Her teeth snap together on the other end of the line. Clack-clack-clack. “Eating ass. It’s all the rage, man. You should try it or your Yelp reviews are going to tank.”

  “There’s a lot to address there. Let’s start with, I don’t have Yelp reviews. I’m not some hot new restaurant in town. And I’m not talking about butt stuff with you.”

  “Well, I’m here if you need tips or tricks. I’m a wealth of knowledge on a wide variety of topics, you know,” Toni offers sweetly. I can almost picture her, curled up in the chair in her room, her school laptop in front of her and her phone pressed to her ear. By now, she’ll have kicked off her favorite boots, pulled her long, dark hair into some magical self-supporting twist on top of her head that shows off huge earrings, and be sipping on flavored water from her favorite insulated cup that’s covered with stickers from whatever she’s decided is a must-have this week.

  “I’m sure,” I tell her dryly. “And if you don’t know, you’ve got Siri on demand.”

  “Shh, I’ll never tell my secrets.” She laughs, the sound replacing the bitter pit in my stomach after my conversation with Dad.

  It’s not long before I’m laughing along. “Thanks, Toni. I think I needed that.”

  “Don’t tell me . . . I’m getting an image . . .” She’s impersonating a late-night infomercial fortuneteller, and without seeing her, I know she’s pressing her hand to her forehead. “Mom and Dad are giving you shit.”

  It’s not a question. She knows as well as I do that Izzy and Dad are one of the things that pull us together. But there’s more too. Despite whatever drama made us family, I care for Toni and truly like her, both as a person and as my sister.

  “You know it. But I’m supposed to ask you what’s up? Izzy says there’s something going on with you.” There’s no reason to sidestep or tiptoe up to it with her.

  She huffs a sigh, somehow eye rolling audibly. “Of course she did.”

  “Yeah, moms can be so annoying. Oh, wait,” I joke darkly, thinking of my own absentee one. “And I noticed you didn’t deny that something is going on. Out with it.”

  “Not comparing moms. Just bitching about mine,” she explains. “And I’m fine.”

  I let the silence drag, waiting her out.

  “You suck,” she snaps. “Fine. It’s nothing, just some guy . . .”

  She trails off, and I want to give her the same lightness she gives me, but I’m more violence and glowering brooding than Chuckles the Clown. “Is he munching your butt? I’ll kill him, so start pulling bail money together.”

  She sniffles, and I realize she’s started to cry about whoever this guy is. I was kidding, but I might actually kill him if he’s hurt Toni.

  “No, he’s just stupid,” she confesses.

  “Stupid like . . . doesn’t appreciate how amazing you are and is a normal teenage expression of male testosterone fueled ignorance, or stupid like . . . he hurt you?” My voice is even and careful, but the distinction is important. One means he lives and I talk Toni through ditching the dead wood over ice cream. The other means I really might need that bail money if I get caught beating the shit out of this guy.

  “You can stop with the protective brother act. Topper doesn’t need to be ‘taught a lesson’ or whatever you’re contemplating. I’ve got it handled, but I’m allowed to be bitchy about it while I cope and don’t need Mom or you trying to sort my shit for me.”

  She’s a force to be reckoned with. At only eighteen, she is more world weary, independent, and bold than most adults with years of life under their belt. You never doubt where you stand with her, which is probably what this guy couldn’t handle. Toni calls it like she sees it, whether you want to hear it or not.

  I stare out the window, watching the roller coasters go up, down, and around, with everyone screaming at the twists and turns. It feels a lot like life, and I wish I could do something to help Toni, figure out some way to make her path a little straighter and easier. But I understand wanting to solve your own problems. It’s my preference too. But someone recently told me that it’s okay to reach out for help when you need it.

  “I’m here if you need me, okay? To listen, to plot revenge, to provide an alibi, or to drive the getaway car. I’ll even buy the eggs and toilet paper or pay the hitman through an untraceable Caribbean account. You just let me know and I’ll make it happen.”

