The Carmen Contract

Contract with Destiny Series Book 1

When danger meets desire, every contract has a price.  

She’s built a new life with a new name. He’s the one person who could unravel it all.

Chapter 1

Ah, that new car smell. Almost makes you forget your life’s being held together by coffee, sarcasm, and government-grade paranoia.

How I’ve missed being chauffeured around in the back of a new Escalade. It used to mean I was a major player in the DA’s office. Now it means someone with better intel than me thinks Houston’s still safer than Belmont, New Jersey.

Not that you’d mistake my current driver, with his military buzz cut and tight black T-shirt that showed off some serious muscle, for one of the stuffed suits on Belmont’s payroll.

The big guy in the front seat is Andre. He’s the walking embodiment of Do Not Mess With Me—but with Texas charm and manners. No badge. No name tag. Just a wooden rosary that probably doubles as a tracking device or missile guidance system. I didn’t ask. I learned the hard way that asking questions is how you end up on someone’s Most Wanted list.

Andre works for Archangel, a private security company that specializes in that gray zone between legal and moral. They’re who you call as a last resort—and you don’t ask questions afterward.

My name used to be Jessica Mancini, before someone tried to kill me and everyone close to me. Now I’m in protective custody. Off-the-books protective custody, to be exact. Archangel isn’t exactly sanctioned by any government agency. Which is a good thing, considering who we think is trying to kill me.

It still blows my mind how they even knew I needed rescuing. They were tipped off by my best friend Abby. She’s scary smart. Like, beyond-genius smart. And super sneaky. All those years I thought she was working at some New York think tank solving famine and curing cancer, she was really working for military groups and spy agencies.

I try not to think about everything that happened leading up to Archangel staging my death and moving me to Houston. I also try not to think too much about how this was supposed to be temporary. Considering we’re coming up on the four-year anniversary of my death, I’m having a hard time believing it’s going to end anytime soon.

Luckily, they set me up with a great job that keeps me busy. Busy keeps me alive. And keeps my mind off the fact that people still want me dead.

For now, I’m Jessica Rider, independent business consultant with Executive Specialties.

Executive Specialties is Archangel’s cleaner, quieter cousin. Archangel deals in guns, bodyguards, and extraction teams. We deal in high-security property management, classified mergers, and HR nightmares. Their background checks could make the CIA nervous. Ours make people cry.

The owner of Executive Specialties, Isaac “Mac” McMillen, is close friends with the guys who started Archangel. My ex-fiancé Flynn being one of them.

They were all in the Middle East together, but none of them talk about it. When they got out, they decided to do what they were good at. Just in the private sector.

Mostly, I work as a project manager. I specialize in sensitive mergers and building projects where red tape could compromise security. Occasionally, I work off the books as a legal consultant to Archangel. I think Flynn asks me to consult on jobs just so he can check up on me without actually checking up on me.

They left my first name alone. Mostly because trying to answer to Brooke wasn’t in my skill set when they built my cover. But they did change everything else. They made my shoulder-length brown hair long and blonde, thanks to extensions and a dye job. Blue contact lenses disguise my green eyes. New last name. New background. Even a new birthday.

I’m hiding in plain sight.

It took me the better part of a year to stop freaking out when I saw myself in the mirror. After four years, the blonde hair has grown on me. But I’d kill to ditch the contacts. Touching my eyeball every day is almost as bad as being forced to drive in Houston traffic.

I usually drive a red Dodge Charger, fully equipped with dash cams and tracking devices. According to the guys, it’s a great car to drive. Except I hate driving. I hate everything about driving. I’m not even sure why I got my license in the first place.

The red death trap was totaled by a drunk driver a few weeks ago. Now I like driving even less. Which I didn’t think was possible. Eventually, they’ll replace the darn thing. Until then, I’m going to do my best to be one with this leather seat and enjoy the ride.

Currently, I’m heading to my latest assignment. For the next few months, I’ll be working at the Carmen Building—a nine-story building in Baystone, about halfway between downtown Houston and my apartment in Grayson Park.

This part of Baystone is mostly office buildings, luxury condos, and hotels. The food choices are pretty much the usual chain restaurants or upscale dining establishments used to impress out-of-town clients. There are a couple popular nightclubs and plenty of boutique shopping. The streets are clean, and crime is relatively low. Thanks mostly to the tax bracket of the people who live and work here.

Of course, if you go a few blocks over, you’ll find older buildings that house mechanics, nail salons, and pawn shops. The neighborhoods are older. The streets have potholes. And the best taco truck is parked next to the Dollar General.

The owner of the Carmen Building, Carlos Carmen, is like a father to me. He also owns the building my apartment’s in, which is why I live there—because his company may or may not be the cover for a few safe houses and such. He’s looking to retire, and the heir apparent isn’t exactly up to speed on... well, any of it. Which is why I’m being called in.

Normally, I’d be ecstatic about working with Carlos. But of all the assignments I’ve had, this one... this one might be trouble.

Man, my life feels like a rejected Bourne Identity script.

Since my car is totaled, Mac’s assistant, Missy, sent the car for me. I would thank her, except she also sent a very rude delivery driver to my door at 7:30 on a Saturday morning.

Okay, maybe he was a little rude because he’d been pounding on my door for a while. But in my defense, I didn’t get back into town until midnight last night, and I wasn’t expecting anyone. In his defense, Missy is kinda scary, and her orders were clear—hand me, and only me, the package or else. So handing it over to my nosy neighbor, Mrs. Kaminsky? Huge mistake on his part.

The package contained a note and a replacement phone. The note was much like Missy herself: short and to the point. The new phone was coming out of my pay. I had a new assignment at The Carmen Company. A car would pick me up at nine. No asking. Just assuming I would take the job and had no plans.

Okay, maybe I didn’t have any plans. Other than Tuesday night Bunco and the occasional girls’ night out, the highlight of my day is usually a good book and a cup of tea.

But still. A girl likes to be asked.

I dropped my phone a couple days ago. It didn’t survive the landing. No big deal. It wasn’t like I kept anything important on it anyway—a few contacts, a handful of apps. In hindsight, having my Uber app last night would’ve been great. Getting a cab at that hour felt a little creepy. Flynn would’ve had a full meltdown. But I’m done being scared.

Of course, I didn’t get a chance to flag down a cab. The moment I stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of arrivals, an all-too-familiar black Escalade pulled up. Paul, Andre’s nighttime counterpart, had my luggage loaded up before I even registered that I hadn’t arranged a ride.

Typical Archangel. They only allow me the illusion of being alone.

It would’ve been nice if Missy had sent muffins with the envelope. All I had waiting at home was a half-eaten jar of peanut butter, some stale saltines, and questionable coffee. So I listened to my messages while the coffee brewed and made a mental note to stop by the bakery on my way to work.

My boss Mac:  “Junior, call me back.”

Mac again:  “I need you to be back early. Call me.”

