RUTHLESSINASUIT(BOOKONE)

IVYCARTER

FAVORFORDPUBLISHING

Contents

WantToBeInTheKnow?

RuthlessinASuitbyIvyCarter

BookOne

Copyright©2016byFavorFordPublishing

Allrightsreserved.

Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedinanyformorbyanyelectronicormechanicalmeans,including
informationstorageandretrievalsystems,withoutwrittenpermissionfromtheauthor,exceptfortheuseofbrief
quotationsinabookreview.

CreatedwithVellum

I

W A N T T O B E I N T H E K N O W ?

fyouwanttoknowwhenthenextbookintheRuthlessInASuitseriesisreleased,
andgetalertedtomoreofthehottestdealsinromance—

signupnowtotheFavor

FordRomancenewsletter!

RUTHLESSINASUITBYIVYCARTER

L

B O O K O N E

EVI

I’

LL

MARRY

HER

.

It’sthefirstthingIthinkwhenmyfather’sattorneytellsmesomerandomwoman

issettoinheritwhatshouldrightfullybemine.

I’llmarrythisgirl…“Whatdidyousayhernamewas?Candace?”Iask.
AlWhitestone,myfather’sattorney,grimaces.“Cadence.CadenceFallon.”
Ishakemyhead.“Al,comeon.There’sgottobesomethingyoucandoaboutthis.

Maxon Law is a multi-billion dollar company, and it can’t be handed over to some
randomperson.I’mtheonlyonefittotakeoverifmyfather’sunabletocontinue.”

“It’snotmydecision,Levi.”Thisisaboutthetenthtimehe’ssaidthatline.
Iglareathim.“Wehavetomakethisright.”
“I’m not even supposed to be telling you this, frankly. I could be disbarred,” the

olderattorneywhines,soundingnervous.

Toughshit.
He should have thought of that before he told me that some random named

CadenceFallonissettogetmycompany,mymoney,everything.

Iwavehimoff.“It’sjustmeandyou,Al.I’mnotrattingyououttothestatebar,for

God’ssake.”

“Yourfatherisn’tevendeadyet—“
“Technically,no,”Iagree.“Buthe’sasgoodasdead.Nobrainfunction—acoma.”
“Andbasedonyourfather’slivingwill,hewantsfourweeksforthemedicalteamto

tryandsavehislife.Ifhebecomesconsciouswithinthattime,thenallofthisismoot.”

“That’strue,”Isay,nodding.“ButIalreadymetwithhismedicalteam.Theywere

not hopeful. So in four weeks, when they pull the plug, we are going to be up shit’s
creekunlesswefigureoutanewplan.”

“Thereisnonewplan,Levi.Thesewereyourfather’swishes.”
But I’m not even paying attention to him anymore. Instead, I’m googling this

CadenceFallonchick.

WithinfifteensecondsI’mscrollingherFacebook,Instagram,andLinkedInpage.
Earlytwenties,justgraduatedfromtheRhodeIslandSchoolofDesignwithaBFAin

studioart.Pretty,ifherselfiesaretobebelieved,withalongmaneofwavyblondhair,
porcelainskin,andpaleblueeyes.

Somethingaboutthoseeyessendsashockupthelengthofmyspine.It’slikeshe’s

in the room, looking at me. Those eyes are longing, waiting, pining for something or
someone.

Andthosefuckingvoluptuouslips--
I feel my dick start to stiffen and I try to will it away. Now is not the time to be

gettinghorny—nowisthetimetofocus.

According to her LinkedIn page, she’s looking for a job, her only real work

experience being four years in her college admissions office filing and answering
phonestogoalongwithherartdegree.

Interesting.Ifyou’reintothatartsandcraftsshit—whichI’mmostdefinitelynot.
Sheseemslikethekindofgirlwithamountainofschoolloansandnodirection.No

ambition.

Thisiswhomyfatherdetermineddeserveshisbillions?Thisisthegirlwhoisgoing

toinherittheCommonwealthAvenuebrownstoneIgrewupin?

The more I think about it, the more incensed I become. All those years doing

everythingmyfatherwanted,workingmyassofftoimpresshim,allsohecouldgiveit
allawaytosomeflightyartistwithnodirection?

No,Ican’tletthathappen.Ihavetostopit.Ihavetotakefromherthewayshetook

fromme,andintheprocessthwartmyfather’sfinalwishes.Ideserveit.Iearnedit.It’s
mine.

“Whoisshereally?”Idemandtoknow.“Whyher?”
Alfrownsmoredeeplynow.“Cadenceisthedaughterofyourfather’sfirstlove,”he

replies, his voice quiet. “I never knew the woman in question, and he never talked
much about her, but your father was adamant his estate go to Beatrice Fallon. And
whenshedied,hedirecteditalltoherdaughter.Cadence.”

Iblinkathimseveraltimesandmystomachgivesasicklurch.“Areyoutellingme

thatIhaveahalf-sister?”

Myperfectplanstartstogoupinsmoke.
“No,”Alsaysfirmly.“YouandCadenceFallonarecompletelyunrelated.Yourfather

wasclearonthat.”

Suddenlythedayseemsliketoomuch,toooverwhelming.Icanfeelmyfacegetting

hot,andpricksofsweatareformingacrossmyforehead.

Thistwenty-twoyearoldgirlisgettingmybusinesshandedtoher.
Ispentmyentirelifedealingwithmyfather,survivinghim,provingmyselftothe

bastard—allinhopesthatonedayitwouldallbeworthit.

Nowthatdayhasfinallycome—andeverythingcrumblesintodust.
Itwasalljustamirage,acosmicjokeplayedonmebythemanIhatemorethan

anyoneelseonthisearth.

Andthisstranger,Cadence,goeswalkingawaywiththelifethatshouldhavebeen

mine,leavingmeonlythefamilyphotosandmyfather’ssuitstoshowformytroubles.

“Thankyou,Al,”Isay,gettinguptousherhimoutthedoor.“Thatwillbeall.”
I’maloneinmyofficeforlessthantwominutesbeforeI’veinstructedmysecretary

setupameetingwithCadenceFallon.

I’llhavetobringherintomeether.Andmorethanthat,I’llhavetogethertofall

forme.

AndIdon’thaveanytimetospare.
Ionlyhavefourweekstomarrythisgirlandtakebackwhat’smine.

CADENCE

I’

M

STANDING

infrontofanimpossiblytallbuilding,tryingtopsychmyselfuptogoin.

MaxonLawisthelargestprivatelawfirminthecityofBoston,withoutpostsinNew

York,LosAngeles,andLondon.

Theyspecializeincorporatemergers,thoughfromwhatI’veread,theysoundmore

likecorporatetakeovers.MaxonLaw representsinvestmentbanks,advertising firms,
import/export businesses, auction houses, and some even say they’re involved in
shadyinternationalworkwithSaudisheiksandthelike.

IhavenoideawhatIdidtogetthislucky.Afterall,someoneintheHRdepartment

apparentlyhappeneduponmyLinkedInaccountandsawIwaslookingforanadmin
position.

Andtheycalledme!
It’slikeIwonthelotteryforthenewlygraduated.
As I watch men and women in crisp, expensive suits clutching buttery leather

briefcasesstreaminginandoutofthebuilding,Ican’thelpbutwonder.

Whatinthehelldotheywantwithme?
I imagine a place like Maxon Law has no problem finding employees. I have a

feeling they turn down far more than they interview. And yet here I am, heading in
aftergettingacalloutoftheclearbluesky.

ButIcan’tallowmyselftodoubtthisstrokeofgoodfortune.
I have tens of thousands of dollars of student loans about to come due, I’m back

livinginmychildhoodbedroominourdustyapartmentinSouthie,andIhavenojob.

Ineedthis.
I smooth out my skirt, a black vintage dirndl skirt that I found in a thrift shop in

Providencemysenioryear.

Ipaireditwithawhite,short-sleevedbuttonup,apairofblacktights,andmyblack

paddockboots.TheresultisalittlemorehostessatOktoberfestthanIwashopingfor,
but the truth is I’ve never had very many fancy clothes, and nothing that screams
corporate.

Ispentmostofcollegeinpaint-splatteredjeansorpeasantskirts,mymermaidhair

securedtothetopofmyheadwithastraypaintbrush.

Notimetoworryaboutwardrobenow,though.IglanceatmyphoneandseethatI

havelessthantenminutesuntilmyinterview.

Imakeitthroughsecurityandamazeofescalatorsandelevatorsandarriveatthe

humanresourcesdepartmentofMaxonLawwearingaVISITORstickerwithjusttwo
minutestospare.Thewomansittingatthereceptiondesk,whoiswearingacharcoal

grayskirtsuit,hershinybrownhairpulledupinanelegantFrenchtwist,eyesmefrom
herseat.

“Hi,I’mCadenceFallon.Ihaveateno’clockinterviewwithMs.Ross?”Ifeelmyself

cringingatthewaymyvoicerisesattheend.

Soundsure,Cady,Itellmyself.Noonelikesindecision.
The girl’s eyes flick to her computer screen, then back to me. “You’ll actually be

meetingwithMr.Maxon,”shesays,thenrisesfromherseat.“Followme.”

Mr.Maxon?Asin,theguyinchargeofMaxonLaw?
Holyshit.
I’ve done a little research, figuring it might be good to have some facts on the big

boss, but I never imagined I’d be meeting with him. Suddenly my jitters became
straight-upnerves.

Inhisphotoonthewebsite,WaldenMaxonlookedterrifying,hissilverhaircutand

styled into exacting angles, his mouth set in a grim line. Everything about him
screamedIhateyou,youdisappointme.

Nowmywardrobedidn’tseemsomuchahurdleasaroadblock.Nowaywasthat

mangoingtotakemeseriouslywhilewearingthis.

Ispendtheelevatorridetryingtocontrolmybreathingandmyheartratewithlittle

success.Thedoorsslideopentorevealanofficebullpenbustlingwithactivity.People
insuitsarebustlingabout,talkingoncellphonesinhushed,clippedtones,theirarms
weighteddownwithfilesandlegalpads.Ifollowthereceptionistthroughthetangleof
activitytoacornerofficeintheback,theblindsdrawnovertheglasswalls.Sheknocks
onthedoor.