  It works the way I hoped it would, and Toni lets out a muffled laugh at my list of possible ways to handle things. “You’re the worst, Carson.”

  “You mispronounced ‘best brother ever’. And for no reason in particular, what’s Topper’s first name?” I ask.

  “Topper is his first name, and I’m not stupid enough to give you his last name.”

  I feign choking, tapping my chest with a palm for good measure as I repeat, “Topper is his first name? Holy shit, Toni. That’s a bad enough last name, or a God-awful and questionable nickname, but who names their kid ‘Topper’? I don’t even know him and I know you can do better . . . way better. Topper. What the fuck?”

  Another laugh.

  I feel like I’m helping even though she wants to deal with Topper on her own. If she won’t let me stand in front of her or beside her, at least I can help bolster her up and offer support.

  “Thanks, Carson. You really are the best.”

  “See, I knew you could say it right,” I praise, still giving her shit about calling me the worst when I’m obviously an amazing brother.

  “Shut up,” she sighs, but it sounds much better now.

  We talk a bit more, and when we hang up, she seems more like her usual perky-with-a-touch-of-crazy self. I feel a bit more centered too, even though we didn’t talk about my issue with Dad. There’s no need to, really. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. Today’s just one more instance of my not being what he wants but what he’s stuck with.

  CHAPTER 10

  JAYME

  “We did it!” I shout, rereading the email on my laptop. My eyes flick to Carson. He’s sitting at the head of the table, working on his own laptop. His black tie is loose, and he undid the button at his collar and rolled up his sleeves hours ago. When he looks up, there’s a blankness in his eyes as though he didn’t hear me or maybe didn’t process what I said.

  “We. Did. It!” I repeat, this time louder and with the addition of a shoulder shimmy shake.

  Excitement rushes through me and I can’t contain it. I stand up from the chair I’ve been poured into for hours and dance around the conference room I took over days ago as my work zone. My feet are bare, my heels long forgotten, and the carpet is stiff beneath my toes, letting me twirl and tap dance, though both are awful considering I’m neither a ballerina nor a tap dancer. But I am an excited, happy, successful woman. And that requires a victory dance.

  Carson leans back in his chair to watch me, and a smile blooms across his face, flashing his white teeth amid the dark scruff of a beard he’s grown this week as we’ve worked round the clock to do damage repair.

  “Did you hear me?” I ask, rushing for him. I spin his chair around and he lets out a whoop of surprise. “Get up and celebrate with me!”

  I grab both of his hands, pulling one then the other, forcing his body to move back and forth. It’s not quite a dance, but it’ll do.

  Carson grunts in good humor. “What are we celebrating? What’d we do?”

  I freeze, wanting to see his expression when I tell him. “We, and by we, I mean me, but I’m a team player like that, so I’ll say we . . . got Jazmyn Starr to sign on for the summer concert series. Ahh!” I let loose a playful screech of joy, glad there’s no one in the office this late because they surely would’ve already come busting in to make sure everything’s okay with the racket I’m making. “And she wants to meet with us! Just a formality for signing, so effectively . . . We. Did. It!”

  I realize I’m jumping up and down by myself while Carson looks at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind. It’s possible that I have, given the long days of back and forth I’ve had to go through to get to Jazmyn Starr’s agent’s assistant, and then the agent himself, and then for him to present the opportunity to Jazmyn. She was one hundred percent not on board at first, and getting her to listen to what we’re doing with the summer series was a process itself. I had to drop Taya’s name just to get Jazmyn’s attention.

  Annoying, frustrating, and ridiculous . . . but I did it and it worked!

  I make a mental note to send Taya a thank you basket of her favorite candy bars, 100 Grand bars. She could have fancy truffles and Swiss chocolate at the drop of a hat, but I know the one candy that reminds her of how far she’s come. She told me once that she’d see those bars at the bodega by her apartment and try to figure out how much money that was, but she couldn’t conceive of it. Now, she could spend that in a day without her bank account feeling a pinch. Plus, chocolate, caramel, and crunch? Who could turn that down? Not Taya, for sure. Though my favorite has always been Toblerone.