Missy:  “Straight to voicemail. Really?”  (yelling off in the background) “Mac, she broke another phone!”

Okay, I’ll admit my track record with cell phones is less than stellar. In my defense, though, they really should make them apocalypse-proof by now.

Couple hang-up calls.

Carlos: “Did Mac get ahold of you yet? Well, great news, Joshua is back. I need you working on the merger deal like we discussed. I know the boy is going to give me crap, but maybe he’ll behave if there are witnesses. I’ll be in the office tomorrow so we can finalize strategies. Can’t wait to see you. You can tell me all about your...” (pause) “Oh, crap. Don’t tell Luanna I told you Joshua was home. She’ll kill me for spoiling the surprise.” another pause) “Junior, I’m glad you’re home.”

Another hang-up call.

Luanna: “Just checking to see if you’re home yet. Call me when you get in. I don’t care how late.”

Luanna is Carlos’ wife and basically my second mom.

Luanna again: “I almost forgot. We’re having a dinner party on Saturday. Only if you’re feeling up to it, of course. I’ll have the guest house done up for you.”

That was Luanna’s polite way of saying she expected me to be there.

My attorney, Roberto, sounding way too chipper: “Hey, call me when you get back. There’s been a development in your case and I need to talk to you.”

Anytime Roberto tried to sound chipper, it was bad news. Since he’d most likely be at the party, I decided to wait until then to talk to him. At least I could have a drink in my hand when he dropped the bad news.

Todd from State Farm: “Ms. Rider, I’m sorry to tell you, your car is a complete loss. Give me a call back and I’ll walk you through the next steps.”

Luanna again: “Did you break another phone? I better see you tomorrow.”

Then there were the usual texts from my friends Tessa, Elle, and Kate. Tessa, my roommate, was off on a new renovation job, so she wouldn’t be home for a few weeks. That meant I had the apartment to myself. Elle was off to Atlanta and would call on Monday. Kate wanted to get together for coffee this week to catch up. I figured I’d text them all back in the car after I called Luanna.

The call with Luanna went as expected. After assuring her I was fine and offering a few apologies for not calling sooner, I was roped into staying in the guest house for the weekend. Nothing new. If Luanna had her way, I’d live there permanently. As it is, I spend most weekends there if I’m not tied up with work.

Not that it’s a hardship.

The house is in River Oak, an exclusive gated neighborhood northeast of the city. It sits right on the golf course, complete with a pool and a personal chef. The front entrance feels like Gone with the Wind. The back is more open country estate, with large gardens and grand patios designed for entertaining. The guest house is tucked away on the far side of the property—and bigger than my apartment. And did I mention the personal chef?

The town car rounded the corner, and the Carmen Building came into view. The tall steel-and-glass structure also housed Carmen’s headquarters. Their offices occupied two of the upper floors. A few floors were luxury apartments. The rest of the building was rented out to other offices, including my lawyer and Archangel.

Roberto’s office was on the second floor. Being Saturday, he was probably out on the golf course. One more reason to skip whatever news he wanted to drop. I wasn’t in the mood for any bad news right now.

Archangel takes up the top three floors. That gives them easy access to the helipad on the roof. They also have a vault in the basement that isn’t exactly on the building plans and a private elevator that accesses only select floors. I know because this building was one of my first projects when I started working for Mac.

We pulled around back and headed up the ramp to the secured parking levels. This area was reserved for tenants and people with security clearance. The lower levels were for general parking.

Andre waved to the guard and maneuvered us into one of the parking spots reserved for Archangel. They got the prime floors, the prime parking, and a few other perks—but in exchange, they provided security for all of Carmen’s properties.

I shouldered my purse and grabbed my overnight duffle. Then I did my best to slide out of the backseat in a skirt without flashing anything important.

“I can take your bag, ma’am,” Andre offered as we walked to the elevators.

“No, thank you,” I said, maybe a little too aggressively, and kept walking.

That earned me a strange look from Andre. Archangel has strict rules about ethics and manners. Though I’m sure it’s more a Texas thing than an Archangel thing. Somehow, it’s bad manners not to accept his offer. The Jersey girl in me doesn’t really care. It feels good to control something in my life. Even if it’s just a duffle bag.

The elevator doors opened, and Andre punched the button for the top floor. I pressed six for the Carmen offices. No way was I going all the way up to the Archangel offices.

I’d had a lot of time to think while I was laid up after the accident. The more I thought, the more frustrated I got. Frustrated with them, with the whole situation.

Sure, they’re the good guys. I know that. The fact that I’m still alive is proof. But it feels like we aren’t any closer to getting answers. You’d think, with all that brainpower and firepower, someone would’ve found enough proof to prosecute the bad guys and send me home.

No one tells you how hard this is going to be. There’s no Witness Protection for Dummies out there. Holidays and birthdays are the worst. Right now, I should be planning my joint birthday party with my BFF, Abby. Instead, I’m stuck in Houston and Abby’s who-knows-where. I can’t even celebrate my birthday on my real birthday anymore—they moved it to August when they changed my identity.

Deep breaths. Now’s not the time to spiral.

So what if those people have gotten away with murder for the last four years? And what if Abby’s not okay? What if those cryptic little notes Flynn delivers once a year are just distractions. Another lie to keep me sane?

No. She’s fine. She must be fine.

I’m fine.

 Everything is fine.

Yep. Fine. 

Sort of fine.

Okay—not fine at all, but I can fake it.

I have a life here now. I even have a few new friends. Who needs a stinking birthday party anyway? Or to see your BFF? Just because you’ve celebrated your joint birthdays together since forever? So what if it’s been four years!?

Maybe I should go all the way up and give the guys a piece of my mind. It probably wouldn’t help, but yelling at someone with clearance might make me feel better. I might even see Flynn. He’d talk me down before I did anything stupid—like go back to Jersey and kick some ass myself. Though, logically, I know that would get me killed.

I could do it, though.

The elevator doors opened on the sixth floor and I was scooped up right into the arms of Carlos Carmen. Not Flynn, but the next best thing to brighten my mood.

Carlos gives the best hugs. And somehow, he always knows when I need one. He was waiting right there when the doors opened, wrapping me in a bear hug that squeezed out the sadness and anger. Well, most of it anyway. But I’m a big girl. I refuse to cry in public.

Carlos is a mix of Mexican and German—the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with his salt-and-pepper hair and warm chocolate eyes. Deep laugh lines, a dark tan from hours in the Texas sun. Even in heels, I barely reach his chin. And he always smells like sunshine, good cologne, and happiness.

“Good to see you, Junior,” Carlos whispered, kissing my forehead. “You look much better than the last time I saw you. How’s the head?”

“Doing much better. Thank you for the resort time. I needed it more than I thought,” I said. Carlos had insisted I recover at one of the tropical medical spas he partly owned. That’s where I’d been for the last few weeks.

He gently moved my hair aside to check my scar. “Looks like that’ll heal up nicely.”

