Chapter 1 — Pick Me Instead

The man I had spent three years making famous announced his new girlfriend while I was drinking alone in my best friend's bar.

She was the woman who had blackmailed me into paying two million dollars to protect him.

They looked very happy with my money.

"Vivian," my agent said over the phone, "don't post anything."

"I wasn't planning to."

"Your assistant says you asked her to congratulate them on finding someone equally revolting."

"That was private correspondence."

Owen sighed. "Come home. We'll handle this tomorrow."

I hung up and looked at the photograph again.

Ethan Shaw, standing beneath white roses with Sloane Mercer's hand against his chest. Finally, something that's just mine, he had written.

I had waited three years for a man who apparently considered my love public property.

A glass appeared beside my elbow.

Water, orange peel, no judgment.

"Drink that before you make another decision," the bartender said.

I looked up.

Black shirt. Rolled sleeves. A blue stone in one ear. A loose curl falling over eyes that were looking at me rather than my phone.

His uniform should have made him ordinary. Instead, it made me want to find out what he looked like without the counter between us.

"What's your name?"

"Jamie."

"Jamie what?"

"Cole."

"How old?"

"Twenty-three."

Twenty-three. Six years younger than me, and considerably more attractive than any decision I had made recently.

"Come home with me."

His fingers stopped around the bottle.

"I have cars," I continued. "A house. An entertainment company. Tell me what you want."

He set the bottle down slowly.

"You haven't asked whether I'm available."

"Are you?"

"For you?"

He came around the counter, close enough that I had to tip my head back.

"Very."

The answer should have sounded practiced. His slightly reddened ears ruined the effect.

I touched his cuff.

"Good. I'm tired of being told to wait."

His gaze moved to my fingers, then returned to my face.

"Then pick me."

That was the part I remembered most clearly afterward. Not his looks. Not the expensive scent beneath the bar's citrus and smoke.

The way he said it as though there had always been a choice, and I had simply taken too long to see him.

He called my driver, Walter, from the phone I handed him. By the time the car arrived, standing up had become more complicated than I expected.

Jamie put my coat around me and guided me outside. I leaned against him in the car, complaining about Ethan until I got tired of hearing the name myself.

"Don't let me call him," I murmured.

"Give me your phone."

"Bossy."

"Temporarily. Tomorrow you can fire me."

At home, he knelt to unfasten my shoes. I ran a hand through his hair because it was there and because he looked up at me when I did.

"Pretty," I informed him.

He closed his eyes briefly.

"You're going to be difficult, aren't you?"

I woke in an oversized T-shirt with my head pounding and Jamie asleep in the chair beside my bed.

He had folded his jacket beneath his neck. His long legs were stretched out, one hand resting near the glass of water on my nightstand.

I stared at him until his eyes opened.

He smiled before he seemed fully awake.

"Morning."

"Why are you in that chair?"

"You asked me to stay."

"There are guest rooms."

"You also threatened to be sick. I didn't think leaving you alone was wise."

I pulled the blanket up.

"Anything else I should know?"

"You accused your shoes of financial fraud."

"I'm not interested in the shoes."

He understood then. His smile softened.

"You changed in the bathroom. I waited outside. Then you fell asleep."

Relief arrived with a ridiculous sting of disappointment.

He stood, stretching the shoulder that had spent the night against the chair.

"I'll find you breakfast."

I caught his wrist.

The movement surprised both of us. I had meant to ask whether he wanted coffee. Instead, I was holding him beside my bed, looking at the pulse beneath my thumb.

"Did I offend you last night?"

"You were generous."

"I offered to buy you."

"You offered me a place beside you. The other things sounded negotiable."

I looked up.

"You're good at this."

"I'm trying very hard."

He didn't pull away. I let my hand move from his wrist to the open edge of his collar.

"For a house?"

"For another invitation."

My fingers stopped.

He waited, the confidence in his voice contradicted by the quick movement of his throat.

"Come closer," I said.

He bent toward me. I touched his cheek, warm from sleep, and his eyes briefly closed again.

"Closer."

His hand came down beside my hip on the mattress.

"If you keep saying that," he murmured, "I'll end up in your lap."

"Would that be a problem?"

His laugh caught halfway out.

I kissed him before he found an answer.

For a second he was almost painfully still. Then he cupped the back of my neck and kissed me again, carefully at first, until I caught his shirt and pulled him nearer.

He broke away with his forehead against mine.

"Vivian."

My name sounded different in his mouth.

"Too late to get shy," I whispered.

"I'm not shy. I'm trying not to scare you off."

I brushed my lips against his.

"You're doing a terrible job of leaving."

He smiled then, slowly, and the chair remained empty for the rest of the morning.

When he returned with breakfast, his hair was a mess and the top button of his shirt was missing.

"That was expensive," he said, catching me looking.

"Send an invoice."

"I take payment in attention."

I put my hand against his face before he could move away with the tray.

He stopped so completely that I felt a ridiculous little thrill.

"Then stay still," I said.

He let me kiss him, smiling only after I drew back. I had forgotten how pleasant it could be to want something and have it move toward me instead of explaining why I should wait.

His hand covered mine against his cheek.

"Breakfast will get cold," he said, making no attempt to leave.

I was smiling when Tessa called.

"Tell me Jamie got you home," she said.

I looked at him over the tray. He suddenly became interested in pouring coffee.

"You know Jamie?"

"Vivian. He's my cousin."

My fork struck the plate.

"Your cousin?"

Jamie put the pot down.

"I was going to mention that."

Tessa went quiet.

Then she asked, in a voice that promised trouble, "Why can I hear him beside your bed?"