“Comein,”Ihearafirmvoicereply,andsheopensit.
“Mr.Maxon,Ms.Fallonishereforyourmeeting,”shesays,steppingasidesoIcan

enterinfrontofher.Andthat’swhenIseethattheMr.MaxonI’mmeetingwithisn’t
thesilver-haired,grim-facedpatriarchofMaxonLaw.

Thismustbehisson,andholycrap,he’shot.
True movie star good looks are rare to come across in person, and this guy has

them.

AsIenter,herisesfromhisdesk,histall,muscularframeunfoldingwithpanther-

likemovements,theexpensivefabricofhiswell-tailoredblacksuithuggingeveryinch
ofhim.Hisskinistanandhisdark,curlyhairisjustbarelycontainedinabusiness-like
style.Hisjawisrazor-sharp,andhisgreeneyessparklebeneathhisdark,heavybrows.
EverythingabouthimscreamsIalwaysgetwhatIwant.

Hestickshishandoutacrossthedesk.
“Ms.Fallon,”hesays,hisvoicegravelly,yetsmooth.“Apleasuretomeetyou.I’m

LeviMaxon.”

Deargod,IhopeIdidn’tblushwhenhesaidpleasure.
“Uh,yes,it’s,uh,nicetomeetyou?”Myheartispounding,myvoicecatches,andI

sweartogodmykneesareknockingtogether.SuddenlyIwishitwastheelderMaxon
and his elegant scowl greeting me for this interview. I prepared myself for arch and
judgmental.

I’mnotreadyforcoolandsexy.
Mr. Maxon gestures to a leather chair sitting opposite his desk. “Please, make

yourselfcomfortable.CanIgetyouanythingtodrink?Coffee?Water?”

“No,thankyou,”Isay,thoughassoonasthewordsareoutofmymouthIrealize

water could really help. My tongue suddenly feels like it’s covered in a fine layer of
cotton, but I feel like too much of an idiot at this point to contradict myself. I give a
hardswallowandwillsalivaintomymouthandcoherentthoughtsintomybrain.

Levi Maxon takes his seat behind his elegant wooden desk and folds his hands

acrosstheleatherdesktop.

“So, Ms. Fallon, my HR director tells me you’re looking for employment after

finishingyourdegree.”

“That’scorrect,”Isay,soundinglikearobot.Ugh.
Iseetheslightesttwitchinhisjaw,andIcan’ttellifhe’sannoyedoramusedbyme.
“We just so happen to have an opening for an assistant. My personal executive

assistant, in fact. It’s a full-time position that requires long hours and full dedication.
You’ll be handling my desk, which includes keeping my calendar, booking travel,
answeringphones,andperformingothersupportingtasks.Youmayevenbetraveling
withmefromtimetotimewhenIneedthesupport,andasyouproveyourselfandI
begintoseewhereyourskillslie,youmayfallintosome,”hepauses,asifconsidering
hiswordscarefully,“othertasks.”

Ifeelaninvoluntaryshivercourseupmyspine.
He’s talking about filing or copywriting or something, you twit, I tell myself, but

there’sawarmfeelinginsideme,deepinmycenter.

Maybethisjobisabadidea.There’snowayIcankeepmyheadinasituationlike

this.He’llhavefiredmebeforetheendoftheweek.

Levicontinueshisexplanation.“Youwill,ofcourse,becompensatedgenerouslyfor

thehours.Thesalarystartsatseventy-fivethousand,withfullbenefits.”

I swear I hear a record scratch. Seventy-five thousand dollars? Good lord, I could

actuallyhavemyloanspaidoffinacoupleyearsifIcansuckitupandkeeplivingwith
DadandBrenda.AndevenifIdogetmyownplace,I’dstillhavenotroublehandling
rentandstudentloanpaymentswiththatsalary.

Idon’tcarehowsexythismanisorhowhardI’llhavetoworktokeepfromgetting

distracted, for $75,000 I’ll do the job wearing a rhinestone bikini and standing on my
head.

“I’lltakeit,”Isputter,beforeIcanstopmyself.
Levi Maxon’s eyes widen, and he chuckles. “Well, there’s the little matter of the

interviewfirst,”hesays,andnowIknowI’mblushingforsure.

“Of course,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. I hope I haven’t ruined it

beforeit’sevenbegun.

“Wellthen,let’sgetstarted.”
Inod.
“Sotellmeaboutyourself.Iseeyouwereanartmajor?”
I nod again, then realize he’s waiting for me to, you know, say something. Double

ugh.

“I earned a bachelor of fine arts from the Rhode Island School of Design. In

Providence,” I add, as if he doesn’t already know where one of the most famous art
schools in the country is located. “I focused mostly on painting, though I did some

sculpture and drawing. I also minored in graphic design, so I could definitely apply
thoseskillstothispositionasneeded.”

Hearchesaneyebrow.“Andwhydoyouthinkwemightuseanassistantforgraphic

designwhenwesubcontractwithoneofthelargestadvertisingfirmsintheworld?”

Idon’tquiteknowhowtoanswerthequestion,becauseofcoursehe’sright,butit

alsoseemedalittlerudeofhimtospeaktomethatway.AnyfootingIfeltlikeIwas
gaininginthemomentisgone,andI’mbacktobeingastuttering,blushinglittlegirl.

Andthenhemoveson.Heasksmeaboutmytimemanagementstrategiesandmy

experience with administrative work. I’m able to talk about juggling my academic
scheduleatRISDwithmyparttimepositioninadmissionsandmyvariousotherpart-
time,cobbledtogethergigsatvariousrestaurantsandshopsaroundProvidence.

Iwasn’tapartygirlincollege,Iwastoobusytryingtoearnenoughtuitionmoney

to stay enrolled. We never had much when I was growing up, and after my father
marriedBrenda,itbecameclearthatIwouldn’tbegettinganycollegehelpfromthem.

ButIdon’tsayanyofthattobroodingLeviMaxon.
Throughitall,henods,hiseyesnarrowedlikehe’stryingtosolveamystery.
AndsomehowIkeeptalking,eventhoughIfindmyselfconstantlydistractedbyhis

perfect,flawlessskin,thebroadnessofhischestbeneathhisperfectlytailoredsuit,how
largehishandsareandwhattheymightfeelliketouchingme…

“…verygood,”LeviMaxonsays.
Iswallow,realizingthatIwasinfactdriftingoffintoafantasyabouthimrunning

oneofthoseperfecthandsupmythigh.

AndnowI’msweatingandred-facedandhumiliated.“Excuseme?”Isay.“Ididn’t

catchyourlastquestion.”

Leviarchesaneyebrowandhislipstwitchesintosomethingresemblingasmile.
Ihopeit’sapromisinglook,becauseatthispointIcan’timaginegettingthiscloseto

solvingmyfinancialproblemsandthenhavingtowalkoutwithoutthisjob.Iwantit.I
needit.

“Therewasnoquestion,”hesays.“Butsincewe’llbeworkingsoclosely,whydon’t

youtellmealittlebitaboutyourselfonapersonallevel?”

Iblink,mymindsuddenlyblank.WhatamIsupposedtosaytothat?
He can apparently read the confusion on my face, because he leans back in his

chair,adoptingamorerelaxedfacade.“DoyouliveinBoston?”

“Southie,” I reply. “It’s where I grew up. I mean, I actually still live in the house I

grewupin.Withmyparents.”

“Bothyourparents?”
“Well,myfatherandmystepmother.MymomdiedwhenIwasfive.”
“Andyou’rehopingtomoveout?Moveonup,asthesayinggoes?”
The room feels slightly chilly now, and his relaxed posture feels a bit more like a

leopardpreparedtopounce.I’mnotsureIlikeit.

“Isn’teveryone?”Ireply.
“Somemorethanothers,”hesays.
“I’mnotsurewhatyoumean.”
“Never mind.” He sits up in his chair and begins shuffling papers, his eyes laser

focused on the task in front of him. I’m cataloguing his every movement, trying to

discernifImighthaveanadvantageornot.

Ifhelikedmeornot.IfI’mgoingtobeabletomakemystudentloanpaymentsor

not.Whenhefinallylooksupatme,hisentirefaceisimpassable.“Ithinkthiswillwork
outjustfine,Ms.Fallon.You’rehired.”

I can’t help myself. I gasp, my mouth hanging open for a long moment. “Oh my

gosh,thankyou,Mr.Maxon.YouhavenoideahowmuchIwantthisjob.Iabsolutely
won’tletyoudown.”

Hegivesacurtnod.“I’msureyouwon’t.Nowifyou’llexcuseme,Ineedtogetback

towork.IfyoucouldmakeyourwaybacktoHR,Ms.Rosswillgetyouallsetup.You’ll
begintomorrow,ifthatwillworkwithyourschedule.”

Hesays“schedule”likeheknowsit’sabitofajoke,buthisfaceremainscold.Itryto

wipeawaytheexcitementfrommine.It’sclearLeviisall-business,andit’stimeforme
totryandbeaswell,ifI’mgoingtobehisassistant.

“Thankyou,Mr.Maxon.Ilookforwardtoourworkingrelationship.”
Hisgazesnapsuptome,hisgreeneyesflashing.Thenheblinks,andhisentirebody

seemstorelax—butonlyslightly.“AsdoI,Ms.Fallon.”

LEVI

W

ELL

THIS

IS

GOING

tobeeasierthanIthought.

I’d imagined a young, inexperienced girl desperate for a paycheck, but I hadn’t

expected a blushing, doe-eyed girl dressed like an extra in a community theater
productionofTheSoundofMusic.

To be fair, she’s got curves that filled out the clothes quite nicely, so having her

aroundtheofficewilldefinitelynotbeachore—notwhenIgettowatchherasssway
backandfortheveryday.

Andthosetits…
HerLittleMissInnocentlookpairedtogetherwiththatbodymakesitdifficulttostay

focusedonthetaskathand.

Whichisnotsex.
Thetaskathandisgettingmarriedandkeepingthefamilybusinesswhereitfucking

wellbelongs.