“Yes. Amazing what some sun, sand, and a great plastic surgeon can do. Thank you again. Some days, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I kissed his cheek and wiped away the lipstick with my thumb.

Carlos lifted my chin. “I know that look. Rough morning?”

“Just missing an old friend,” I admitted.

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Come to my office.” He grabbed my hand and led me down the hall. “You can tell me all about your trip, and I’ll catch you up on everything that happened while you were away. Luanna tried to drag me to Bunco night. I had to fake an emergency to get out of it.”

I laughed out loud. Carlos loves his wife, but he’d burn down a building before he’d face a room full of gossiping ladies on Bunco night.

****

I knew my father was a womanizer. But bringing his latest fling into my office? The office I flew back from Atlanta to save? The one I’m supposed to take over? That’s a new low—even for him.

Of course, she wasn’t exactly what I expected. No overdone curls. No spray tan. Just expensive highlights and that too-perfect polish that screams, I get what I want. She probably married rich, divorced richer, and learned how to land her next investment with a well-timed laugh and that big smile.

She definitely had the legs for it—long and lean, with just enough sway when she walked to make every man in the building forget their passwords. And dammit, that smile was... distracting.

Probably rehearsed.

It worked too. Just not on me.

I’ve seen this game before. She looked smart enough to fake sincerity, but not smart enough to realize my father’s never going to leave my mother. No matter how nice the legs.

I should’ve walked away. Let the whole mess rot without me. But here I am, the dutiful son with a front-row seat to his father’s midlife disaster. Again.

First, I’ll get this flavor of the month to leave. Then I’ll see if Dale was able to dig up anything on this “Junior.” Apparently, Junior is running point on the merger—because, of course, my father trusts some mystery man over his own son.

The plan is simple: pretend to play nice, get control of the company, then head back to Atlanta. I’ve got a life and a business to run. And from there, I can protect Mom from Dad’s shady business dealings.

As for him? He can go to hell.

What was it he said?

"There are too many lives depending on this merger going smoothly."

And: "If Junior doesn’t sign off on it, it’s not going to happen."

Like I’m the bad guy here. Like I’m going to fire everyone and burn the place down.

If anything, I’m the hero. He should’ve retired years ago. But he’s too stubborn to sell. Or maybe too scared. So now I have to put my life on hold to clean up his mess. Because heaven forbid he sell the damn thing to me instead of risking losing it entirely because of one of his shady deals.

According to Mom, if I don’t make this merger happen, some rival company out of California will swoop in and take over. She’s afraid of what would happen if the business didn’t stay in the family. Of course, she didn’t go into much detail—probably because she doesn’t know much more than that. She’s always been happy playing the dutiful country club wife, leaving the business side to my dad.

It’s always been like this. My dad, selfish and self-centered. Always about what he wanted. And poor Mom, always making excuses for him. He had a meeting. Something came up. Come to find out, the man who spent my whole life preaching at me about being better was cheating on his wife. Mom never had a clue.

Like right now. While she’s home planning some over-the-top welcome home party for me, he’s here, working.

Working on the “blonde of the month.”

Well, not while I’m around.

I stop just short of the door when I hear her voice.

“I think this retirement is a good thing. You really do need to start taking better care of yourself.”

“I know,” my dad says, like he actually means it. “I just don’t know if he’s ready. I could give it all to you. Then it wouldn’t be a problem.”

What?!

She laughs. “Not on your life. You know why I can’t take over.”

“I think you’re wrong. We could get Father O’Leary on it. If anyone could figure out a way, he can.”

Father O’Leary?
What the hell is he doing getting clergy involved? Is he planning to marry this woman?

That’s it. This stops now.

I shove open the door, ready to catch them in something I’ll never be able to unsee.

Except...

She’s not naked in his lap. No lipstick-smudged collar. Just her, leaning back against the desk like she already owns the place. Suit jacket open. Confident. And way too comfortable in my office.

“Joshua,” my dad says, like nothing is out of place. “I’d like you to meet—”

“I’m not interested in meeting your special friend, Dad.” I cut him off. “I came to talk about the merger. So if you’ll excuse us.”

I give her a look that usually makes junior executives run for cover.

Instead, it was my father who made his exit. “Great! Right down to business, it is. I have to get home anyway. You know your mom. Unless you want fireworks?”

“No,” I say through clenched teeth. “I don’t want fireworks. But—”

“Don’t work too late, Junior,” he calls over his shoulder with a grin. “Party starts at seven.”

And then he’s gone. Whistling.

Wait. What?

Dad’s mistress is Junior?

No way. No. Freaking. Way.

She’s in charge of the merger?

Perfect. Just what I need.

****

Even if I hadn’t seen pictures of Joshua, I would’ve known it was him the moment he stormed into Carlos’s office. He looks exactly like Carlos—well, a younger, angrier version. Carlos wasn’t kidding when he said the guy had a chip on his shoulder. From where I’m standing, it looked more like a whole damn boulder.

Carlos is the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had. We’ve worked together a lot over the last few years, so I know his shenanigans. And this was classic Carlos. I’d bet a dozen of Mama Bella’s famous chocolate chunk cookies that he knew Joshua would have his panties in a bunch this morning—and somehow used me to twist them a little tighter. It should’ve pissed me off, but I had to admit, the man had style.

It usually takes people a couple beats to register that Junior is, in fact, a girl. I think Carlos and Mac actually get a good laugh out of it. Personally, I found it annoying at first, but it gives me a few seconds to size up who I’m dealing with.

Joshua was definitely the spitting image of his father. Tall. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. But with a whole lot more anger. Every muscle in his body was tense, like a tiger pacing at the edge of its cage. His brown eyes were sharp, assessing. I could feel them slowly tracing over every inch of me.

By the time his eyes met mine, I could tell he had a game plan.

Fine. So do I.

The butterflies doing flips in my stomach? Just part of the game. Challenge accepted. He’s definitely a player out to win. Trouble is, he doesn't have a clue what game he’s getting into—and it’s my job to decide if he can handle seeing all the cards.

It’s not that he intimidates me. I’ve put away murderers and rapists. I can handle some spoiled rich kid who thinks the world owes him. The problem is, The Carmen Company isn’t exactly squeaky clean.

Sure, most of Carmen is what-you-see-is-what-you-get. Carlos owns apartments, commercial property, supply warehouses, and cleaning services, among other things. Legit businesses. Just some hide a secret or two. Like the armory vault in the basement of this building, a few safe houses here and there, and a couple of businesses acting as fronts for other... well, we’ll call them gray area endeavors.

It’s all done for the good guys. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. Unfortunately, Carlos made the decision a long time ago not to tell Joshua about any of it. He said it was for his safety, and that he planned to tell him once he finished college. Well, that plan backfired when Joshua stayed in Atlanta and basically cut all ties.

Now that Carlos is looking at exit strategies, I think he’s hoping this merger might be his way to reconnect with his son. From where I sit, the paperwork is the easy part. Figuring out whether Joshua should even be in the running to take over the company—that’s the real challenge.

