Page 1 of The Devil of Downtown

Chapter one

Ivy

“Okay, Elsie, on the count of three. When your legs line up with that bunny-shaped cloud, you jump. Got it?”

“I’ve got it, Auntie Ivy.” Her brow pinches in concentration, little legs pumping hard.

“Ready? One... two... three!”

The swing groans, the wind whips at our cheeks, and then we’re airborne—laughing, shrieking—crashing into the grass in a tangled heap.

“Again, Auntie Ivy!” Elsie beams, gripping my hand as I haul us upright, brushing grass from her dress.

Our laughter barely fades before my twin radar pings, a half second before the inevitable voice arrives.

“Ivy Rose Vale. I saw that.”

And there she is.

My perfect twin sister. I love her, but she has a real talent for being a giant pain in the ass.

I smooth my expression into something approaching innocence as Sloane strides toward us, heels sinking into the turf, dark hair catching the last scraps of daylight. In her tailored suit, she looks like she’s mid-corporate video, about to slide into frame and start talking about leadership and vision.

“Uh-oh, Elsie,” I whisper. “Here comes the fun police.”

Elsie covers her mouth to stifle a giggle as my better half glares down at us, arms folded, foot tapping in the exact way she’s been doing since we learned how to walk.

Sloane is five minutes going on ten years my senior. We’re identical in looks, but that’s where the similarities end. She plans; I improvise. She plays it safe; I leap first and figure out the landing later. I guess you could say, we balance each other out.

“You’re late,” I say quickly, before she can launch into a lecture about playground safety and inappropriate swinging techniques. “Dr. Evil chaining you to your desk again?”

Immediately, her shoulders sag as if every last bit of energy has drained out of her.

“Ivy,” she chides. “You can’t call him that.”

“Fine, he’s not technically a doctor, but the evil part is negotiable.”

Her lips twitch, the closest thing she gets to a laugh after a fourteen-hour day.

“It's crazy. We’re totally swamped. Dane is in overdrive, preparing for next week’s meeting. It’s...a lot.”

I arch a brow.

“Translation: Dane Black is a lot.”

Yeah. He’s a lot, for sure.

The kind of man who gets under your skin and doesn’t leave quietly.

“Don’t,” she warns, but there’s no real fire behind it.

Before she can spiral into work talk, I crouch low and scoop Elsie onto my back. “Alrighty, munchkin, hang on tight. Auntie Ivy Express is pulling out of the station. Race you home, Sloane!”

Elsie squeals, little arms squeezing around my neck. I take off down the path at a half-run; her giggles spilling into my ear. Behind us, the sharp click of Sloane’s heels is replaced with the slap of her bare feet as she abandons her shoes and actually chases us, laughter bubbling out of her.

We tumble into our modest Washington Heights apartment, breathless and laughing. Elsie slides off my back, still giggling.

“You’re impossible,” Sloane says, smoothing down her hair, but she’s smiling as she scoops up her daughter and ushers her toward the bathroom.