Enough fantasizing about Dear Cadence’s ample cleavage, Maxon, and back to

thinkinglikeagoddamnCEO.

WhatdidIlearntoday?Iaskmyself.Whatmoredidwelearnaboutourquarry?
ItwasjustasIsuspected.She’spoorandmyfathertookpityonher.Whichmeans

this is going to be all too easy. I almost feel guilty. That is, until I think about the
millionsuponmillionsofdollarsandthemultiplehomesshestandstoinherit,notto
mentionthebusinessthat’sworthmorethanallofitputtogether.

Ishufflethroughthestackofmailonmydesk,mostlybillsandinvoices,butathick,

oversized ivory envelope sticks out. I pick it up and flip it over to find my name in
elegantcalligraphy.

“Shit,”Imutter,reachingformysterlingsilverletteropenerandslidingitbeneath

theseal.I’vebeenexpectingthis,butpartofmewashopingitwouldjustgetlostinthe
mailandIcouldforgetthewholethingwashappening.

There’s a stack of heavy cards all bound up with a pale blue ribbon. I pull out the

largestandreadthescript.

Mr.andMrs.ArnoldCabot

requestthehonorofyourpresence

atthemarriageoftheirdaughter

JuliaElizabeth

to

LoganEssex.

A

ND

STUCK

to the bottom of the card is a neon yellow post-it note reading, “I know you

receivedthisalready.I’mreservingyourseat,thoughIdowishyou’dreplywithchicken
orfish.Youarenotrequested,youarerequired.”

LoganandJuliastarteddatingwhilewewereinboardingschooltogether,andbeat

the odds to stay together while Logan and I spent four years at Princeton and three
years of Law School, and still it had taken them another five years to finally get
engaged.

I’d managed to get out of being the best man and Julia had nixed any kind of

wedding party. But try as I might, I couldn’t get out of actually attending the event
itself.

Sure, they’re my friends and I’m happy for them—in a way—but I’ve never been

muchforweddings.

Idon’tdoromance.
Idon’treallyevenunderstandrelationships.
WhatIdounderstandisgettingyourneedsmet—physically—andthenmovingon

andpretendinglikeitneverhappened.

It’smucheasierforeveryoneinvolved,especiallyme.
ButasIfliptotheRSVPcard(nowweeksoverdue),Istarttoformanidea.Because

the wedding is going to be a major event, and likely beautiful enough to be
photographedforwhateverweddingmagazinewomenclamorforthesedays.

Andaren’tbigweddingstheperfectplacetosoftenawomanup?Togethertoturn

tothoughtsofloveeverlasting?And,well,marriage?

Suddenly Logan and Julia’s wedding doesn’t seem so much of a burden to be

enduredasanopportunitytobetaken.

Ireachforapeninthesilvercuponmydeskandswipeaninkyblacktwointothe

RSVPline,thenwrite“LeviMaxonandCadenceFallon”onthethickblacklineatthe
bottom.AndjusttospiteJulia(whowillprobablyalreadybefreakingoutatthesightof
myplusone),Idon’tselectchickenorfish.

I stuff the card in the little envelope pre-addressed with loopy calligraphy and a

heartstamp.ThenIcalldownforamessenger,oneofthetattooedhipsterbikedudes
whocartourcontractsacrosstown.

“Ineedthisdeliveredimmediately,”IsayasIpasshimthetinyenvelope.Helooks

atit,thenatme,andIcanhearhimcalculatinghowmuchI’mpayingtohavehimbike
thisovertoJulia’sparentsBeaconHillmansion.

Butanarrow-eyedglancefrommehashimkeepinghismouthshut.
Now I just have to figure out what I’m going to tell Cadence to get her to spend a

weekendwithmeonCapeCod.

CADENCE

M

Y

DAD

IS

ALREADY

HOME

from work when I get in. He starts his shift at the post office

beforethesuncomesup,soheusuallybeatsmehome.Brenda,whoworkspart-time
as a receptionist at a salon on Newbury Street, is next to him on the couch as they
watchsomeobnoxiouscablenewschannel.

“Hi darling,” Dad says from his spot at the end of the couch, his feet up on the

ottoman,hispostalworkeruniformstillon.

“Hi Dad,” I say, carefully ignoring Brenda, who’s more than happy to pretend I’m

nottherewhileflippingthroughthepagesofanoldcopyofStarmagazine.

She and my dad got married my senior year of high school, and I think she was

prettypsychedwhenImovedouttogotocollege.ShewasdecidedlesspsychedwhenI
movedbackhomeaftergraduation.

She’smadenosecretofthefactthatshe’dappreciateitifI’dhurryupandgetmy

life together and move out please and thank you. She’s always making passive
aggressivecommentsabouthowmuchfoodIeat(despitethefactthatIcontributeto
thefamilygroceryshoppingexcursionswhenIcan)andhowmuchelectricityIuse.

WhichiswhyI’mwickedpsychedtotellheraboutmynewjob.
“Good news!” I say, and my dad mutes the television, looking up at me with an

expectantsmile.

“Whataboutit,Buttercup?”heasks.
Igrinatthechildnickname.“Igotajobtoday!”
“Willyoubeabletorentanapartmentwithwhatthey’regoingtopayyouatBarnes

&Noble?”Brendaasks,barelytakinghereyesoffhermagazine.

“I think I’ll be able to swing something on seventy-five thousand dollars a year,” I

reply,unabletokeepthesmugoutofmyvoice.

“GoodLord,Cadence,Ididn’trealizethepublishingindustrywasdoingsowell,”Dad

exclaims.

“What kind of job did you really get?” Brenda asks, finally looking up from her

magazineandstaringatmeasifI’vebeenhiredbysomekindofupscalebordelloor
takenajobwiththemafia.

“I’mgoingtobeanexecutiveassistantatMaxonLaw,”Ireply.“Theyhaveanoffice

indowntown,andIstarttomorrow.Withfullbenefits.”

“That’swonderful!”Dadsays,springingupfromthecouchtoenvelopemeinabear

hug,whichI’mhappytoreturn.

“Thatisgoodnews,”Brendaadds,thoughI’msureshe’smostlyhappybecauseshe’s

already plotting turning my bedroom into her craft room or some other such
nonsense.

“It’llbeacoupleweeksuntilIcansaveuptopayasecuritydepositandfirstandlast,

butIshouldhavenoproblemfindingastudioinadecentspotwiththatsalary,”Isayto
Dad.“PlusIcangotothedentistandgetnewglassesandseeanactualdoctorifIget
sick.”

“It’stheAmericandream!”Dadlaughs,andwehighfive.
“There’s just one thing I need,” I say, hoping his good will is enough to float me a

littlecash.BecauseafterseeingthewayIlookedinmypiecedtogetheroutfitcompared
toeveryoneelseatthecompany,IknowIneedtostepupmyfashiongame.

“CanIborrowthecreditcardtopickupacoupleofthings?Icanpayyouback,”I

say,thenglanceoveratBrenda.“Withinterest.”

“Wellgosh,sweetheart,IwishIcould,butwecancelledthecreditcard,”hesays,and

mymouthdropsopen.

“We’re working on being a debt-free family, which really is financially prudent in

this economy,” Brenda says with a Cheshire grin, sounding like she’s parroting
someonefromoneofherself-helpbooksshelovessomuch.“Wecutupthecreditcard
a few weeks ago and now we’re working on paying down our ‘debt snowball.’” She
hooks her fingers into the requisite quote marks, and now I know for sure that she’s
simplyparrotingsomeoneelse’shomespunwisdom.

“Sorry,Cadence,”Dadsays.“ButI’msureyoucangetcreativewiththethingsyou

have.Youalwayslooksonice.”

“Thanks,Dad,”Isay.Withoutanymoney,Idon’thavemuchchoice.I’lljusthaveto

makedountilIgetmyfirstpaycheck.

ThenextmorningI’mstandinginfrontofthefull-lengthmirrorhangingoverthe

back of my bedroom door, surrounded by the contents of my closet and chest of
drawers.Itlookslikeabombwentoff,rainingmulti-coloredfabricaroundtheroom.
Afteranexhaustivesearchofmywardrobe,Ifinallysettledonapairofflare-legblack
pantsthatdatebacktomytimeasawaitressattheCrabTrap.

Unfortunately the matching white button-up was too coated in grease stains (and

the one blob of cocktail sauce over the breast pocket I was never able to get out), so
insteadI’dgoneforagrayfittedteeshirtandtoppedwithapurplecardigan.

On my feet are black leather clogs, also dating back to my waitressing days. The

resultinglookisdefinitelymore“SundaySchoolTeacher”than“CorporateShark,”but
itwaseitherthisorfit-and-flaredresswithsunflowersalloverit.

Iwindmyhairupintoabunandsecureitwithafewpins,hopingthatatleastmy

hairstylewillpassprofessionalmuster.Andasafinalattempt,Idigoutmyrarely-used
makeup bag from the bottom drawer of my bathroom sink and apply a swipe of
mascara, thankful I don’t have any zits since my drugstore concealer is definitely
showingitsagethankstotheringofcrustaroundtheopening.

WhenIarrivebackattheMaxonLawoffices,IheadstraightforHR,whereIspend

themorninggettingmyphototakenformybuildingID(whichisthankfullysoclose-up
and pixelated that you can’t see my outfit) and getting a building orientation. It’s not
untilnearly10:30thatIfinallyarriveatLeviMaxon’sofficedoor.

Itakeadeepbreath,preparingmyselffortheimposingfigureontheothersideof

thedoor,beforeIknock.

“Comein,”Ihearhisgruffvoice.
Isteelmyself,thenopenthedoorandstepinside.
“Good morning, Mr. Maxon,” I say. I watch his eyes roam over me, and though I

feelashiverofexcitementathisattention,there’salsoatwingeofterror,soIquickly
moveon.“EverythingisdonewithHR,I’vegotmybuildingID,andI’mreadyforyou,”
Isay,thencatchmyself.“Imean,I’mreadytostartwork.Withyou.Ifyouhavethings
formetodo.”