I came in here ready to push this through. On paper, the guy looked solid. But after seeing the resentment boiling inside him? I’m not so sure. Would he jeopardize people’s lives out of spite? My gut says no.

Then again, I’ve seen people do some pretty awful things out of anger.

If it doesn’t work out, Carlos could lose his one shot at fixing things with Joshua. And that would wreck him—not that he’d ever admit it. Stubborn ass.

What I wouldn’t give for a nice, simple murder right about now.

Let the games begin.

“You must be Joshua,” I said in my sweetest voice. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Your father has told me a lot about you.”

“And exactly how long have you known my father?” The cocky sneer in his voice was a nice touch.

“Oh, I’ve worked with Carlos off and on for about four years now. He’s really glad you agreed to the merger. He’s always wanted you to take over the business—not that you could tell by his abrupt exit.” I kept my tone light and casual, a move that drives these alpha types nuts.

“Is he? Did he tell you that?” he growled.

Struck a nerve, I see.

“Actually, he did. Last year, when he first floated the idea of the merger. The timing wasn’t right then.” Which was true. Joshua had been in the news for some legal matters, and Archangel was in the middle of tying up a two-year operation that needed to stay under the radar.

“So, you spend a lot of time with dear old Dad?”

“When I can. We’re very busy people.” I shrugged.

“I bet.” Another sneer. This guy really did have a chip on his shoulder when it came to Carlos.

“Well, I assume you’re busy yourself. After all, it’s been six, seven years? Or is it eight since you’ve been home?” Okay, that came out a little judgy, but Carlos is my friend.

“You know nothing about me.” Joshua closed the space between us, effectively pinning me against the edge of Carlos’s desk. The warmth of his body belied the cold in his eyes.

“I know that whatever grudge you’re holding against your father needs to be cleared if you ever hope to have a relationship with him.” I gripped the desk edge to steady myself. No turning back now. My loyalty was with Carlos.

“It seems you know a lot about relationships with my father.”

“Joshua, I’m not sure what you think my relationship to your father is, but—”

“The way I see it, your relationship with my father is none of my business. All that matters is how well we get along.” His eyes lingered on the bit of cleavage showing at the top of my blouse, waking up parts of me that had no business paying attention.

He might look like Carlos, but he was definitely nothing like his father. Carlos was my calm in the storm. Joshua was the storm. There was something about him—an unapologetic, masculine charge—that had my body reacting in a totally inappropriate, definitely inconvenient way my brain had no business enjoying.

I gripped the table tighter. This was just the adrenaline talking. Yep. Abby would probably have some kind of scientific explanation for it.

“Yes,” I cleared my throat, “we will be working together. Getting along would help.”

“Professionally, of course,” I added.

“Of course.” The words were barely a whisper in my ear. I could feel his breath on my cheek. His neck was so close. I could easily turn and lick the pulse point below his jaw just to see if his heartbeat would react to my touch.

He stepped back, breaking the spell. I took it as my chance to make a quick exit.

“Speaking of professionally, I haven’t had a chance to get organized. Carlos said I could use the small meeting room to set up in. So, if you’ll excuse me.” I skirted around him and headed for the door.

Once inside the safety of the conference room, I leaned against the door, hoping the cool wood would help me get a grip. “Wow. Okay. What was that?”

Mental note: Avoid being alone with Joshua.

Hormones. Definitely hormones.

That’s the only reasonable explanation for why I just had a sudden urge to climb a man like a jungle gym.

Where was Abby when I needed her?

She’d tell me to stay calm. She’d tell me to stay professional.

She’d also tell me I was in big, big trouble.

Chapter 2

Dale would be a hell of a lot more helpful if he answered his phone.

He said he’d call the minute he heard back from the private investigator, but apparently, that was code for go radio silent and ignore your best friend’s calls. For all I know, he’s screening the detective’s calls too.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to help, I’d do a little digging myself.

The weekend security guard, Mike, said her name was Jessica Rider. J.R. That’s where "Junior" came from. Other than that, he spent more time defending her than answering my questions. Apparently, Mike was one of her fans.

She didn’t have any social media I could find. No LinkedIn. No Instagram. Nothing. My parents not being online, I get. But a woman our age? Odd. Then again, if I were sleeping with a married man, I’d probably keep things offline too.

There was no employee file either. She was listed as a consultant under Executive Specialties, an elite business management and PR firm that prides itself on handling “sensitive, high-security contracts” for “clients who require discretion.”

I dug up our contract with them. She held dual degrees from a private college in Virginia and had worked on some major projects. Not your average gold digger. And based on what we’re paying for her services, she was anything but cheap.

Her contact info just looped back to Executive Specialties. Another dead end. Apparently, discretion didn’t stop at their client list.

Other than that, I had nothing.

Well, not nothing. I did have a text from my father ordering me to give her a ride to the party.

On one hand, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about chauffeuring the woman who might be screwing my father—figuratively and literally. On the other hand, it gave me the perfect chance to size her up.

The small conference room sat at the end of the hall across from the break room. Unlike the big glass-walled one we used for client meetings, this one was completely closed off. Private.

Inside was surprisingly larger than I expected. A big oval table with eight leather chairs took up one side of the room. A TV screen was mounted at the head of the table. Whiteboards leaned against the far wall. A round table with two armchairs sat near the large windows, offering a sweeping view of the skyline.

The main table was buried under color-coded chaos: sticky notes, files, open folders—like a file cabinet had exploded.

She was sitting on the floor.

Back against the window. Shoes off. Hair twisted into a messy bun pinned with pencils. No jacket. Soft pink blouse undone just enough to suggest trouble. Reading glasses perched low on her nose as she flipped through a file in her lap, chewing on her bottom lip, completely unaware she was being watched.

It looked effortless. Studied but not staged. Like she hadn’t meant to look like a fantasy but somehow did.

For a half-second, I forgot she might be sleeping with my dad.

Then I remembered.

And that should’ve killed it.

But my eyes betrayed me, zeroing in on the stretch of bare thigh where her skirt had ridden up. Long. Smooth. Dangerous.

Jesus.

I could see how a guy like my father might lose his mind over her. Beauty. Brains. Degrees from schools even I couldn’t afford. And according to Executive Specialties, top-tier talent. Assigned to only the most sensitive, high-level clients.

Which begged the question: how the hell did she end up here?

No way her agency would let her stay if they knew she was screwing a client.

Unless... she wasn’t.

Maybe she really was just that good at her job. Or maybe she was simply that good at getting what she wanted. Either way, I was going to be spending a lot of quality time with her.

That last thought hit me hard and low. Just in time for her to look up.

“Joshua? Can I help you with something?”

Great. I’d been caught ogling her like a damn intern.

Another image slammed into my brain—her bent over the table, skirt bunched at her hips, my hands tangled in that hair. I exhaled sharply and forced my gaze to meet hers.