  “Was there ever any doubt?” Carson asks. “I knew you could do it.” He tilts my chin up with his finger, his eyes tracing my smile. He’s wearing that same look he had when he talked about his sister . . . pride. He’s proud of what we’ve done. Of what I’ve done for him and Americana Land.

  “Oh, yeah, never any doubt,” I say sarcastically, feeling warm now that I’ve stopped dancing all over the place. Or maybe it’s because I’m so close to Carson.

  “I didn’t doubt you for a second. Only wondered if Jazmyn Starr was going to see the brilliance in your idea.” His thumb glances over my jawline, up to where his fingers thread into my hair, and while my body goes utterly still, inside I feel like I’m vibrating. Holding me there, he lowers slowly, giving me time to stop him.

  I should. I know it.

  Stop. Don’t. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue but turn into ‘don’t stop’ in my mind.

  We’ve spent the last few days together, talking and laughing and planning. We’ve flirted, for sure, and I haven’t forgotten that moonlit kiss on the rock, but we’ve been so busy with actually working that we haven’t taken it further.

  Until now, when Carson is looking at me with want in his dark eyes and possession in his touch. His breath is ragged, and I can feel the tenuous restraint he has as he holds himself inches from me.

  “Jayme, I know you want me to be a good guy, and I’ve been trying so fucking hard. Trying to stay away from you even as we work side by side. But I’m reaching the end of my rope here.” His voice is hushed, rumbling in his chest as if the confession of weakness pains him.

  I don’t decide, the words just come forth . . .

  “Carson, kiss me.”

  The demand unleashes him, and he attacks my mouth with a hunger I didn’t know he was hiding. I’ve been struggling to stay professional too, fighting the urge to touch his hand or scoot my chair too close just to smell his earthy, woodsy cologne.

  But this is something else. He’s consuming me with just a kiss.

  Asking a man like him to be ‘good’ is like asking the wind not to blow or fire not to burn. It’s simply not in his nature. He’s exciting and raw, chases not butterflies but fireworks, while still doing his best for others like Barbara, Toni, and even his dad.

  He’s a heady blend of good and bad, dangerous and protective.

  And I’m lost in his intensity, matching it with a need all my own. Our tongues tangle. I wrap my arms around his waist to press my palms to his back, and his grip on my hair tightens, pulling the strands delightfully. I want to melt into him or absorb him into my body. Is there a way to do both at the same time?

  I hear my own whimper, and while I’d normally be mortified at the needy noise, I find that I don’t care. I want Carson to know how much I want him because he’s not hiding his desire from me either. I can feel his cock, hard and thick, pressed against my belly, and I grind against it.

  “Fuck, Jayme,” he groans, breaking our kiss to press his forehead to mine to simply enjoy the sensation of our bodies rubbing together. “You’re gonna make me blow in my pants like a damn teenager.”

  He grabs my hips, holding me still to buck against me. I can’t help but smile at the thought of making a man like Carson lose control. I feel powerful and sexy.

  Seeing my smile, Carson growls, “You like that? You want me to use you? Rub my cock against you until I cover you with cum?”

  His hips find a rhythm that’s driving us both crazy. Oh, shit. Carson Steen is a dirty talker, my one secret weakness.

  Too breathless to speak, I nod eagerly.

  Carson backs me up to the conference table, lifting me to sit on the edge. My skirt rides up my thighs as he steps between my knees and pulls my core to meet his cock. Even through the layers of fabric between us, the pressure against my clit feels good and I grind reflexively.

  “Yes,” I moan. “Right there.”

  “Take what you need. Tell me what you want. You know I like it when you’re bossy,” Carson whispers into my ear. A shiver works through my body, from both his hot breath and the way he celebrates all of me. He appreciates my strength and boldness and isn’t too fragile to let me shine, all the while wanting to give me pleasure.

  Brrring—brrring—brrring.