Shit.Ialreadysoundlikeaditz.He’sprobablyregrettinghisdecisiontohireme.
“I was going to have you sit at the desk out there are start work, but it doesn’t

appear that you’re dressed for the task,” he snaps. I blink and flinch as if I’ve been
slapped. “I supposed I could send you down to the mailroom. You might fit in down
there.”

“Excuseme?”Isay,thewordsescapingbeforeIcanfilterthem.
“Doyounothaveanythingmorepolishedandappropriatetowear?”
“I’mverysorrytodisappointyou,Mr.Maxon,”Ireply.Eventhoughhe’smyboss,

andIneedthisjobmorethanwordscansay,Istillfeeltherighteousindignationrising
in my throat. I can barely control my voice as I continue to defend myself. “But
considering I just got this job yesterday, there unfortunately wasn’t time for me to
purchaseanewwardrobe.”

“Oneoutfitwouldhavebeenastart,”hereplies.
“AndIwilldothatassoonasIreceivemyfirstpaycheckandcanaffordtopayfor

saidoutfit,”Iretort.“TurnsoutNordstromgetsalittletestywhenyoutrytohandthem
anI.O.U.”

Nowit’shisturntolooktakenaback.“Youdon’thavemoneytogoshopping?”He

says it like I’ve just told him I don’t have money to buy food or pay my electric bill.
Which,inreality,Idon’t.There’sabrownpaperbagfilledwithanappleandapeanut
butter and jelly sandwich in the bottom drawer of my desk, because I can’t afford to
evengetasandwichfromthenearestPanera.

“That’swhyIneededajob,”Isay.“NotallofushavemoneyforthingslikePrada

bagsandJimmyChooheels.”

He glances down at his desk, tracing his finger over a paper I can’t see, before

meetingmyeyesagain.“We’llfigureitout,then,”hereplies.

Foramoment,IswearIdetectsomethinglikesympathyinhiseyes.
Andthenhequicklyswitchesbackintobossmode,coolanddetachedasheshows

mearoundthefloor.Whenwegetbacktomydesk,hehandsmeathickpieceofcard
stockcoveredinloopycalligraphy.

I run my finger over the ink to find that it’s not letterpress or laser printed, but

hand-drawn.

“Ineedyoutobookasuiteforthisevent,”hesays.“Thereshouldbeinformationin

theenvelope.I’llarriveonFridayaroundnoonandcheckoutonSunday.You’llalso

needtobooktravel,socontacttheairportandnotifythepilot.”

“I’msorry,pilot?”Iask,confused.Ican’timaginewhyanyonewouldneedtonotify

apilotforaflight.

“Theinformationfortheprivatejetisinthetravelfolderontheserver.Everything

youneedisthere,sojustdoalittlesearching.Makesuretheweekendistakencareof.”

Ofcoursehefliesonaprivatejet.
This is truly a different world, and I feel ill prepared for it. For the first time, I’m

seriouslywonderingifIhavewhatittakestomakeitatthisjob.

Andthen,withoutanyfinalinstructions,heleavesmestandingtherewithapileof

weddinginvitationdetritusinmyhand.

ItakeaseatatmydeskandbeginshufflingthroughtheinvitationcardsuntilIfind

theinformationforthehotel.ThenItypeRadnorEstateintoGoogle.Whatcomesupis
awebsiteforthemostbeautifulCapeCodbedandbreakfastI’veeverseen.

Graycedarshingles,manicuredlawns,andgentlyrollingdunesservingasabarrier

totheblueoftheAtlanticOcean.

Ilookatthedateandseethattheweddingisactuallythisweekend,soIfeelithighly

unlikelyI’llbeabletobookaroomhere,muchlessasuite.WhenIpickupthephone
anddial,I’malreadystartingtoformulateotherplansforaccommodationsthatwon’t
getmefiredonmyfirstday.

ButwhenItellthepolishedwomanwhoanswersthephonethatI’dliketoreservea

suite for Levi Maxon for the Cabot-Essex wedding this weekend, she doesn’t laugh. I
don’tevenhearthehintofaneyeroll.

“Yes, we have a suite set aside for Mr. Maxon. We were just waiting for

confirmation,”shesays.

Damn,Iguesswhenyou’rethatrich,RSVPdatesdon’tapplytoyou.
Goodtoknow.
Ispendtherestofthedayalphabetizingdepositionsandcombingthroughfinancial

reportslookingformisplacedcommas.It’sthefirstjobI’veeverhadthat’sinvolvedme
sitting at a desk all day, yet when I get home I don’t think I’ve ever been this
exhausted.Ofcourse,it’salsoafter8pmbythetimeIfinallygetoffthetrainandmake
thesix-blockwalktomyhouse.

IletmyselfinandfindthatDadandBrendahavealreadyhaddinnerandareinthe

processofdoingdishes.

“Oh,Cadence,wewouldhavesavedyouaplate,butwedidn’tknowwhenyou’dbe

home,”Brendasays.

Yeah,right,Ithink.
“Apackagecameforyou.”Dadnodstowardsthelivingroom,hisarmselbow-deep

insudsashescrubsagreasypan.

“Thanks,”Ireply,wonderingwhatitcouldbe.
Perchednexttothearmchairinthelivingroomisanenormousbox.
Itakemykeysfrommypurseandusethehousekeytosplitopenthepackingtape.

ThefirstthingIseeisalayerofnavytissuepaper.Beneaththatarestacksofgarment
bags,carefullyfolded,allnavyandbearingthewhitescriptofNordstrom.

Iunzipthefirstbagandfindablackskirtsuit,thelapelssharp,andagraybutton-up

togowithit.Beneaththat,acharcoalsuit.Ikeepgoingthroughthebox,feelinglikeI’m

diggingthroughMaryPoppins’sbag,feelinglikeI’llneverreachthebottom.

Alltoldtherearefivesuits,amodestblackdress,knee-lengthwithcapsleeves,two

pairsofheels(onepairofJimmyChoo’sthatmakemesmile),andaleatherKateSpade
shoulderbag.

At the very bottom of the box, wrapped in more tissue paper, is a butter yellow

dress,knee-lengthwithaslightlyflaredskirtandaplungingv-neckline.Thedresshasa
delicatelaceoverlayandistiedwithasatincreamsasharoundthewaist.

It looks fit for Princess Kate, and yet here it sits, in my dusty old childhood home

completewithshagcarpetingandaLa-Z-Boyreclinerinthecorner.

“Holycrap,”Imutter.
“Wheredidyougetthemoneyforallthat?”Brendaasks,eyeingthepileofclothes.
“Layaway,”Ireply,becauseifItoldherwhereIsuspectitcamefrom,she’dbeback

tothinkingIwasahooker.

Brendashakesherhead.“Thatisaverypoorfinancialdecision,Cadence.Youneed

tothinkaboutbuildingarobustnestegg,youknow,soyoucanmoveout.”

“Right,ofcourse.Absolutely,Brenda,”Isay,gatheringtheitemsbackintothebox

andheavingitintomyarms.“I’lljustgetoutofyourway.”

I carry the box upstairs and am starting to formulate what to do next when my

phonerings.Ilookatthescreen,butdon’trecognizethenumber.

“Hello?”
“Didthepackagearrive?”Thevoice,deepandcool,isunmistakable.
I’mstillblownawaybythesurpriseofitall.
“Mr.Maxon,thisiswaytoomuch,”Itellhim.“Iappreciatethegesture,butIcan’t

acceptallofthoseclothes.”

“It’snotagesture,”hereplies.“Youneedit.Trustme,didyoulookinamirrorthis

morning?”

“Okay,nowthat’snotnecessary—“
“Yes, of course, I’m aware it’s not your fault,” he replies. “Look, just consider it a

signing bonus. They’re all work supplies you’ll need, and if it really makes you
uncomfortable,youcanpayitback.Whenyoucan.”

“Andthedress?”Isay,notclarifying,becauseIknowheknowsexactlywhichone

I’mtalkingabout.“HowisthatsomethingI’mgoingtoneedforwork?”

There’sapause,andIhearhimclearhisthroat.“Well,Imentionedthatyou’dneed

totravelwithmefromtimetotime,andoneofthosetimesisthisweekend.You’llbe
accompanying me to that wedding. I need to be there all weekend, but there will be
plenty of down time where I’ll need to work. Your assistance will be much
appreciated.”

Hedidn’taskmeifIcouldgo—simplyinformedmeI’dbegoing,yethepauses,and

I know he’s waiting for me to acknowledge what he’s just said. Perhaps not accept,
because that would be implied. Still, my heart flutters a little at the thought of the
RadnorEstateandwearingthatdresswiththisman.

“Understood,”Ireply.
“Wonderful.We’lldiscussmoretomorrow.”
And then he’s gone and I’m left thinking about how strange Levi Maxon is, how

strange all of this is—and yet my stomach is fluttering and I can’t stop picturing his

eyes,hearinghisvoice,andfeelingabuildingsenseofexcitementthatmylifehastruly
changed.

Whatever’sgoingonhere,allIcanbesureofisthatI’mreadyforsomethingnewto

happeninmylife.

IjusthopeI’mnotinovermyhead.

T

HE

FOLLOWING

MORNING

I arrive at work in the charcoal suit, a pale lavender button up

underneath, and a pair of black pumps on my feet that probably cost more than a
semesteratRISD.

Everythingfitslikeaglove.Idon’tknowhowhedidit.
ButwhenIarriveintheofficeat8amsharp,Mr.Maxonisalreadyathisdesk.
“Goodmorning,”Isay,andwatchashiseyeslinger,travelingthelengthofmybody.
“Goodmorning,Ms.Fallon.”Basedonthewayhisnostrilsflareashegazesatme,I

assumehe’shappywiththeresultsofhisshoppingspreeonmybehalf.

MycheeksblazewithfirebutIkeepmychinup.“Ifwe’regoingtobeworkingso

closely together, I really insist you call me Cadence,” I tell him, and his response is
merelytonod,thenreturntothestackofpapersinfrontofhim.

Babysteps,Cady.Babysteps.

LEVI

S

O

THIS

IS

howtheotherhalflives,Ithinkasmyluxuryvehiclenavigatesthewinding

streetsofCadence’sneighborhood.