Keep it together, man.

“Sheesh,” I muttered under my breath. “She’s probably boinking your old man.”

She blinked.

“What?”

Crap. That was out loud.

I cleared my throat. “I said, are you ready to go?”

****

One second, he was looking at me like I was dessert. The next, cold as stone. I must’ve imagined it.

Then why did I feel like I needed a cold shower?

Maybe Elle was right. I needed to start dating again. Or at least start dating, period.

I hadn’t really dated since... well, since law school. My high school friend Richie and I reconnected during my first year. I wouldn’t exactly call what we did dating—more like friends hanging out. Eventually, we got married. And when he died four years ago, I was certain I’d never date again. Especially after seeing Flynn again. Love, relationships, happily ever after? Not in the cards.

Still, seeing my friends with their new relationships made me wonder. If I’m going to keep having reactions like this around a man, maybe I should finally take my friends up on those casual date offers. Nothing serious, obviously. It just didn’t seem right. After all, how do you explain that your whole life is a made-up story and you are somebody else entirely? Add another chapter to Witness Protection for Dummies.

“Go?” I asked, dragging myself back to the present.

“Yes. To the house. Mom is expecting us by seven.” His voice held a sharp edge.

I glanced at my watch. “Oh, already that late?” It was almost six. Where had the day gone?

“I’ll drive you. Dad wants me to make sure you get there,” he added, with a tight smile that did nothing to hide his irritation.

“Um... sure. Just give me a couple minutes to pack up. You can meet me downstairs.”

“No. I’ll wait.”

Of course he would.

I grabbed my sticky notes, stalling. My right leg was completely numb from sitting on the floor so long. Fantastic. Now I got to entertain him with my graceful attempt at standing.

Carefully, I shifted, using a chair to steady myself and pull up. Which mostly worked until the blood rushed back into my leg. I wobbled and would’ve crashed to the floor if strong arms hadn’t caught me.

Firm. Solid. Warm. Too close.

I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck for balance. His eyes were salted caramel with flecks of gold. I hadn’t noticed that before. 

My brain unhelpfully suggested I lick the pulse point under his jaw, just to see how he’d react.

Yep. Definitely need to get out more.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, steadying myself against the chair. “Sat too long, I guess.”

I grabbed my shoes and slipped them on, avoiding his gaze. “Let’s go before the guest of honor gets in trouble for being late.”

Before I could grab my overnight bag, he had it over his shoulder and was already at the door.

We walked in tense silence to the elevator.

Given how awkward our last conversation had been, silence was probably for the best. After all, I had basically told him to grow up and reconcile with his father. Like I’m one to give parental advice. My relationship with my mom had been rocky at best. And now? She was gone. No do-over. No goodbye.

At least Joshua still had a chance. And I wanted to shake him for wasting it.

The elevator ride was equally quiet. He stood rigid beside me, jaw tight, eyes forward. If I didn’t know better, I might’ve taken it personally. But I suspected this had more to do with his father than me.

The moment we reached the garage, he tossed my bag into the back of his black Trailblazer without a word and climbed into the driver’s seat. So much for Texas manners.

At least I wouldn't be close enough to be tempted to lick him again.

I slid into the passenger seat, buckled up, and stared out the window. If he wanted to drive in silence, that was fine by me.

Houston’s lights blurred past. I have to admit, the city itself has grown on me. On this side of the city, there were less tall buildings and more open spaces. The local shops had a small town, main street feel. It was still early on a Saturday night, so the night clubs weren’t open yet. A few couples walked down the sidewalk peeking in shop windows and ducking into favorite eateries. Yep, after four years, Houston was starting to feel as much like home as Belmont.  

Would Belmont even feel like home if I ever went back?

Richie was gone. His family still lived there, but we hadn’t visited often. My mom passed last year. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. Not that she would have noticed that I was missing. Lisa and Bobby were dead. I still wake in the middle of the night and swear I can smell smoke. The car bomb had been meant for all of us, but Abby and I had stayed behind to plan our birthday bash. 

Abby. Abby, my brilliant, secret-agent BFF, was leading a double life I never knew about. She is the one who sent Flynn to rescue me. When he showed up at Richie’s funeral, I almost didn’t recognize him. The last time I saw him was his funeral. Well, technically it was his empty casket.

“Do you always bring an overnight bag to work?” Joshua’s voice cut into my thoughts.

So much for peaceful silence.

I shook off the memories. “Only when I know I’ll need it,” I said with a shrug. “Sorry again for making you late.”

He didn’t respond immediately, eyes focused on the road as brake lights lit up ahead. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. The front seat was almost worse than driving myself.

At least until I inhaled. His cologne still clung faintly to my jacket from earlier.

I tried not to notice.

“I’m sure my dad will forgive you,” he said finally, his tone clipped.

“It’s not your dad I’m worried about. Your mom has probably planned every detail down to the minute. I know better than to mess with one of Luanna’s parties.”

His jaw tightened again. “You’ve been to one of my mom’s parties before?”

“One or two,” I answered dryly.

“Of course. You’ve worked with my father before.” His voice dipped bitter again. “I’m just surprised he invited you out to the house.”

“Why does that bother you so much?” I turned toward him. The glow of passing streetlights highlighted the tension in his face.

“You know, you could’ve come home anytime,” I started carefully, testing the waters.

“Whether or not I come home is none of your business,” he snapped.

“Well, I’m making it my business. Your father needs you. And your mom—”

“You leave my mom out of this.”

“Obviously you have,” I shot back. “Otherwise you’d care that it’s breaking her heart.”

“Ha! Like you care about my mother’s feelings.”

I bit my lip, forcing down my reply. Not the time. Not the place.

The rest of the drive was silent. I sat there, alternately planning ways to break through his stubborn shell—or throttle him.

When we finally pulled into River Oak, Joshua slammed the car into park and climbed out without a word.

That went well.

****

“There you are!” my mom called from the porch, waving wildly like she hadn’t seen me in a decade.

She hadn’t changed a bit. Four foot five of pure energy, her long black hair pulled into an intricate updo pinned with a large white flower.

My parents had bought the mansion in River Oak when I was in middle school. Southern plantation style. Tall pillars, sweeping stairs, heavy doors that swung open to a grand foyer. It was meant to be impressive. Expensive. But for me, it had never really felt like home. Boarding school had seen to that.

“I was worried something happened. You should call if you’re going to be late.” She threw her arms around me in a tight hug.

I kissed her cheek. “Sorry. Ran into a bit of a delay. But I’m here now.”

I tried to match her enthusiasm, but it wasn’t in me.

“Yes, you are.” She straightened my tie and looked up with glassy eyes. I hated how guilty I felt not telling her the truth. About my father. About why I couldn’t stay. She’d made her choice a long time ago to be a society wife. Yet I still couldn’t be the one to break her heart. Maybe Junior was right — on that count, anyway.

