I look down at her and take in the wild hair, the kiss-bruised lips, the faint marks on her throat. She’s furious and flustered, and painfully beautiful.
“Sweetheart,” I say, leaning in close enough to pull a small hitch from her, “you haven’t even seen hard yet.”
Her eyes flash with warning. “Out.”
With a smirk, I grab my jacket from the chair, and head for the door. “Whatever you say.”
Even though the response comes easily, my chest feels tighter than it should as I step into the hall. She slams the door behind me hard enough to rattle the frame.
I stand there for a beat. The hallway smells faintly of coffee and cleaning polish. It’s too bright after the night we just shared. The contrast almost makes me laugh.
The delicate scent of her perfume clings to my skin like a secret I don’t know how to keep. I slip my jacket on, drag a hand through my hair, then pull out my phone. The grin creeps back before I can stop it.
Instead of texting something real, something that matches the ache that has settled deep, I do what I always do, and turn my feelings into a joke.
Me: FYI—I just slept with the future Mrs. Van Doren.
I stare at the message to my brother for a moment before hitting send.
Rina thinks this was a mistake.
And maybe she’s right.
It probably was.
But I can’t remember the last time a mistake felt this right.
Or this real.
She thinks she can walk away.
But me?
I’m already in too deep.
Rina Reynolds has no idea what she just got herself into.
Then again, maybe I don’t either.
3
Rina
Present day…
* * *
Evelyn Kingston’s office smells faintly of lavender polish and old money. Not the flashy kind that shouts for attention, but the quiet sort that’s defined Chicago for generations. She’s perched behind her glass desk like a queen on her throne, pearl earrings gleaming as she scans the event proposal I emailed her this morning.
I’ve claimed a chair on the opposite side of her desk, iPad in hand, the gala schedule open between us.
“Beau Masterson confirmed catering,” Evelyn says, tapping a manicured nail against one of the pages. “I’d like to spotlight that partnership in the press release. He’s a recognizable name.”
“I can work that into the first paragraph,” I reply, making a quick note. “And Callie’s bakery is handling desserts.”
Evelyn’s mouth curves. “Perfect. Lakeshore Sweets has a loyal local following. I want the event to feel community driven. Less corporate.”
I grin. “Then I’ll make sure the coverage reflects that. Maybe a behind-the-scenes feature with Callie and Sloane prepping the desserts?”
