PROLOGUE
KNOX
"Just breathe, yeah?" Duke laughed. "It's not like you're going to a wedding."
The ass was sitting—no,lounging—in a cozy-looking seat that didn’t look like it belonged in a club, and he was smirking at me. His arms were behind his head, and his feet were kicked up onto the short coffee table there.
I scoffed. "No, of course not. Instead, I'm letting you auction me off to some rich dick for an entire month!"
We were in something of a green room inside The Sweet Pea Menagerie, a club for questionable shenanigans like bachelor auctions and marriages of convenience for rich folks who had a spare half a million dollars in their wallet. After Duke had signed my name under one of the auction items—fucking rude—we’d been sequestered away to our own tiny room, complete with hot pink velvet curtains and a vanity mirror with theater lighting. The privacy was surprising, but not unwelcome. I needed every ounce of will I could muster if I wanted any hope of staying calm here. Honestly, someone should give me a shot. I already knew there were shirtless servers in the main area with flutesof champagne and countless other alcoholic beverages I could swipe.
Duke grinned. "I mean, yeah. But look on the bright side. What if you find yourself a sugar daddy? You'll be thanking me then."
"No chance in fucking hell," I growled, shoving at him, only to have to fix the cuff on the arm of my crisp, white chef's coat.
Duke sobered, probably sensing the depth of my irritation. "Okay. Alright. Knox, dude, just take it like a man, alright? You need the money, and it will put you out there as a real chef. It's your chance!" He stood and gripped my shoulders, making me meet his intense gaze.
We’d been best friends since we were kids. I trusted him with my life.
It took some of the wind out of my sails.
"To a bunch of rich dicks, you mean," I huffed, but I felt myself relax, even just slightly, at his words.
I was freshly back home from culinary school, the last wish of my dying grandmother, so I’d hiked myself off to New York for almost three years to get a patch on my fancy chef’s coat.
"It's still money," he reasoned. "Money you need. It's Nana's house. It's yours. Don't let that asshole take it from you. Not this."
I clenched my teeth. I didn't appreciate the reminder of my father trying to steal away from me the only home I've ever had.
But I needed it.
I took a deep breath.
"Atta boy." Duke patted my arm. "Just get out there and woo the pants off those rich assholes. Get a bidding war going and take home the cash. Get the attention of someone with an actual restaurant. I know you can do this. Come on," he spread his arms wide and shot me his best playboy smile, "give me that sexy smile."
I rolled my eyes.
“That’s not sexy, Knox!”
I snorted. “You’re an idiot.” But then I shot him what he called my signature smirk.
Duke clapped. "Showtime!"
1
LUCY
“You haven’t made the progress I expected, Lucian.”
My father, Lysander Sterling, raised his eyebrow. It was a challenge and disappointment layered into one simple movement, but his message was loud and clear.
You’re failing, Lucy.
I winced and buried my fingers into the fur of my cat, Jackson Pawlick. His spotted fur was like multicolored splattered paint, and I rubbed over the red patches, trying to ground myself. “I’m sorry, Dad. Just…it’s been a struggle, is all. I haven’t done this style in years.”
He knew that already, of course. I’d been painting since before Omma left. It was always something we did together, something she even taught me in the first place. I would always remember running around in my apron with her, paint splattered across my front, the table, and the floor, but she never got angry with me. She would just have the widest, softest smile on her face.
But it wasn’t enough to make her stay.