“You don’t have time to change. Good thing you’re so handsome.” She patted my chest with a watery smile. “Now go mingle with your guests.”

“My Jessie! You’re here!” my mother squealed as she rushed past me to embrace Junior. She threw her arms around her, nearly knocking her off balance before snatching her overnight bag and handing it to one of the staff.

“I told you I’d be here,” Junior said with a warm smile, looping her arm through my mother’s like they’d known each other forever. She was genuinely happy to see my mom. It didn’t make sense.

“Always late. You remind me of Carlos with the hours you keep. You really need to take better care of yourself.”

“I’m working on it. Sorry for making the guest of honor late.” She nodded toward me. “I completely lost track of time.”

“Forgiven.” My mother held her at arm’s length, beaming. “My Jessie’s home in one piece. You’ll have to tell me all about the resort. How long can you stay?”

“Just ‘til after breakfast.” Junior gave her another quick hug and pecked her cheek. “We’ll catch up later. Don’t you have a party to run?”

My mother spun back toward me, hands on her hips. “What are you still doing out here? Go mingle.”

Junior shook her head. “I’ll be there in a minute. I need to freshen up first.”

“Of course. Take your time.” My mother patted her arm before turning her full attention back to me. “Now go. You have guests waiting.”

Before I could say anything else, she looped her arm through mine and ushered me toward the house. I glanced back just as Junior rounded the corner.

Wait.

Mom called her Jessie?

I didn’t see her again until later, when she was standing across the patio with several of my father’s business associates, laughing at something one of her admirers had said. She’d changed into a black cocktail dress, and judging by the looks from the men surrounding her, the effect wasn’t lost on any of them.

Meanwhile, I was trapped in conversation with some president-of-something-or-other. Bald. Short. Rambling.

I had no clue what the man was going on about. My brain had long since tuned him out. Instead, my mind kept circling back to my mother’s greeting. Jessie. They were close. How close?

“Then she insisted on building the playground herself,” the man said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Can you believe it?”

“Sounds interesting.” I smiled automatically, eyes still following Junior across the crowd. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to catch up with an old friend.”

The man followed my gaze. “Junior? I heard about her accident. Good to see she’s back.”

My stomach dropped. “What accident?”

“Drunk driver totaled her car right after Thanksgiving. I saw pictures. She was lucky.” He took a sip of his drink. “Figured you’d know more than me. From what I heard, your mother and her friends practically took over the hospital.”

“Right,” I muttered. The unease twisting in my gut finally made sense. I needed to confront her. Jessie. Whoever she was.

But being the guest of honor meant everyone wanted a piece of my attention. Probably out of fear my mother would have their heads if they didn’t at least greet me.

Every time I closed the distance between Junior and me, someone else stopped me. A business associate. A family friend. An old classmate. She kept slipping just out of reach.

By the time I finally crossed the patio, she was standing near the small stage, deep in conversation with my father. From the serious look on both their faces, this wasn’t idle chit-chat. Then he reached for her hand, gave it a brief squeeze, and stepped onto center stage.

“Good evening,” my father began, clearing his throat. “Good evening, everyone. Thank you for coming. Luanna said I should say a few words — and you know what that means.”

The crowd laughed.

“Yep, I have no choice. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it brief.”

He flashed that trademark Carmen charm, pausing for effect.

“As many of you know, our son Joshua has been off blazing his own trail in Atlanta. Though his mother wishes he’d visit more often, we couldn’t be more proud of him.” He raised his glass. “Welcome home, son. We hope you’ll consider sticking around a while.”

Polite applause rippled through the crowd. Cheers, back pats, raised glasses.

I couldn’t tell if he was sincere. Probably not. But the crowd ate it up.

He took a sip of his drink, then continued, “I thought I’d take this opportunity to clear up a few rumors.” He glanced at Junior with a knowing smile. “Yes, I’m considering stepping away from the day-to-day operations of the Carmen Company, and Joshua may be part of that transition. But it’s too early to say how my retirement will take shape.”

A few heads nodded knowingly.

“I know some of you would prefer a more concrete answer. If it were up to Luanna, I would’ve retired years ago. Not that she’d know what to do with me underfoot all the time.”

Laughter rolled through the crowd.

“But seriously, the Carmen Company is more than just a business—it’s family. Any changes will be made with that family in mind. We won’t rush. We’ll do it right. And as decisions are made, everyone will be kept in the loop.”

Another pause. Another sip.

“Now, before anyone starts speculating, let me say this has nothing to do with my health. I’m happy to report I am still cancer-free.”

Cheers erupted. Glasses clinked. People exhaled in collective relief.

I just stood there, stunned. Like someone had gut-punched me.

Cancer?

He had cancer—and no one told me?

“The truth is, my bout with colon cancer made me realize a few things. First, don’t argue with my wife. She saved my life by making me see a doctor. Early detection was key to my recovery. Second, don’t take the people in your life for granted. I’ve spent so many years working to provide for my family, I missed out on the things that really matter. I’ll never get that time back, but I’m hoping to make more time in the future. Starting with a dance with my wife.”

He winked at my mom, who blushed under the attention.

The band struck up again as I finally reached my parents near the stage.

“Cancer? You never told me he had cancer,” I hissed.

“We didn’t want to worry you,” my mother said softly, reaching for my hand.

I pulled away. “I’m not twelve, Mom. You should’ve told me.”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” my father cut in sharply.

“Like you’re one to talk.” My voice rose despite myself. “Is that why you’ve been trying to drag me home? Because you’re sick?”

“No. Full remission. I just thought—”

“You thought what? That you could buy me back into your life?”

“I never told you to leave. That was your choice.” His finger jabbed into my chest.

I stepped forward, fists tight. “You didn’t have to tell me. I figured out I was in the way all on my own.”

“Stop it!” My mother whisper-yelled through clenched teeth. “Stop it right now, both of you. I am done. You two better figure it out.” She pointed between us like a referee ready to throw both of us out of the ring. “Right now, you have party guests—and you will be civilized.”

Without waiting for a reply, she spun on her heel and vanished into the crowd.

We stood there, two grown men glaring at each other.

One more word, and I was going to break his damn nose.

Instead, I turned away.

I was done with this party. Just another performance for their society friends. Always had been.

As I crossed the patio, I spotted Junior sneaking into the garden—with a man.

His back was to me, but it was clear they were trying not to be seen.

Seriously. What is it with her and older guys?

****

Carlos still had doubts about Joshua.

Honestly? I could see why. Joshua had some serious anger issues to work through. But deep down—way down—I believed he was more like his father than either of them wanted to admit. Given time, and the right person to show him the ropes, I knew he’d step up. He was a good guy. He just didn’t know it yet.

But Carlos and Joshua needed to settle whatever was festering between them before it was too late. Anger, at least, meant he still cared. My mother and I? We reached apathy long before she died. Back then, I told myself it was her loss. Turns out, I lost more than I realized.