I follow the clipped British woman’s voice that emanates from my car’s GPS, and

findmyselfpullingdownanarrow,crackedstreetinSouthBoston,finallycomingtoa
stopinfrontofawoodentripledeckerwithredpeelingpaint,onastreetfulloftriple
deckerswithpeelingpaint.

IknowthesehousesarethemarkofBoston,buttomethey’vealwayslookedlike

neighborhoods full of firetraps. I don’t know how half the city hasn’t burned to the
groundbynow.

Ishiftthecarintoparkandpulloutmyphone.I’mabouttosendheratextwhenI

hearthepassengerdoorflingopen.

“I’mhere!”shesays,tossinganovernightbagintothefloorboardofthepassenger

seat,thenclimbingin.

“Isupposeyouwerewaitingformetoarrive,”Isay,asIeyeherdarkwashskinny

jeans, flats, and loose white sweater falling off one shoulder. Her waterfall of hair is
braideddownherleftshoulder,andshegrinsatmewithasmilesobrightI’mgladI’m
alreadywearingmyRayBans.

“My grandmother always said, ‘If you’re early you’re on time, if you’re on time

you’relate.”

“Andifyou’relate,you’redead,”Isay,andshegrinswider.
Aswedrive,Igripthewheelwithbothhandsandtrytofigureoutwhattosaytoher

to make her fall in love with me, while also trying to ignore that the harder I think
aboutmyplan,theworseitfeels.

When she was just Cadence Fallon, name on a will or an Instagram account, it

seemedlikeaneasythingtodo.Butaswe’veworkedtogetheroverthepastfewdays
andI’vegottentoknowher,itseemsalotmoredifficultthanI’doriginallyplanned.

First of all, it seems clear she has no idea of my father or their connection, which

meansshehasnoideathatshestandstoinheritbillionsofdollarsinassets.

Nor does she seem like a woman who cares too much about money, other than

havingenoughtobuysomethingforlunchotherthanthesadpeanutbutterandjelly
she’sbeenbringingeverydaythisweek.

Whoeatspeanutbutterandjellyafterthefifthgrade,anyway?
But every time I start to waver, I call into the hospital to get an update from my

father’s medical team. Still not change, no improvement. At this point we’re merely
satisfyingthetermsofhisadvanceddirectivebeforewedeclarehimlegallydeadand
getonwiththisridiculouscharade.

Thecharadeofhandingoffhisassetsandthecompanytoastranger.
“Sowho’sgettingmarried?”sheasks.
“My best friend and his girlfriend of a million years,” I reply, breaking out of my

churning thoughts. Even worse, when I’m not thinking about how to make Cadence
Fallon fall in love with me so I can marry her for her money—I’m fantasizing about
tastingher.

Thosecherrylips.
Thosefullbreasts.
Thehotcleftbetweenherlegs.
Cadence is blissfully unaware of my designs on her innocence as she continues

talkingabouttheweddingwe’reattendingtogether.“Ah,that’snice.Toobadyouhave
toworkattheirwedding.Seemsliketherewerealotofactivitiesplanned.”

“Howdoyouknow?”Ireply.
“The schedule in the invitation packet was fairly complete. The website for the

RadnorEstatealsohadalotofoptionsavailable,fromthespatowinetastingstonature
hikes.”

Ichuckleatthenotionofdoingthoseactivities,tryingtoimaginespendingaminute

inaspaorhikingalongsanddunes.

“Notaleisurekindofguy?”shesays.
“Hardly,”Ireply.Infact,Ican’trememberthelasttimeIdidanythingotherthan

work,run,orsleep,mylifehavingrevolvedmostlyaroundmyfatherandhisbusiness,
andyethestilldidn’tseefittoleavetome.

Igripthesteeringwheeltighteranddecidetochangethesubject.“Andwhatabout

you?”Isay.“Isyoursocialcalendartypicallyfull?”

She shakes her head. “I usually spend the weekends trying to stay out of my

stepmother’sway,sono,youreallydidn’tinterruptanything.”

“Wickedstepmother,”Inodinunderstanding.
“Not wicked so much as cold,” she says, staring out the front window of the car.

“Andcompletelyuninterestedinchildren,grownorotherwise.”

I glance over and see her jaw set, and though she’s smiling and trying to act as

thoughit’snobigdeal,Icanseewhatevertherelationshipis(orisn’t)betweenthetwo
ofthem,itbothersher.

“Whataboutyou?Ihaven’tseenyourfatheraroundtheoffice.Doeshestillwork

there?”sheasks,andIimmediatelyrealizemymistake.

HereIwastryingtotaketheheatoffmebyaskingabouther,whenreallyI’veonly

openedupthedoortoamorepersonalconversation.

“He’snotwell,”Ireply,swallowinghard.
“I’msorrytohearthat.”
Isnort,unabletocontainmyself.
“Ah,itseemsyouhaveawickedparentsituationaswell?”
“Notquite,”Isay,thoughitsoundslikethelabelappliesmoretomysituationthan

hers.“We’rejustnotparticularlyclose.”

“Whataboutyourmother?”
“ShediedwhenIwasinhighschool,”Isay.“Breastcancer.”
Ihearhersuckinabreath.“I’msosorry,Mr.Maxon.”
“Please,callmeLevi,”Isay.
“That’saninterestingnameforaNewEnglandboy,”shesays.Icantellshe’strying

tocarefullychangethesubject,asurprisinglytactfulmovethatIappreciate.

“Itwasafamilyname,frommymother’sside,”Itellher.“ShewasfromVirginia,

oneoftheoldDaughtersoftheAmericanRevolutionfamilies.Sheinsisted,againstmy
father’swishes.”Andmaybethat’sanotherreasonhehatedme,Ithink,butdon’tsay.

“Ilikeit.It’sunique,atleastinBoston.Notveryproper.”Shesaysitwithanaffected

BostonBrahminaccentthatsoundsnearlyBritish,andIlaughinspiteofmyself.

“WhatmakesyouthinkI’mproper?”
Icanfeelhereyesgazingoveratme.“Lookatyou.Tiealwaysstraight,hairinplace,

despitethefactthatyourcurlswantnothingmorethantobefree.Andarethosejeans
you’rewearingpressed?”

“What’swrongwithpressedjeans?Shouldtheybewrinkledandstained?”
“Nothingwrong,”shereplieswithashrug,soundingsmug.“Justproper.”
Noone’steasedmein,well,Ican’trememberthelasttime.Andhearingherribme

aboutmyjeans(whichwereprofessionallylaundered,becausethat’snotataskIdofor
myself)makesmefeellikeIwanttostampdownonthegaspedal,skiptheprivatejet,
andsendusspeedingdowntotheCapealoneinthiscar.

Andsothat’swhatIdo.
“Mindadrive?”Iask,alreadysteeringawayfromtheexitforthemunicipalairport

wherewekeepourfamilyplane.

“Not at all,” she replies. “Those little planes make me nervous anyway. Always

droppingoutofthesky.”

Spokenlikeawomanwho’sneverbeenonaprivatejet.It’sbeenalongtimesince

I’vespenttimewithanyonelikethat.

Iglanceacrossthecenterconsoleandseehersmilingagain,hersunglassespushed

upintoherhairsothatIcanseethosepaleblueeyesshininglikethespringsky.She’s
goingtolookstunninginthatyellowdressIpickedforher(withjustalittlehelpfrom

Isabella,mypersonalshopper).

Inthismoment,Ialmost—almost—forgetwhyshe’swithmeinthefirstplace.
Wespendthenexthourandahalfansweringeachother’squestions.Aboutfamily.

Aboutwork.Aboutfavoritefoodsandbandsandplacestogointhecity.Itellmyselfit’s
becauseI’mtryingtoseduceher.

I tell myself it’s because it’s part of the plan. And if it is, it’s working quite well.

Maybetoowell,becauseIcanfeelmyselfforgettingwhatthisissupposedtobeabout,
likeanactorwhoforgetshe’sjustplayingarole.

Thescriptisfadingintothebackground.
IkeeptellingmyselftofocusonwhyI’mhere,andnotthinkaboutherlips,orlook

atherlegsforsolonginoneglance.

Easiersaidthendone,apparently.
It’searlyenoughinthedayandintheseasonthatwemakeitontotheCapewith

relatively little traffic and make good time to Hyannis, where the wedding is taking
place.IpullpastthegatesoftheRadnorEstateanddownthecrunchygraveldriveuntil
we’reparkinginfront,whereavaletwaitsforus.

“Ishouldtellyou,Icalledtotryandgetyouanotherroom,buttheywerebooked

up,”IexplaintoherasIpassthekeystothevalet.

It’sactuallytrue,andveryconvenientasfarasI’mconcerned.
The only reason I was able to get a room this late is likely because of some Julie

witchcraft.“Butit’sasuite,sothereshouldbeamplespace.”

Iexpecthertosmile,orblush,orlookintrigued,butwhenIcatchherfacearound

thesideofthecar,shelookscompletelydumbfounded.

Orterrified.
Ican’tquitepindowntheemotionwrittenonherface,butit’snotquitethereaction

I’dhaveexpected.

“Oh,”shesaysfinally.“Well…”shetrailsoff,leavingthethoughtunfinished,andI

decidenottopushher.Oncesheseestheroom,theview,onceshesamplesthewine
andtheroomservice,I’msureshe’llhavenoproblemgettingcomfortable.

I’vestayedattheRadnorEstatetwicebefore.Onceforanexecutiveretreatthatmy

father organized that had to have cost the company untold amounts of money, and
onceforacharityeventMaxonLawwassponsoring.

I was completely unsurprised to hear that Julia and Logan had selected it as their

wedding venue. Between the gorgeous Cape Code estate, the rolling sand dunes, and
the blue of the Atlantic, it’s definitely a place that makes romantic types want to
celebratelove.

WhichiswhatI’mcountingon.
AndtheRadnorEstatedoesn’tletmedown.
AssoonasIopenthedoortooursuite,myeyesgostraighttotheocean,whichison

displayinapanoramaofwindowsacrosstheentiresuite.

