“Then we should get back to work.”

  My chuckle is laced with confusion as the thought strikes me. “Is it because of last time?”

  “Is what because of last time?” Arms still crossed. Finger still hidden. Head angled to the side.

  “Why you’re angry at me? Do you have regrets?” And why would it kill me if she says yes? “That’s a long time to harbor something if so.”

  “It is a long time. That’s why I had to accept what happened and move on with my life.”

  “That’s a pretty clinical description for something we both went into willingly.” It wasn’t a business transaction for Christ’s sake.

  “You know . . .” She swallows forcibly and shakes her head ever so subtly. She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it just as quickly. I swear there are tears in her eyes, but she looks down so I can’t be sure. The problem is that when she looks back up, the emotion is gone. All emotion is. Bristol has put her guard up in a way I’ve never seen before. “Nothing. Never mind. As much as you think we need to talk about the past, we really don’t. We’ve both moved on, and that’s okay. We both have a job to do here, so let’s just get back to that and let bygones be bygones. Okay? You have people waiting for you, and I have a job to do so I don’t get fired.”

  “Go out for a drink with me. After we’re done. We can talk about whatever it is you want to talk about. How much my music sucks. If you still love watching baseball. The fucking weather, for all I care.”

  She waves me back toward the door. No fucking ring. At least there’s that.

  But was there one? Is that why she’s so guarded? Was she married? Divorced? Was she hurt?

  Did he hurt her?

  “It’s probably better if we don’t. Blurring lines and all.”

  I itch to grab her arm and pull her against me. I spent years wanting this woman only to have one night with her.

  Clearly that one night wasn’t enough. Fuck.

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” she says and moves toward the door, but my hand is on her arm this time.

  Look at me.

  And when she does, it’s still there. I’m not imagining it. That thing that’s always been between us is still fucking there.

  Why do I suddenly feel the need to make her see it?

  “You know . . .” I say playfully. “I require a lot of maintenance. Me and my ego? We’re demanding. Petty. Have a lot of fucking needs.” I shrug. “McMann said anything I needed, you’d provide. My bet’s on you doing your job to the best of your abilities.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  I lift my wrist and show her the light pink heart tattooed there. The one that’s proof of a dare I made. One we had a whole discussion about the last time I saw her so she knows the meaning behind it. “Actually, you know I would.”

  “Quit being selfish. People are waiting to finish and go home,” she says and then stalks past me. I know she tries to slam the door, but the shock on its hinge prevents her from doing so.

  I chuckle.

  Nothing like being denied a good slam.

  Shit. I scrub a hand through my hair and stare at the door she just went through. The one I should also enter because she’s right, everyone in there is waiting on me.

  I walked away from her a long time ago without looking back.

  I’ve seen her one time since then, and that one time is cemented in my memory forever.

  So why is seeing her again—when I’ve gone on and lived my life—causing such confusion?

  Because your life’s in limbo, Jennings, and she was the only real thing you ever knew.

  Fuckin’ A, man.

  If I’d known that Bristol worked for McMann Media, I may not have said yes to their offer.

  Who am I fucking kidding? That would have made me sign even quicker.

  Yeah, I’m the one who walked away again last time. Who blocked her number from my cell all those years ago. But life is too fucking real right now, and losing myself in her for a while seems like it could be a good fucking distraction.

  “I can’t do a repeat of seven years ago where you play with me while you’re in town and then return back to your glamorous life without ever looking back.”

  She’s right.

  I know she’s right.

  But it doesn’t make me want her any goddamn less.

  You signed on the dotted line, Vin. You have a job to do. A job you’re clearly struggling to get through, and it’s only day fucking one.

  Do the job.

  Do the one thing you’ve never been able to do when it comes to her—keep your hands to yourself.

  Try to forget just how hard Bristol Matthews is to quit.

  With a sigh I feel deep in my bones, I open the door with a determination to remember those three things and resignation that I’m probably going to fail at least two of them.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Bristol

  “Momma?”

  Jagger stirs beneath the covers as I slide in beside him and pull him against me. He snuggles into me, his face beneath the curve of my neck like he’s done since he was a newborn, his hand resting on my heart, and his feet gently rubbing against mine like a cricket.

  “I’m here, buddy,” I murmur before pressing a kiss to the top of his head and simply breathing him in. Strawberry shampoo and everything that is my little boy weaves into my soul, and I sigh.

  His dark hair and light eyes. His olive complexion. His mischievous smile and belly giggles.

  As I stood in the doorway watching him sleep, my heart felt like a balloon in my chest, expanding with more love for this perfect little human I created. That I’ve raised. And all of my mistakes—the ones that have robbed him of things every little boy deserves—made that balloon feel like it was going to burst.

  I needed to hold him. To touch him. To pull him in tight. To try and erase the torrent of emotions coming at me one after another.

  “I don’t feel yucky anymore,” he slurs in his sleep-drugged state. It feels like days since he threw up on my shoes and it was less than twenty-four hours ago.

