirrels or Oreo cookies.

The little boy screwed his nose, shaking his head. His right eye ticked twice…no, six times.

Tick. Tick. Tick, tick, tick, tick.

My gut twisted. I stepped back, popping my fingers one after the other.

“Are you lost?” My wife put a palm on the snotty thing’s cheek.

Yes.

The boy cast his eyes down, twitching and buzzing.

“Y-y-yes.”

“Let’s go find your parents.”

She offered him her hand. He took it, when another identical-looking kid sailed on his sneakers in our direction, bumping into the twitchy kid. They both knocked Persephone down. Instead of pushing them out of the way, she laughed her throaty laughter that seemed to have a direct speed-dial connection to my groin and collected them in her arms as if they were eager puppies. They stuck their sticky fingers into her blond curls and fingered her diamond necklace.

“Easy there, little ones.” She laughed.

“I’m not little. I’m a big boy. Tinder!” the second boy cried. “Mommy and Daddy are looking for you.”

“T-Tree. Look what I found. A real princess.” He motioned to my wife.

Tinder?

Tree?

Oh, for fu…

“Fitzpatrick. Fancy seeing you here. What are you doing raising funds for For the Love of Cow?” Andrew Arrowsmith strolled behind his children, leading his wife by the small of her back.

I glanced at one of the posters in the room, certain he was testing me. Sure enough, the words For the Love of Cow were plainly there. Apparently, I’d slid a fifty-thousand-dollar check at the door to support research on how to decrease methane’s effect on depleting the ozone.

Cow’s shit just got a whole new literal meaning.

I stole another glance at Tinder. He was jerking around in my wife’s arms, his throat producing feral sounds I doubted he controlled.

“Don’t tell me you grew a conscience.” Andrew smirked. I had to admit, he wore his newly earned aristocracy well.

“What conscience?” I asked nonchalantly. “I heard the word cow and figured there’d be steak.”

“That sounds more like you.” Andrew’s eyes drifted to Persephone, who was still on the floor, ahh-ing and aww-ing over something his children said.

“She is lovely.”

“I have eyes.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to her?”

“No,” I deadpanned.

Unfortunately, part of why I was mildly obsessed with Persephone was due to her impeccable manners. She rose to her feet, extending her hand to my nemesis with a warm smile, introducing herself anyway.

“Persephone Fitzpatrick. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Andrew Arrowsmith, and this is my wife, Joelle. I believe you’ve already met my sons, Tinder and Tree.”