The furniture is overstuffed and comfortable, but also lush and expensive.

Cashmerethrowsandpillowsdrapeovernearlyeverysurface.Heavy,fluffyrugscover
the heart pine floors. There’s a bottle of champagne on ice in a silver high hat, and a
cheesetraywithfreshfigsandbaconjamwaitingforusonthereclaimedbarnwood
coffeetable.

“So,shouldwegettowork?”Cadenceasks,stillrootedtothefloorinthedoorway.
Shit.Ihadn’tactuallyplannedforanywork.Iwashopingshe’dbesotakenwithme

that she’d forget all about it. “I’d like to unwind from the drive a little first,” I say,
hopingshe’llstartinonthechampagneandcheesewithme.

“Okay…wellifyoudon’tmind,IthinkI’mgoingtotakealittlenap,”shereplies.Her

voiceseemssoft,andalittleshaky,andIwonderifit’sbecauseshe’sstartingtofeelthe
sparksbetweenus.

Orifit’ssomethingelse.
“Youcantakethebed,”Isay,gesturingthroughtheslidingbarndoorattheendof

theroomtowardsthebedroom.Shenods,anddisappearsinside,slidingthedoorshut
behindher.

Christ.She’sjumpy.
And I have less than four weeks to settle her down and get her ready to take the

plungewithme.

ThiscouldbetrickierthanIexpected.

CADENCE

S

HARING

A

ROOM

.

I’msharingaroomwithLeviMaxon.Myboss,whoscaresthehelloutofme,butif

I’mhonest,isalsosortofthehottestmanI’veeverseen,muchlessspokento.Much
lesssharedaroomwith.

Whenwewalkedinandsawtheoceanandthechampagne,IknewIwasintrouble.

ForLevi,thisiswork.I’mhisassistant.Hell,I’mgettingpaidtobehere.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel something between us, so I had to get out of

therebeforeIdidorsaidsomethingtomakeafoolofmyself.

OnlynowI’mstuckinthisbedroom,pretendingtotakeanapwhenallIcandois

stare at the ceiling and think about how much I want him to kiss me. Which is
completely inappropriate and could compromise the job I’m here to do (and the
paycheckI’mheretoearn).

Nothingcanhappenbetweenus.
Hedoesn’tevenwantanythingtohappen.He’sagorgeousgazillionaireandI’mlike

a character out of a Charles Dickens novel. The man is curious about me because I
mightaswellcomefromadifferentplanetasfarashe’sconcerned…

There’sofcourseanotherproblem,too.OnethatI’mhopingwon’tevencomeup,if

Icanmanagetokeepthingscompletelyprofessional.OneIdon’tevenwanttoimagine
talkingtoLeviMaxonabout.

Andthat’swhenIfinallydriftofftoafitfulsleep.
Iwakeuptoseeabrilliantpinkandpurpleskyoutthewindowasthesunbeginsto

sink.

Holyshit,howlongwasIasleep?
IfumbleformyphoneandseethatI’vebeenoutfornearlythreehours.Iscramble

outofbedandintothebathroom,barelypausingtotakeintheenormousclawfoottub,
tilefloorsandwalk-ingraniteshower.

Ipeerinthemirrorandre-braidmyhairtotamethefrizziesthathaveescaped,then

splashsomecoldwaterontomyface.Aftermytwo-minutebeautyroutineImanageto
lookslightlylesszombielike.

I give my cheeks a pinch in the mirror, trying to bring out some color, a trick I

learnedfromoneofmymanyLittleWomenreadingsasakid.

ThenItakeadeepbreath.
“Ok,Cady,youcandothis.Justchilloutandactprofessional,”Itellmyreflection,

butthepersonalpeptalkonlysendsmyheartintoacrazyjazzrhythmthatmakesme
feellikeIcouldpassout.Itakeanotherdeepbreathtonearlynoaffect,thendecideI
can’thideoutinheremuchlonger.

Islowlyslidethedooropenandstepoutintothelivingroom.
Leviisonthecouch,hisfeetuponthecoffeetable,hislaptopinhislap.Hedidn’t

hearthedoor,andsoIhaveamomenttostudyhimbeforehenoticesme.

Hisfocusisonthescreeninfrontofhim,hisbrowfurrowed,hisjawsetinafirm

line. He types furiously, his focus laser sharp and precise. He’s taken off his sweater
nowthatthemorningspringchillhasburnedoff,andisdowntoanoldPrincetontee
shirtthatlookswornandwasheduntilthecottonissoftassilk.

SuddenlyallIwanttodoisrunmyfingersoverit,particularlytheplaceswhereit

seemstohughismuscledframe.

Mypresencefinallyalertshim,andheglancesupfromhisscreen.
“Goodnap?”heasks,hisexpressionimpassive.
“Sorry,Ididn’tmeantosleepsolong.Ishouldhavesetanalarm.Areyouworking?

Is there anything I can do to help?” I can hear myself babbling, but I’m powerless to
stopmyself.

Heshakeshishead.“Justgoingoversomecontracts.I’matagoodstoppingpoint.”

Heshutshislaptopandstandstostretch,causinghisshirttoriseupandrevealafew
inchesoftanned,taughtskinandflatmusclesofhislowerabdomenthatdisappearsat
thebuttonflyofhisjeans.

Ihavetoforcemyeyesaway.“Oh.Okay,”Imumble.
“Howaboutfood.Iwaslookingattheroomservicemenuearlier.”Hereachesforit

andpassesittome.Ibeginflippingthrough,moreassomethingtodothat’snotogling
him.Afterafewminutesofsilence,hesays,“Wecangetsomethingifyou’dlike.”

“Uhyeah,alobsterrollandfrieswouldbegreat,”Isay,passingthemenubackto

him.

Ifeellikesuchahick.Iimaginehe’susedtomorerefinedcompanionship.
Hepicksupthephoneandcallsdown,orderingmylobsterroll,steakfritesforhim

(rare),andasliceofGermanchocolatecakefordessert.Whileheorders,Iplopdown
onthecouchandtrytowrackmybrainforthingstosaythatwilltaketheheatoutof
thissituationforme.

Unfortunately,whileI’mdoingthat,Leviappearstobeworkingonturningtheheat

up.

By building a fire, that is. I watch him as he expertly arranges the logs from the

brasscanisternexttothefireplace,stokingitwithkindlingandstrikingamatchonthe

stonefacade.Withinminutes,thefireisroaringandfillingtheroomwiththedelicious
scentofwoodsmoke.

Itcouldn’tbemoresexyifhechoppedthewoodhimself.Shirtless.Andsweating.
God,Iamsoscrewed.
Levi takes a seat opposite me, watching the fire, which crackles and sparks in his

eyes.Afterafewmomentsofsilence,heturnstome.

“HaveyoueverbeentotheCapebefore?”
Inod.“Justonce,foraschoolfieldtriptoWellfleet,”Ireply.“Wemostlyspentour

summersatCarsonBeach.”

He wrinkles his nose, and I can tell our neighborhood beach in Southie is not his

ideaofaluxuriousbeachday.

“Snob,”Isaywithagrin.
“Guilty,”heshrugs.“SowasgrowingupinSouthielikeGoodWillHunting?”
“ProbablyaboutasmuchasgoingtoHarvardwaslikeGoodWillHunting,”Ireply

withalaugh.

“Fairenough.Sowhydidyoustudystudioartifyoudidn’tplanonbeinganartist?”
Iraiseaneyebrowathim.“WhyareyouinterrogatingmelikeI’monthewitness

stand?”

“That’snotthekindoflawIpractice.”
“Maybeyoushould.”
“Youdidn’tanswerthequestion.”
“Why do you want to know?” I ask, trying to keep up with the rat-a-tat-tat of our

verbalsparring.

“Becausewe’reclearlygoingtobespendingalotoftimetogether.Whynotgetto

knowoneanother.”

“Ok. Then why did you wait until the last minute to RSVP to your best friend’s

wedding?”

Leviduckshisheadwithalittlelaughthatseemsabitforced.“Wow,goingrightfor

thejugular.”

“It’s no more personal than asking me about my hopes and dreams,” I say with a

shrug.

“Ah,sotheartthingisahopesanddreamsproblem.”
“Notsomuchaproblemasaconfusion.”
“Meaning?”
“Jeez,you’relikeadogwithabone,”Isay.Ituckmyfeetbeneathmeonthecouch

andgetcomfortable.“ArtwassomethingIwasgoodat,butthefurtheralongIgotin
my degree, I realized I didn’t much enjoy it. I think I was mostly doing it to feel
connectedtomymother.”

“Oh?”
“She was an artist. A pretty accomplished one, actually. She’s got a piece in the

MoMAinNewYork,andIthinkshemighthavegoneontobeareallybigdealifshe
hadn’t…”Itrailoff.

Evenafteralltheseyearsandbarelyknowinghertobeginwith,itstillhurtstosay

theword.Icanfeelthetearswellinginmyeyes,andIhavetolookdowntokeepthem
from falling. Because thinking about what my mother could have been, where she

couldhavegone,whatshecouldhavedone,hurtsmorethaneventhinkingaboutthe
possibilityofstillhavingherinmylife.

Shewassuchasparkoflifethatgotextinguishedfartoosoon.
I finally look up and see the reflection of something in his eyes, something that

takesalittlebitofthepainaway.

It’sunderstanding.
Becauseheknowswhatit’sliketoloseyourmom.Andforhim,itmayhaveeven

been worse, because he got more time with his mom. All I have are fragments of
memories,mostsparkedbyphotographs,butheactuallyknewherandthenlosther.
Ashardisitisformetothinkaboutmymother,itmustbeevenharderforhim.He
looks like he wants to say something, but before he can open his mouth, there’s a
knockatthedoor.

Heclearshisthroat,givinghisheadalittleshake.“Roomservice,”hesays,pulling

himselfupfromthecouch.

He opens the door, and a steward wheels in a silver cart topped with fresh white

linenandoursilver-domedmeals.WhileLevitipsthesteward,Ibeginarrangingdishes
onthetablebythewindow.