  “That’s good.” I lean back, brush his hair off his forehead, and can’t help but smile. His dark lashes and rosy cheeks get me every time.

  “School?”

  “Uh-uh. Not yet. Go back to sleep.” I hold him a little tighter and lightly stroke his back to help him get there. He has a few hours left before we start the morning routine. A routine that will be much easier no doubt since my mom, who is currently asleep on the couch, will be there to help with.

  “You’re in my bed.”

  “I just missed you is all.”

  “Missed you too,” he says seconds before his breathing evens out again.

  Sleep. That’s what I should be doing. That’s what I want to do considering I’ve been running on fumes and caffeine for the past few hours.

  Me and my normal ten p.m. bedtime and Vince and his energizer bunny energy that never waned through the entire night and early morning as he shot take after take after take for the video.

  And as he made demand after demand after demand of me. Always playful. Completely unnecessary since he had an assistant on set. But demands nonetheless under McMann’s careful eye to remind me that my only choice was to do what he asked or risk my job.

  Prick.

  Then why is there a soft smile on my face? Why did I find myself laughing at the jokes Vince was making with the crew while trying to stay mad at him for personal reasons? Why did I find that anger I was trying to hold on to solely to keep him at a distance, slowly dissolving?

  Probably the same reason I need to hold Jagger right now. Because some things are just so natural that they’re hard to let go of.

  I stifle my yawn, knowing I need to get to sleep. My late night doesn’t mean I get to skip work tomorrow.

  And tomorrow brings more Vince.

  I was naïve to think this day would never come. It was even more ridiculous to think if it did, that I could write it off and it wouldn’t matter.

  How could I have thought that when my life has been labeled in three parts. With Vince. After Vince. And After After Vince. And no matter how much I tell myself I resent and dislike him with every part of my being after everything we’ve been through, he’s always been a part of my life.

  Ever since that first day he walked into the tutoring session with a busted lip and a bad attitude my freshman year.

  The memories hit. One after another. The good. The bad. The ugly. And the one incredible thing that I got from all of this despite the pain and the doubt and the hardship.

  But then there’s the guilt, still there after all this time. Still making me wonder and question if I’ve done the right thing. Will Jagger hate the choices I’ve made for him?

  Surely it’s better not to know your father than believing you’re unwanted. The question I’ve often asked myself is whether Vince still feels the same. That the last thing he’d ever want is to have someone carry on the Jennings name.

  Do you have regrets? That’s a long time to harbor something if so.

  Regrets? No. That night gave me the most important thing in my life.

  But I’ve done this alone. Right, wrong, or indifferent, when he cut off every means of communication with me without knowing why I needed to get ahold of him, I made decisions that to this day, I’d make again if I had to.

  When it came down to it, he shut me out and moved on with his life while my whole world shifted and then spun onto a different axis.

  And regardless of his crooked smile and witty charm, I need to remember this.

  I was the one who reached out. Who tried. Who was rejected.

  I thought I’d made peace with my decisions and buried the hurt that came with it. Now I’m not so sure . . . about anything really.

  Besides the shock of seeing Vince again, today brought so many unknowns to the surface. Unknowns that I need to figure out answers for. Unknowns that could turn my perfect, chaotic, carefully crafted world upside down.

  Unknowns that once seemed so concrete and now seem extremely selfish when I never thought of them as being that before.

  “Oh, Jagg,” I murmur into the darkness, pulling him even closer against me. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bristol

  I stride into the Burbank office with an espresso in one hand, two bottles of liquid energy shots in my purse, and thoughts of how quickly this day can pass so I can catch up on my sleep.

  Because the little sleep I finally got wasn’t enough. Dreams plagued my sleep. Ones that rewound time and reminded me of things I’d long forgotten.

  But I’m on more sure footing today. I took the extra time I didn’t have to do my hair and makeup when normally it’s a topknot and a brush or two of mascara. I think that’s maybe why I felt off-kilter last night when it came to seeing Vince—well, besides the obvious reasons. So today, I figured I’d fix what I could on my end to make sure I didn’t feel that way again.

  As I make my way through the cubical maze of junior associates’ desks, heads pop up like whack-a-moles, glancing toward the conference room, before sitting back down just as quickly. There’s more of a low buzz of conversation than normal.

  The last time the office was this distracted was when senior associate, Lilah Glasnow was fired for sleeping with her client. The last thing McMann wants is for his firm to appear unprofessional, and when those rumors started flying, her walking papers were typed up. She didn’t go without a fight. There was a shouting match with insults hurled and threats made while we all sat with our heads down, listening to every single, deliciously scandalous word of it.

  I look for Simone in her cubicle, knowing she’ll give me the scoop, but she’s not there. However, I find her sitting in my chair, at my desk, with her arms crossed, her eyebrows raised, and her feet propped up on my desk.

  “Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” I say, noticing she’s pushed aside my frame so that my collage of Jagger is facing the wall of the cube.

  “I have. Thanks.” She places one of the peanut butter cups I leave in a dish on my desk in her mouth and smiles while chewing it, her eyes never breaking from mine.

