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“Oh, god, not the stress cooking.”

“You say that like you don’t get a ton of great food out of it!”

“I’d rather get great food because you’re happy cooking, not because you’re miserable.” Allison finishes her drink and squares her shoulders. “Look, I have an idea. And don’t say no until I finish, okay?”

“Okay…”

“You need to do a boudoir photo shoot.”

I choke on my drink. “What?”

“Not to show around, just for yourself. I think you need a way to see yourself through a different lens. To own your body, your curves, your power. You should do some tasteful, sensual photos in lingerie. Really show off what you’ve got. And then any time you worry that you’re not good enough, you can look at those and remember that you’re a catch, and that any man would be lucky to have you.”

I can feel heat crawling up my neck to my face. “I don’t know.”

“Just think about it.”

“You’re not going to give up until I say I will, are you?”

“You know me.” She winks. “Here, next round’s on me.”

That’s why Allison is my best friend—she looks after me, and I don’t even have to bring up the things that embarrass me. She just knows.

I honestly don’t know if it’s an idea that I can pull off. I’m a heavier girl. People call me ‘curvy’ or ‘well-endowed’ when they’re trying to be kind. I’m not the kind of girl that men choose. They only pick me when they think they can’t get anyone else. I don’t think a sexy photo shoot is going to change that.

I shake the thought out of my head and accept my next cocktail as it’s handed to me. At least I have a loyal friend and a night off, and that’s more than some people get.

4

MAEVE

A week later, I find myself moving with a new kind of purpose—and, yes, I have to admit, it’s from Allison’s idea.

I was terrified to do the photo shoot. I almost cancelled half a dozen times, my hand hovering over the phone, my stomach in knots. But I finally went through with it despite the crushing weight of my own anxiety. The woman Allison recommended was in her sixties, an artist with a quiet, knowing gaze who had spent decades photographing professional burlesque dancers. She had a soothing presence, and as the shoot went on, I really did start to feel more comfortable in my own skin. More present in my own body.

Now I’m excited to see the results. Nervous, too, I can admit that. I had fun doing the shoot—more than I expected—but that doesn’t mean the end result will be something I like. I might get the photos and find out that I look ridiculous, that my attempt at sensuality was a clumsy, laughable failure.

At least if the photos look bad, I have something else to cheer me up: it’s entering the holiday season, my favorite time of year.

I fell in love with the holiday season through food. I love cooking and baking, and there’s no better time to do that than the holiday season at the end of the year. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and all the rest—it’s a time when everyone wants to eat treats, and I love making them for people. There is a quiet power in creating something that brings people joy. It’s a way to take care of people and to make them happy, and I think food is a universal way to bring people closer together, no matter what else.

Already, some of the other employees are asking me what I’m going to bake this year. Last year I brought in a treat every day for the month of December, and I’m pretty sure that’s what won everyone over to me. I’m excited to do it again this year. I’ve drawn up an entire calendar.

“Keller?” Hayden’s voice cuts through the morning quiet. I don’t even have to look up to feel his presence looming over my desk, a storm cloud in a bespoke suit. “You want to explain to me why the Nagasaki papers haven’t arrived yet?”

“I sure would.” I don’t look up from where I’m logging into my various computer accounts. “Except they have arrived.”

“Then why aren’t they on my desk?” he demands, his tone dangerously soft.

“Because they didn’t change the language on page three the way you instructed, so I sent it down to legal to handle. Or would you rather I waste your time having you do it yourself when you have a meeting in fifteen minutes?” I hand him a file I had prepared. “This is the brief for your nine a.m.”

Hayden takes it, flipping it open. His dark eyes scan the first page. “I see you added your usual personal touch.”

I included a little Post-it that reminded him of some personal information on the people he’s meeting with. Unlike Gabriel, who makes a point to remember everyone’s personal stuff so he can charm them, and Ford, who remembers because I’m pretty sure he has a blackmail dossier on everybody he’s ever met, Hayden seems to make it a point of pride to not know or care about people’s personal lives.

“Why am I not supposed to mention Switzerland? They know how much we rely on Switzerland for account holdings, right? Especially for non-monetary valuables like⁠—”

“Like art and jewelry, yes, I know, but the chairman’s wife died two months ago in a skiing accident in Switzerland, so just try and not sound callous, okay? I know it’s a challenge for you, but I’m sure if you try hard and believe in yourself you can manage.”