I’vejustfinishedplacingthesilverwarewhenIturnaroundandcrashintoLevias

hewalkstowardsthecart,atall,leanwallofmuscle.Ibegintostumblebackwards,but
hegrabsmyarmstosteadyme,hishandstransferringheatthroughoutmybody.

Ilookuptoseethatthisclose,he’snearlyaheadtallerthanme,hisdarkhairfalling

overhisgreeneyes,whicharelockedonmine.

“Areyouallright?”heasks,hisvoicehuskyandconcernedsounding.Hestaresat

meforalongmomentandI’msuddenlypanicking.

His eyes are so fixed on me, so unwavering, and the heat between my legs is

suddenlysostrong,thatIfeellikeLevimightstarttosensemydesireforhim.

AndI’mafraidofwhatwillhappenifherealizesIhavefeelingsforhim.
“I’m fine,” I say, anxious and confused, pulling out of his grasp. “And you might

wanttowatchwhereyou’regoing,”Iadd,mytonebiting.

Idon’tknowwhyIsnapathim—perhapstodistracthimfromhowIreallyfeel.
Hiseyesnarrow.“Isthatso?”hesays.
Thetoneofhisvoicesoundsawarning,butIignoreit.Myownfearshaveignited

myinnerbrat.

“Yeah.Thatisso,”Ihuff.“Idon’tevenknowwhatI’mdoinghere.WhyI’mstuckin

thesamehotelroomwithmyboss.Thisisn’tnormal,youknow.”

Helaughsharshly.“Andhowexactlywouldyouknowwhat’snormal?Woulditbe

fromallofyourthreehoursofrealworldworkexperience?”

I finally look at him again. “Nobody stays in the same hotel room as their boss

unless…”

“Unlesswhat?”hechallenges,hiseyesflashing.
Ishutmymouth.
Hesneers.“Andit’sasuite,notaroom.”
“Whatever.Ijust…I’mjusttryingto…advocate…”mymindspinsandcareens.
Levistepstowardsme.“Saywhateveryouwanttosaybutstoptip-toeingaroundit,

Cadence.”

“Idon’tknowwhatIwanttosay.”I’mbreathingheavily.
Hestepscloser.“Areyousureaboutthat?”heasks,hiseyesfocusedonmeagain,

pinningmetothespot.

Iwanttosayyes,ormaybeno,butIcan’tfindmyvoice.It’slostsomewheredeep

insideme,overtakenbythepoundingofmyheartandtheshiverofmyspine.InsteadI
nod,andthengazebackupathim.

Ithappenssofast.Heduckshishead,Itiltmychin,andthenhislipsareonmine,

warmandwanting.Hepartsmylipswithhistongue,andIfeelmyselfmeltintohim,
my hips connecting with his as I fall forward. He grips me tighter, pulling me to him
withamagneticforce.

Onehandgoestomyhair,pullingmecloserbythenapeofmyneck,whiletheother

travelsdowntomyhip,thenthesmallofmyback,untilIcanfeelhimhardbetween
us,wantingme.

Wantingme.
Ipullback.“Idon’tknowifIcandothis.”
“BecauseI’myourboss,”hesays.
“Actually…no.”
Hisbrowwrinkles.
TheoneconversationIdidn’twanttohave.TheoneconversationIneverimagined

I’dhaveto,notwithhim.Buthereweare,andIcan’tignoreit.

“I’mavirgin,”Isayfinally,shockedthatI’mabletogetthewordsout.
Levitakesafullstepbackwards.“Waitamoment.You’re…you’rewhat?”
Itakeabreathandsteadymyselftotellhimagain.“I’mavirgin,”Irepeat,thistime

my voice loud and strong. “And I don’t plan on changing that until I meet the man I
plantospendtherestofmylifewith.”

He puts another foot of space between us, stepping backwards yet again. His eyes

areeverywherebutonme,andhisnormallyoliveskinsuddenlylooksashen.

“Ishouldprobablygetbacktothosecontracts,”hesays,reachingforhislaptop,then

stops to run his hands through his hair. He seems to be muttering to himself for a
moment before finally speaking to me. “You know, I realize that it was a mistake to
bringyouonthistrip.Idon’treallyneedanyassistance.Ijusthavethesecontracts,and
youcan’thelpwiththat.Maybeyoushouldjust…”

Hetrailsoff,soIfinishforhim.“Youwantmetogo?”
“Ithinkthatwouldbeforthebest.Icancallacarforyou.”
I keep waiting for him to look at me. To see me, like he did earlier. But he’s all

business.Cold.Andhe’ssendingmeaway.

IfeellikeI’vebeenslapped.Ordumpedinabathtubfulloficewater.
Ifeellikeafirstclassidiot.NotfortellinghimI’mavirgin,butforkissinghim.Or

evenwantingtointhefirstplace.HowcouldIhavebeensostupidastoopenthatdoor,
theonedoorthatshouldhaveremainedclosed?

He’smyboss.
I’mshaking,butthere’snothingIcando,notifIwanttokeepthejob.AndIdo.SoI

turnandheadbackintothebedroomtogathermythingswhilehecallsacar.ButasI
start to move, one step, then another, I begin to get angry. Then furious. Then
whatevercomesafterfuriousthatinvolvesred-hotrage.AndbeforeIknowwhatI’m

doing,Iturnbacktohim.

“Youareafuckingidiot,”Isay,shockedbyhowcontrolledmyvoicesounds,despite

thefactthatI’malmostashurtandangryasI’veeverbeen,atleastinrecentmemory.

Hisheadsnapsupfromhislaptop.“Excuseme?”
“Youheardme.You’reafuckingidiot.Forkissingmeinthefirstplace,whenIwork

foryou.AndforbreakingitoffjustbecauseItoldyouIwasn’tgoingtoscrewyou.And
then sending me away like I’m some misbehaving child. Which makes it abundantly
clearthattheonlyreasonyoubroughtmehereinthefirstplacewastogetmeinbed.
Reallyclassy,Mr.Maxon.”

“That’s not —“ he says, but I hold up a hand. I don’t even care if I lose this job

anymore.I’mjustsayingwhatIfeel,anddamntheconsequences.

“Ok, if it’s not like that, then what is it? Is it that being told no for once in your

pathetic,privilegedlifeistoomuchforyoutotake?”

Hismouthgapesopenlikeafishondryland,andItakepleasureinseeingthisself-

assured,strongmanspeechlessbeforeme.

“You’reacoward,”Isay,practicallyspittingthewords.“You’reacoward,andyou’re

missingoutonsomethinggreatjustbecauseIwon’tsleepwithyou.”

Andthat’swhenIknowI’mdone.Myheartratehasslowed,myvisioncleared,and

IknowthatI’mright.Ididn’tdoanythingwronghere.He’stheidiot,andheabsolutely
doesn’tdeserveme.

LEVI

I

WATCH

herassheretreatstowardsthebedroomtogatherherthings.

Herwordsechoinmyhead.Isitthatbeingtoldnoforonceinyourpathetic,privilege

lifeistoomuchforyoutotake?

Pathetic…privileged…
It’s everything I’ve always told myself I’m not. I’ve always been careful to work

hardateverything.Atschool,atwork,alltoshowthatIdeservewhatIhave.WhatI
havecomingtome.

Andyetshe’sabsolutelyright,onlyshehasnoideajusthowmuch.
Becauseforonceinmylife,Iwastoldno.Iwastoldthatmyfatherdidn’tchoose

me. He chose her. And that one time, that one fateful no, sent me into a spiral that
woundupwithmeinthishotelroom.

BeingtoldoffbyaglorifiedsecretarywhoiswaysmarterthanIgavehercreditfor

being.

Becausethetruthis,Iknewmyplanwaswrongthemomentshewalkedintomy

office.IknewIwasbecomingexactlythebastardIalwaysthoughtmyfatherwas.The
kindofbastardIalwaystriednottobe.

ButgettingtoknowCadence,beingwithheronthedrive,talkingwithher,having

herreallyseemeandhearmeandseemtoknowme…itwasn’tjustthattheplanwas
wrong,it’sthatnowIknowIwantherforreal.

AndwhenIkissedher,itwasn’tabouttheplan,orscrewingovermyfather.Itwas

aboutwantingher.

I’mfallingforher.
It wasn’t until she told me that she was a virgin that I realized just how awful I’d

beenforeventhinkingIcoulddoanyofthattoher.

And so I did what I always do. I took control of the situation. I handled it. I

smootheditoverandmadeitgoaway.

LikeI’msomekindofmisbehavingchild.
She’sexactlyright.Iamafuckingidiot.Butnotforthereasonsshethinks.
I’mnotsendingherawaybecauseshesaidnotosleepingwithme.
I’m sending her away because I can’t in good conscience carry on with my stupid

plananymore.

Andyet,intheworstway,Idowanttocarryon.
Butnotbecauseofmyfather’sfortuneorhisbusinessoranyofit.
IpicturethefireinhereyesandthewayshespoketomeandI’msuddenlymore

certainthanI’veeverbeenbeforeinmylife.

SuddenlyI’mstridingtowardsthebedroom,mybodymovingasifcontrolledbyan

outside force. I cross the floor in three steps, through the threshold in one. She’s
standingoverthebedtryingtoshoveatoiletrykitbackintoherbagwhenIgrabherby
thewrist,tuggingherslightly.She’spracticallyweightless,anddelicatelikealittlebird.

Her eyes meet mine, and I pull her to me. She glares at me like a challenge, a

gauntletthrown,andIansweritwithmylips.

Icoverhermouthwithmine.Shegaspsintome,partingherlipsslightlysoIcannip

atherlowerlip.Irunmyhandsupherbodyuntilthey’retangledinherhair.Itugat
herbraiduntilherhairshakesfreeandloose.Iwanttoconsumeher.Toclaimher.To
dowhatevershe’llletmedoandnothingmore.Iwanthertowantmorefromme,not
becauseIseducedher,butbecauseshewantstogiveitalltome.

Sheseemstomeltintome.Herfingersbrushthebackofmyneck,andIducktokiss

alinealongherjawanddownherneck.

“So maybe not such a fucking idiot after all,” she moans as I reach the spot just

behindherearthatmakesherwholebodytenseandthenrelease.