I told Carlos all of this right before his speech. He said he was glad I thought Joshua might be up for the challenge. But he still wanted to be the one to tell him about the other half of the business. He was waiting for the right chance.

Honestly, I couldn’t blame him. How do you tell your son you’ve secretly spent years working with a private shadow security group? That you’ve hidden victims, taken down bad guys, and tiptoed so close to the legal line that one wrong move could land you in prison or worse?

Carlos wanted to protect him. I understood that better than most. But the reality was: the bad guys didn’t care whether Joshua knew the truth or not. They didn’t care about collateral damage. They didn’t care who got hurt.

Three other people died when that car bomb killed Lisa and Bobby. Abby and I should’ve been in that car too. We would’ve been if she hadn’t insisted on one more drink.

We’d been at Murry’s Pub that night, sharing drinks and appetizers. Richie was working, so it was just the four of us—Abby, Lisa, Bobby, and me—chatting about our annual birthday bash. Abby and I had celebrated our joint birthdays together since I was old enough to sneak over to her house to escape my mother’s latest boyfriend.

We’d met Bobby and Lisa back when I was in law school. Bobby was the rising political star. Lisa, the picture-perfect political wife. Everyone assumed they were destined for the governor’s mansion, with a quick stop in Congress along the way. Even as our careers took off, the four of us stayed close.

That night, Lisa had wanted to talk about the corruption case I was working on. Not just because she was nosy—though she definitely was—but because she’d overheard one of Bobby’s aides talking about crooked cops, dead officials, and a drug dealer named JT being framed.

Lisa told Bobby. Bobby told me. I told Abby. And, of course, Richie told me to stay out of it.

Naturally, Abby and I didn’t listen. I was an assistant DA. She was a genius. Between us and Lisa’s determination to keep her husband’s name clear—we became our own private investigation team. The Three Musketeers, hell-bent on bringing the bad guys down.

But when Bobby tried confronting one of the suspects, everything went sideways. Evidence vanished. Witnesses ended up dead. And threats started rolling in—from some very unexpected places, including my boss.

Still, I pushed forward. Stubborn. Naive.

That night, after drinks, I hugged Lisa and Bobby goodbye and watched them laughing as they ran through the January slush toward their car. Abby linked her arm through mine as we turned back toward the warm patio heaters.

Then—BOOM.

A flash of light. The air ripped open. The shockwave slammed us to the ground.

My ears rang. My head spun. And as I staggered upright, I watched in horror as my friends burned inside their car.

Chaos erupted—screaming, running, sirens. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Someone pulled Abby and I away to safety. After that, everything blurred into police lights, hospital rooms, and doctors.  I had sustained a concussion in the blast. I didn’t even know about the other victims until days later.

Even now, years later, I still wake  I still wake up to the smell of rancid smoke and my head pounding

“Hey, Junior. You got a minute?”

The familiar voice jolted me out of the memory.

“What?” My mind scrambled to catch up. “Yeah… of course.”

“Take a walk with me,” Roberto said, nodding toward the garden path just off the patio.

A private chat in the garden? And he wasn’t even trying to sound chipper. This wasn’t going to be good.

We walked toward the edge of the property—far enough to stay out of earshot, but still within reach of the party’s glow and music. Roberto glanced around and motioned for me to sit on one of the benches.

“No, thanks.” I stayed standing, bracing myself. “Just tell me.”

“Right.” He exhaled. “First off, the car accident really was just that. An accident. Guy was out celebrating a little too much.”

Which meant he’d been worried it was more than an accident.

Roberto handled a lot of legal work for Archangel, and he was one of the few people outside the inner circle who knew my full story. As my personal attorney, he could get information and meet with me without raising suspicions. And he always kept tabs when Flynn couldn’t.

“I already know he was driving on a suspended license with no insurance. So that’s not why you pulled me out here.” I crossed my arms. “Out with it.”

He sighed and lowered his voice. “Peter Sarducci was killed last week in prison.”

That got my attention.

Repeat Pete, as everyone called him. The guy who always knew a guy. Small-time thefts, drugs, favors for anyone with cash. Pete survived for years by trading info to get lighter sentences. But this time, he hadn’t talked his way out of it.

“Okay…” I said slowly. “So?”

“Before he got himself killed, Pete gave up a name—Arthur Mackenzie.”

The name hit like a gut punch.

Mackenzie. The cleaner.

Rumor was, if you wanted to ‘clean house’—no witnesses, no survivors—you called Mackenzie.

Roberto let the silence hang for a moment, giving me time to absorb it.

“They think he was the one who tried to ‘clean your house,’” he said softly.

“So that’s good news, right? They’ve got the guy.” A thread of hope flickered. “Maybe they’re finally making progress.”

“That’s what they thought too.” His mouth flattened. “But he slipped through their fingers.”

Of course he did.

Roberto reached out, briefly touching my hand. “They found him yesterday. Dead. Two bullets to the head. Classic cleanup job.”

The hope drained from my chest.

Which meant…

“They know,” I whispered.

“Either they know you’re still alive or they know someone’s been looking into them.” Roberto rubbed the back of his neck.

“And I’m supposed to go into hiding again?” I asked bitterly.

“You could at least consider another ‘vacation’ while Archangel figures out where things stand.”

He was trying. I knew that. But I was done hiding.

“I appreciate the concern,” I said gently. “But let’s be honest—they haven’t exactly made much headway in four years. If this flushes them out? Maybe that’s what we need.”

Roberto frowned. “Jess, it’s too risky.”

“It’s riskier for everyone else if I keep pretending nothing’s wrong. My friends don’t even know the danger they’re in. I won’t let anyone else get hurt because of me.”  My gut churned at the thought of putting Tessa, Kate, and Elle in danger.

He gave me a tight smile, knowing better than to argue when my mind was made up. “You’ll miss me if you get yourself killed, you know.”

I forced a small laugh. “You know I will.”

His smile softened. “Just hang tight for a few more days. Archangel’s running new leads. I’ll keep you updated.”

A few more days.

“It’s fine,” I lied. “What’s a few more days?”

“Good.” He squeezed my hand. “We’ve got your back. Come on. I’ll grab you another drink.”

“No thanks. I just need a minute. You go enjoy the party. Your wife looks like she wants to dance.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” I mustered my best smile. “Go.”

He nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there for a while, staring into the garden lights, my stomach hollow. Could it really be over soon? Could I finally go home?

The word home echoed in my chest like a cruel joke. My old life barely existed anymore. Other than Abby and a handful of people that deserved the truth, there wasn’t much of that life left. Lisa, Bobby, Richie—they were gone.  I could go back to being a prosecutor. Maybe make District Attorney. All these years. Could I walk back into that life? And what about my friends here? How are they going to feel knowing my life was a lie?

Even if justice finally came, what was left for me?

****

The man Junior was talking to was Roberto Perez—our family attorney for years. He and my father grew up in the same neighborhood, though I don’t think they exactly ran in the same circles.