  “What?” I ask, already on the defensive because I know that look.

  “I didn’t even garner a phone call?” she says.

  “For what?” But I already know.

  It’s why necks are craning toward the conference room. Why the chatter is muted but still excited. We’re used to celebrity sightings around here. It’s what our company does, but not every celebrity holds the same mystique as the man I’m more than certain is sitting in said conference room.

  “Vincent freaking Jennings?” Simone says, confirming my hunch. “First, you find out who the hush-hush client is, and you don’t say a word.” She points to one finger. “Second, you’ve been assigned as his handler—a freaking promotion—and you neglect to call.” She points to another. “And lastly, let me reiterate, Vincent freaking Jennings.” She throws her hands up. “I thought you were my girl, but nope, you leave my ass out in the cold and don’t say a damn word.”

  “I didn’t get home till after three in the morning, and I was under the impression that your ass was otherwise occupied.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against one of the gray fabric, portable walls.

  “I was, oh was I,” she murmurs, her eyes alive with suggestion, “but that doesn’t mean a girl isn’t going to check her texts during that post-coital glow period.”

  “Jesus.” I roll my eyes.

  “I mean, I hand you this gift, and I don’t even get a smoke signal to tell me what’s going on. I had to show up today and be knocked on my ass when that . . .”—she mock shivers— “gorgeous beauty of a man stepped into the elevator right before the doors closed. I mean he was close enough for me to touch. To stealthily stare at the very intricate designs of his tattoos. To smell his cologne.”

  “Simone—”

  “There needed to be a ‘clean-up on aisle five’ from the puddle of . . . me, that was all over that elevator floor.”

  “Whatever.”

  “But you already knew how good all of those things were because you spent the whole night with him. Beside him. Listening to him.” She puts the back of her hand to her forehead and pretends as if she’s fainted. Dramatics are definitely her strong suit. “Lusting after him.”

  “Refilling his drink and getting him whatever he asked for.”

  “Please say he asked for me.” She holds out her hands as if they are handcuffed together. “You can serve me up on a platter to him.”

  “Says the girl who was otherwise busy getting laid.”

  She bursts out laughing and puts her feet soundly on the floor. “You know I’m just fucking with you.” She sighs loudly. “But hell if I’m not mad at myself for picking sex over work and jealous of you in all the best ways.”

  “I know. For what it’s worth, Xavier made it sound like the promotion was temporary and only because we’re short-staffed at the moment. And Vince? Vince is . . .” A prick? Demanding? A diva? I think of the dozens of things I could say to make her feel better about missing the opportunity she gave me, but I can’t find it in me to lie.

  “He’s what? Gorgeous? Mysterious? Sexy? I mean—”

  “Matthews.” We both jump at the sound of Kevin’s voice from across the room.

  I glance at her with wide eyes before grabbing a pad of paper I don’t know if I’ll need or not. This whole beck-and-call thing for a client instead of my immediate boss is all new to me. “Coming.”

  I can feel the stares from the other junior associates as I make my way across the office floor. I’ve been where they are—watching someone get the opportunity they so desperately want—and am under no pretenses that that won’t be me again in a heartbeat if I don’t impress Xavier with whatever I’m supposed to be doing for Vince.

  I enter the conference room, empty save for the man across from me. Xavier stands with his ass against the glass wall of windows, his arms folded over his chest, and his head angled to the side as he studies me.

  I’ve squirmed under less scrutiny, but I actually have his attention now, so I meet him stare for stare.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re brainstorming today. Marketing is meeting with us on the tenth floor shortly.”

  “Okay.” I glance toward Kevin and then back. “Do you need paper or coffee or me to set things up—”

  “We need you.”

  Both Kevin’s and my head whip up in unison. “Me?”

  Junior associates are typically on the outside of these glass walls looking in. Unless of course, they’re asked to fetch something trivial to which they’re invited in and then promptly ushered out.

  “Yes,” he says but for some reason doesn’t seem too happy about it. “Sit.”

  “Okay. Why—”

  “I told them you had some great ideas last night and that I wanted you in on this.” The punch Vince’s voice packs didn’t lessen overnight. Not that I thought it would.

  I turn to look at where he’s just walked into the room. He has a pair of dark sunglasses on even though we’re inside, his hair looks like his hands have been running through it nonstop, and his lips are pursed in that way of his that tells me he’s studying every single thing about me.

  Not to mention the fact that he just lied through his teeth about me having good ideas last night. About what? About how I don’t want him here? About how I told him his last single wasn’t great?

  “Yes,” Xavier says before I can speak. And I know exactly why he looks miffed. Xavier McMann doesn’t like having his hand forced when it comes to anything. And it’s clear that he’s appeasing Vince’s request to have me here.

  Sure he’s keeping his newest client happy, but it’s also putting me in a very precarious position.

  “Do you mind sharing some of those ideas?” Kevin asks.

  I look from him to Vince and then back again. “I—”

  “She let me know why my last single flopped. Explained the reasons for her opinion.”