“Someoneconvincedme,withanawfullotofvolume,Imightadd,thatImightbe

makingamistake,”Iwhisperintoherneck.

Shepullsbackslightly,tiltingmyjawwithherfingeruntilwe’reeye-to-eye.“I’mstill

notgoingtosleepwithyou.Iwasn’tkiddingaboutbeingavirgin.”

“Butwhy,exactly,areyoustillavirgin?”Iask.
“It’s not religious or anything. I just have always known I wanted to wait until I

foundtheone.”

Ican’thidemyshock.“Areyouserious?”
Shegrinsatme.“Yes.Life’stooshorttohavebadsex,andnosexisgoingtobeas

goodaswhatI’llhavewiththepersonIwanttospendtherestofmylifewith,sowhy
bother?”

“Saidlikesomeonewho’sneverhadsexbefore.”
“Comeon,you’retellingmeallthesexyou’veeverhadhasbeenfantastic?”
“Goodenoughnottoskipit,”Isay.

“WellIdon’treallycaretoletsomeguyfumblearoundwithmybody,especiallynot

someguyIseenofuturewith.SoImadeachoice,andIplantostickwithit.”

“Firstofall,letmestatefortherecordthatIdonot‘fumblearound’withawoman’s

body,”Isaywithagrowl.

“Maybe I’ll fine out?” she says, arching an eyebrow. “There are plenty of other

thingswecandobesidessex,afterall.”

My mind floods with a thousand ideas and dirty images, and I barely suppress a

groanasIfeelmycockgrowhard.

Ihearinhervoiceanotherkindofchallenge,andIhopesheknowswhatdoorshe’s

opened,becauseI’mabouttoshowherjustwhatIcandowithherbody.

Istartbyfingeringthehemofhersweater,theninonefluidmotion,bringitupand

overherhead.Andimmediatelyseethatshe’snotwearinganythingbeneathit.

NowIcan’tevensuppressthegroanasItakeintheviewofherperfect,fullbreasts.
Cadencebitesherlowerlipandtremblesalittle,butshedoesn’tshyawayfrommy

gaze.

Itsofuckinghot,andIcan’twaittoshowherthingsaboutherbodythatshe’snever

feltorsuspectedshecouldfeelbeforenow.

Iduckmyheadandtakeherpebblednippleintomymouthandflickingmytongue

gentlyacrossit.

Cadencegaspsandthenmoans.
Icontinuesuckingathertender,sensitivenipple.ShetastesbetterthanIcouldhave

imaginedandherskinissmoothassilk.

Sheheavesasigh,herbreastrisingandfallinginmymouth,asItakeitinmyhand

andsuckhernippleintomymouthandthenreleaseit,thensuckitinagain,running
myteethgentlyacrossit.

WhileIletmytonguefocusonherbreasts,Iletmyhandsweepdownthesideof

hermilkywhiteskinuntilmyfingersreachthetopofherjeans.

Iletthemsweepjustbeneaththewaistbandbeforemovingtomakequickworkof

thebuttonandzipper.ButbeforeIlowerthem,Iplacemypalmflatonherabdomen
andslidemyhanddown,beneathherjeans,beneaththelaceofherpanties,untilthe
tipsofmyfingersreachtheirdestination.Ipartherslitwithmyfingersanddipintothe
warmthandwetnessofher.

She’ssowet,itmakesmeshudderoutahotbreathontohernipple.Shedropsher

head back with a moan as I begin to let my finger lazily circle her clit, never quite
landingonthesweetestspot,teasingher.

“Please,”shewhispers.“Please.More.”
Hearingherbegmakesmeevenharder.
Iwalkherbackwardsslowlyuntilshemakescontactwiththebed,thenIlayherout

gentlybeforeme.SheraisesherhipsslightlysoIcanslideherjeansdownherthighs,
takingherpantieswiththem.Ican’twastetimewithlayers.Mymouthiswatering.I
havetotasteher.

Idropherjeanstothefloor,thenreachbackandpullmyshirtovermyhead.Her

eyesgowideatthesightofmybarechest,andIcan’thelpbutsmirkather.

Iplacemyhandsontheinsideofherthighsandgentlypartherlegs.She’salltoo

willingtotakedirectionfrommeatthispoint,andIhavetostopmyselffromdiving

into her immediately. I want to make this last. I want her to have this feeling for a
while.

Istartwithatrailofkissesstartingatherkneeandtravelingupherinnerthigh.Just

before I get to her pussy, I pause, and start again at the bottom. She lets out a slight
whimperandarchesherhips,asiftryingtobringherselftome.

Iloveseeingherundone.
This time I pepper the kisses up her thigh with little sweeps of my tongue, letting

themgetlongerasIgetcloserandcloser.

She tastes and smells sweet and musky all at once, a heady scent that makes my

cockrockhard.

Ihadnoideathiswomanwoulddrivemethisinsane.
IfIhadknown,wouldIstillhavestartedallofthis?
I’mnotaltogethersure.BecausewhatI’mdoingrightnowhasabsolutelynothingto

dowithmyschemesandplans,andeverythingtodowithher.

Cadence.
Sheissofresh,so pure,soinnocentand sexyallatonce,and I’velostmygrip on

reality.Instead,I’meatingherwetpussy,andlovingeveryfuckingsecondofit.

Andwhenshecan’ttakeitanymore,andIcan’twait,Iopenhertomeandpressmy

lipstoher,suckingslightlyuntilIthinkshe’sgoingtoscream,thenpressingmytongue
intoherclit.

“Ohmygod,you’regoingtomakemecomesohard,”shesaysthroughshuddering

breaths.

“DamnIrightIam,”Ireply,andthenIbeginworkingmytonguearoundherclit,

pausing to dip inside her, then return in swirls and flicks and licks. Her hands are
tangled in my hair as she pulls my lips harder into her. Soon she’s rocking her hips,
grindingintomytongueandbeggingformore,more,more.AndI’mmorethanhappy
to oblige. I lick and suck as she pushes into me, responding to her every move,
practicallyfeelingherorgasmgrowinsideofher.

“Comeforme,”Iwhisper,lettingthelittleburstsofairflowontoherpussybeforeI

bringmytonguedownhardonherclit.

“Fuckyes!”shescreams,loudenoughthatIwonderifwhoeverisinthenextroom

canhearus.

But I don’t stop, continuing to suck on her clit as she rides her orgasm over and

down and down and down, her breath coming in short bursts. Her body seems to
liquefy,andshecollapsesontothebed.

WhenIlookupfrombetweenherlegs,allIcanseeareherbreastsheavingupand

downwithherlaboredbreaths.“Ohmygod,youdefinitelydonotfumble,”shejokes.

Exceptit’snotreallyajoke—thatmuchisapparentfromtheflushinhercheeksand

herwide,shockedeyes.

“No,Idefinitelydonot,”IreplyasIcrawlupthelengthofherbody,leavingatrailof

kissesinmywake,untilI’mfacetofacewithher.Shetakesmyfaceinherhandsand
pullsmedownforalongkiss.

Mycock,harderthanit’severbeen,hoversbetweenus.Iholdmyhipselevatedjust

slightly, but when she pulls me down to kiss me, it slips along the slick spot between
herlegs,nowproperlydrenchedfromtheforceofherorgasm.Shegasps,rockingher

hips so that the head slides along her clit, her body shuddering with aftershocks of
passion.

Igruntandit’salmostpainful.“Ihaveneverwantedtofuckanyonesobadlyinmy

life.”

“WellI’mstillnotsleepingwithyou,”shesays,bitingherlipandlipandraisingher

eyebrow.“ButI’mabouttodomyverybesttoreturnthefavor.”

And somehow, despite her diminutive stature and the fact that I have several

poundsandseveralinchesonher,shemanagestorollmeoveruntilshe’sstraddling
me.Thesightofheroverme,thoseperfectbreastsandherclitrubbingoverthehead
ofmycock,andI’mcompletelygone.

I pull my cock out and shoot a rope of cum that splashes up her belly and some

evensplattershermilkywhitethighs.

“Fuck,”Iwhisper,closingmyeyes.
ThisgirljustgavemeoneofthebestfinishesofmylifeandIdidn’tevenfuckher

yet.

Imightbeindeepshitonthisone…

I’

M

WOKEN

the next morning by the sliver of sunlight peeking in through the heavy

drapes.Thesunisjustbeginningtorise,andtheroomiscastinawarmyellowglow.I
take a deep breath and sigh, breathing in the smell of lavender that must be from
Cadence’sshampoo.

I’monmyback,andshe’scurvedaroundme,alegflungacrossmybody,herhead

tuckedintothenookofmyshoulder,hercheekrestingonmychest.Slowly,carefully,I
reachmyarmsaroundherandpullhercloser,tryingtoconsumeher,breathinginthe
smellofherandtryingtorememberthefeelingofeveryinchofherskinoneveryinch
ofmine.

Howisitpossiblethatwedidn’tevenhavesexlastnight?Ifeelcompletelysatisfied,

and the only thing tempering that feeling is knowing I have to leave this bed soon,
that’llwe’llhavetoputonclothesandactuallygoseeotherpeople.

Butforthemoment,wecanlayhere,CadencesleepingpeacefullyonmychestasI

hugherclosetome.

I close my eyes again and feel the warmth of her, and she gives a light, soft little

moanandsnugglesevencloser.

She’samazing.
Andmorethanthat,shefits.She’severythingyoucouldwantandmore.
With a nice little bonus that she just so happens to stand to inherit your rightful

fortune.

Allisrightwiththeworld,correct?
Exceptit’snot.
My eyes snap open and a cold feeling flows through my insides. My stomach

clencheswithtension.

Somethingiswrong.
Very,verywrong.

AndthenIfinallyrealizeexactlywhattheproblemis.
I’mfallinginlovewithCadenceFallon,butifsheeverfindsoutthetruth,it’sgoing

todestroyher.

ENDOFBOOKONE

ClickheretobeginreadingBookTwoimmediately

!

AndifyouwanttoknowthemomentthenextbookintheRuthlessInASuitseriesis

released—

signupnowtotheFavorFordRomancenewsletter!