Of course, he was also a damn good lawyer. Which made me question what those two were discussing. Either she really had a thing for older men, or it was business. Maybe both. Would Roberto really sell out my father for a pretty face and a great pair of legs? I doubt it. But I’ve seen men do worse for less.

Whatever it was, she didn’t look thrilled. She stood there alone for a moment, looking... lost. That was the only word for it. Not angry. Not sad. Just lost.

I should’ve headed back to the house and left her to her thoughts.

But something had been gnawing at me since we got here.

I moved closer. “My Jessie.”

She jumped, startled by my voice. “What?”

Her brow arched. “I don’t think we know each other that well.”

“No. I mean, you’re my Jessie. That’s what my mom calls you.”

Junior waved it off. “Oh, yes. She’s the only one in my life who calls me that. Well, almost the only one. A few friends have spared me from being called Junior all the time.”

For a moment, that lost expression flickered again, only to be replaced by her signature cheerleader smile.

“So, you’re my Jessie?” I echoed, using air quotes.

“We’ve established that.” She chuckled softly.

“Sorry, it’s just taking me a minute to register that you’re the same person my mom talks about.”

“On your Tuesday morning calls?” she asked, lifting a brow. “I didn’t know. Though I’m not surprised. I’m sure she talks about all of us.”

“You know about the calls?” I asked.

She nodded. “Every Tuesday morning like clockwork. At first, I thought you were one of those guys too busy to think about his mom, so you scheduled her in like a dentist appointment. Then I realized you were dodging your father. Which is almost as bad... but not quite.”

There she went again, defending my father. Like she had any clue who the man really was. Or maybe she didn’t care. And to be ‘my Jessie,’ the one my mom practically gushed over? Hell, I was surprised my mom hadn’t offered her my old bedroom by now.

And yet... she is sleeping with my father? It didn’t add up.

“Does she know your secret?” I asked.

Her head snapped up. “What?!”

“It’s okay. I won’t tell her—if you do something for me.” I leaned in and lowered my voice.

She eyed me warily. “What is it? And please, nothing creepy. I’m really trying to like you for your father’s sake.”

I let that jab slide. “Tell me what you and Roberto were talking about just now.”

“Roberto?” She forced a nervous laugh. “He’s my lawyer. We had a little bit of a setback, but I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

Setback. Right. Like not getting her hands on Dad’s company.

“Hope it’s nothing serious,” I said, feigning concern. “You looked upset.”

“It’s nothing. Just tired. The news stirred up some bad memories.”

“Bad memories?”

“From the crash,” she rushed.

I could see she was deflecting. That meeting wasn’t about the accident.

“The guy isn’t suing you, is he?”

She shook her head. “Nothing like that. He was a repeat offender, no insurance.”

“So, there’s nothing else I should know?”

“Well...” She hesitated, studying me like she was debating how much to reveal. “Peter was killed.”

The way she said it, like I should know who Peter was. I didn’t, but I mentally flagged the name for the private investigator. Maybe an old friend? An accomplice?

“Was he a friend?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Just someone Roberto thought might help with my case.”

She rubbed her head lightly. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, and my head’s starting to pound.”

“Why don’t I walk you back to the guest house?”

I expected her to argue, but she sighed instead. “Thank you.”

She sounded exhausted—emotionally drained. Which didn’t make sense. None of this did. How could she be my mother’s Jessie and my father’s mistress? That would take a cold-hearted woman. Except my gut said she wasn’t cold-hearted. I’ve met plenty of those. She was something else entirely.

She was hiding something. Lying, definitely. But whether it was about my dad or something bigger, I wasn’t sure.

The strange part was, I still had the overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms and promise her it’d all be okay. I blamed my mom’s stories for that. After hearing about Jessie for so long, I’d secretly looked forward to the updates. You couldn’t help but love her—even without meeting her.

It was like there were two different versions of her: the woman from my mother’s stories and the one standing beside me now, tangled up in whatever secrets she was keeping.

Still, if I wanted to protect my father’s company, I needed to get close to her.

“I’m sorry I was such a jerk earlier today,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “This coming-home thing... all of it—it’s a lot.”

“Are you trying to say you’re an ass under stress?” She gave me a small smile. “Most guys are. I don’t take it personally.”

I chuckled, feeling some of the tension ease. When I covered her hand with mine, she didn’t pull away.

Progress. Or part of her act?

“I guess you deal with a lot of stressed-out people in your job.”

“It doesn’t help when the guys insist on calling me Junior. It tends to rattle the poor schmuck who’s not in on the joke.” She shook her head. “Though... you might want to ease up around your mom. I can see it worries her.”

A fresh wave of guilt churned in my gut. She was right. My mother adored her. And yet, I still couldn’t shake the suspicion.

“She told me about the accident. How are you doing?”

We stopped at the door to the guest house. “Better. Mostly healed.” She touched her temple. “Looks like I’ll only have a small scar. Guess I was lucky.”

I don’t know what came over me, but I gently lifted her chin. I needed to see her face, to look her in the eyes. I brushed her hair aside and traced my thumb softly along her temple.

God help me—she was beautiful.

Her floral scent drifted between us. She trembled under my touch, leaning in ever so slightly, sending electricity racing through my entire body.

“Jessie,” I whispered.

My Jessie. Was she really the one from my mom’s stories?

When her tongue flicked across her lips, I couldn’t help myself.

Just one taste.

Her lips were soft—brandy and strawberries. She moaned, and I pulled her closer, feeling her curves melt into me as our kiss deepened. When her arms slid around my neck, I was gone. Her tongue met mine in a perfect rhythm, stroke for stroke. My hands tangled into her hair as our lips slanted over each other again and again. Fire didn’t even begin to cover it.

The distant shuffle of guests returning to their cars broke through the haze. Reluctantly, I pulled back, resting my forehead against hers, trying to catch my breath. She was breathing just as hard as I was.

Whatever that was—it wasn’t one-sided.

“Joshua, I...” she whispered, stepping back.

“Jessie?”

She reached for the doorknob. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened. We work together.”

I took a step back, shoving my hands into my pockets to resist pulling her back into my arms. She was right. The company was still at stake. And I couldn’t afford to lose focus. Not over a pair of haunting blue-green eyes.

“Goodnight, Jessie.”

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door after she slipped inside. I didn’t want to go back to the party. I didn’t want to head to my hotel. Going through that door would be a colossal mistake.

So instead, I went for a drive.

Beta Readers needed: If you would like to be a Beta Reader for this book, please send me an email. 

• Use "Carmen Beta Reader" as the subject line. 

• Name - First and Last

• Email - If different from the one you used to contact me

• Statement - That you are over 18 because of the spicy scenes.

• Beta Reader type - Do you want to:

  • Read individual chapters as they come available or 

  • Wait for the full book for one final read through 

What I ask of my Beta Readers is simple:

• For each chapter give me at least 2 things to keep and 2 things to fix

• Keep it confidential - Don't give away spoilers