  The loud sound of the phone ringing is jarring, but Carson doesn’t let it interrupt us. He’s guiding my hips, keeping rhythm with my movements with his own hips as he thrusts against me. I want there to be nothing between us so he can slip inside and I can feel him stretch me, but I can’t stop moving long enough to take off our clothes. Not when I’m this close.

  Brrring—brrring—brrring.

  The phone rings again, and this time it breaks through our focus.

  “Motherfucker,” Carson snaps, taking the two steps away to grab the phone from the credenza at the back of the room.

  Instantly, I feel raw and vulnerable, on the edge of the table and of an orgasm. I wiggle around, getting more of my ass onto the table’s surface and pushing my skirt down so I don’t seem like the sort of wanton woman to fuck a client on the edge of a conference table. Despite having almost done so two seconds ago and considering picking up right where we left off.

  Carson’s back suddenly goes ramrod straight, and his eyes pin me in place. “Yes, I know. I appreciate it. Thank you, Ellie.”

  He hangs up the phone and then turns back around. His jaw is clenched tight and his lips are pressed into a thin line. Instead of looking at me, he scans the room. “That was Ellie, our night security guard for the admin building, reminding me that conference rooms are considered public spaces, and as such, they have security cameras that she’s unable to turn off.”

  “What?” I yelp, hopping from the table and straightening my clothes. “Oh, my God. No!”

  I look around wildly, searching for a camera. Maybe I can destroy it? I bet a good hit with the heel of my shoe would do it. I spy the small globe in the corner of the room and rush to move a chair over, climbing up with my shoe in hand. But Carson is there to stop me.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, concern etching his brows as he holds me steady in the wobbly, rolling chair. Okay, so maybe I should’ve thought this through a little more, but desperate times call for fast and decisive measures. And if risking a broken neck is what I have to do, then so be it.

  “Destroying it. You of all people know how much damage a video can do.”

  “We didn’t do anything wrong,” Carson says evenly.

  “It doesn’t matter. You know that. You didn’t do anything wrong with Abby either, but look what happened!”

  Okay, not my best moment. I might be losing it a little. But I’m having mental flashes of our almost-sex tape getting out and going viral just like the Abby Burks video did. I can’t be a PR consultant if I can’t manage my own image.

  “Get down from there,” Carson orders, his tone no-nonsense and hard. Even if I wanted to disagree, he picks me up and lowers me to the floor like I weigh nothing.

  “Carson,” I argue.

  He puts his hands on my shoulders, stilling me. “Jayme, we didn’t do anything wrong. And destroying the camera now won’t fix it. There’s no way to undo what Ellie saw.” He lets that sink in, having to wait an embarrassingly long time for his logic and rationality to sink into my panicking brain.

  I sag, finally admitting that he’s right. “Shit.”

  “Wave to Ellie?” he jokes, waving at the small camera globe I just tried to destroy. His smile is easy, as if nothing potentially reputation-ruining happened.

  “Are you serious?” I say, shaking my head at his craziness. “This is why you need me.” I soften the dig with a teasing smile.

  “Oh, I could fuck up a lot worse if that’s what it takes to keep you around,” he offers. “But I’m hoping I can find some other way to keep you coming back for more.”

  How is he flirting with me at a time like this?

  Brrring—brrring—brrring.

  The phone rings once again, and I look at it with irritation. I think Ellie is concerned we’re about to hop back on the table and give her a show. Not that I haven’t considered continuing what we were doing, but I’d at least have the decency—and brains—to go somewhere camera-free.

  But I wave at the camera above me. “Hi, Ellie. Thank you,” I tell the camera, and I imagine that somewhere in the Steen building, Ellie waves back.

  CHAPTER 11

  CARSON

  “Thank you so much for coming in for a status update meeting, everyone,” I tell my team as they shift around in their seats, filling the conference room. “Although I hate that I caused all of this, I do think we’ve found the silver lining in this particular situation. I do want to say again . . . thank you for saving my ass.”

  Jayme scowls. “I think Carson meant to say ‘reputation’, not ‘ass’, because one is the truth and the other warrants a call to HR.”