Before I can process what the hell is happening or why they’re treating me like I’m some type of royal, a man in a suit clears his throat on my left.

  “You’ll need to sign off every fifth page of that stack, Miss Jane,” he says. “I’ve earmarked them with yellow post-it notes to make things easier. I’ll be downstairs in the lobby to take them the moment that you’re done.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to walk me through the terms to make sure I’m receiving a fair deal?”

  “With all due respect, Miss Jane,” he says, setting a pen next to the stack, “God himself couldn’t craft a better deal than this one. You just need to sign.”

  He walks away, and when I look over at the dining area, I notice that all the other patrons are long gone.

  The room is empty.

  What the…

  Two servers move near the windows, watching my every move, waiting for me to make a request.

  I push away the salad. Then I pull the sheets closer.

  Nate’s signature is already present on the pages, ready and waiting for mine.

  Don’t think about it, Autumn. Just get this over with.

  Clicking the pen, I take my time reading, quickly realizing that my new lawyer is correct.

  This is one hell of a deal.

  I’ll receive the BMW Nate took away from me, two hundred thousand from his savings account, and generous stock options with his company. Half of his boastful art collection that stands in a private gallery is now mine, and he’ll have to pay me for something called “years of lost opportunity.”

  I squint to read the fine print.

  Nathaniel Taylor will compensate Autumn Jane for four years

  of lost opportunity from Mayfield Musical Arts College.

  Mr. Taylor promised to cover Miss Jane’s tuition upon his firm’s success.

  This offer was never fulfilled during the marriage.

  My heart aches at the memory of that broken promise I’ve tried to forget over the years. All of the times Nate said, “You don’t need college anymore,” or “You’re already a master at playing violin, no need to waste money studying more of it,” while holding his education over my head.

  Mr. Walsh previously told me that asking for something like that would be a long shot, and now a part of me feels slightly less guilty about his demise.

  I reread the clause a few more times before pressing my pen against the dotted line.

  Ten pages later, a post-it note asks if I want to fight for the house, but I crumple it between my fingertips.

  I have no desire to ever return, let alone own that place.

  As I’m signing the last page, I hear a deep and familiar voice.

  “You’re so fucking naïve, Autumn.” Nate is standing across from me, holding papers of his own. “I mean, Jesus Christ. You deserve everything that you’re about to get in life.”

  “We really don’t have to talk anymore, Nate.” I stand to my feet, relieved. “The deal is done.”

  “Yours is just beginning,” he says. “Enjoy repaying whatever devil you called to arrange this deal.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s the same one you know.”

  “Can’t be,” he hisses. “I don’t know anyone who plays this fucking dirty.”

  “So, he’s mafia?”

  “He’s Satan.” He shakes his head. “Whoever the fuck he is, anyway. You should know all about him, right?”

  I raise my eyebrow. I’m convinced that we’re not discussing Ryder at this moment.

  Before I can take the last word, his mistress rounds the bar and loops her arm in his.

  “I don’t know why you waited so long to accept the divorce terms,” she says. “He’s been trying his hardest to handle things, and you’ve made the past few weeks really hard on us.”

  I cross my arms, tempted to pinch myself and see if I’ve crossed into another reality.

  She’s wearing a ‘Freshman Year Forever’ sweatshirt…

  “You had me thinking he was lying about being separated from you.” She narrows her eyes at me. “He didn’t want to tell me that you even existed because you’re clearly a bitch.”

  “You’re not even old enough to be in a place like this,” I say. “You should stay quiet when the adults are talking.”

  Her cheeks flush red, but she speaks again. “Why do you think you deserve so much money from him? You could leave him and be happy with all he’s done for you.”

  I roll my eyes and look at Nate. “What was that you were saying about me being naïve?”

  “My point remains the same.” He grits his teeth. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing. Then again, marrying me will probably be the only good decision you ever make in your life. You’re welcome.”

  Fuck you.

  The last word isn’t worth it with him. Or her.

  Refusing to waste another second of my life in their presence, I pick up the divorce papers and head to the elevator.

  As the car makes its way down to the lobby, I tap my finger against the very first page I signed.

  The ink doesn’t smudge at all.

  I’m fucking free.

  When the doors open, my new lawyer stands to his feet.

  “That was quick.” He holds out his hand for the files, flipping through the pages to double-check my work.

  “Great job, Miss Jane,” he says. “I’ll have these finalized by the court as soon as possible, and I’ll be in touch with my contact about any remaining issues.”

  “You’ll contact Ryder about my divorce instead of me?”

  “I’ll contact Mr. Rochester.” He looks upset that I used his first name. “And yes, him instead of you. It’s not personal, and congratulations on sealing a good deal.”

  “Any last bit of legal advice or well-wishes?”

  “Yeah,” he says, taking his pen from my hand. “I have a huge piece of advice for you, Miss Jane.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Good.” He steps closer. Then he looks over his shoulder and lowers his voice. “Run.”

  “What?”

  “Do it now before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  He runs out of the front door without warning, sending familiar goosebumps up and down my skin.

  I can’t bear to let him get away.

  I chase him through the parking lot, weaving through rows of luxury cars before catching him as he slides behind the wheel of a silver Mercedes. “Hey, wait!”

  He tries to slam his door shut, but I grab the handle.

  “Let go, Miss Jane.” He cranks the engine. “Please let go.”

  “I need to know why everyone I come in contact with seems to be afraid of Ry—Mr. Rochester.” I pause. “Can you finally just tell me?”

  He looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

  “No.” I hold on to his handle a little tighter. “I promise that I’m not.”

  He taps his fingers against the steering wheel, looking torn between illuminating my suspicions and leaving me in the dark.

  “He’s a client of mine.” He settles on the fucking obvious. “A very important client.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  “I already told you to run.” He swats my hand away. “That’s all I need to say.”

  Later that night, I tape three newspaper articles onto my living room wall.

  Rochester Estate Tragedy

  Rochester Holdings to Host Private Symphony

  Edward Rochester Amongst Local Donors

  Those articles are hanging next to thirteen others, below a list of questions, and a column of names that stand out on bright pink post-its:

  Nate.

  Odette’s.

  Uber.

  Mr. Walsh.

  I have yet to see any connections or gain any insights.

  Everything I’ve copied is a hodgepodge of information that leads to no place new.

  How long has Ryder known my name?

  I write that question down on a new post-it, and my doorbell rings.

  “Coming!” I pick up the tip for the pizza guy.

  “I don’t have change for a twenty, so—” I stop talking when I open the door.

  It’s Ryder.

  “Hello.” He smiles. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  “Yeah, actually.” I pull the door shut behind me. “I’m in the middle of something personal.”

  “Oh?” He raises his eyebrow. “Same thing as last night?”

  “No.” I swallow. “It’s a… romance novel I’ve been meaning to finish.”

  “Is it a good story so far?”

  “I’ll let you know after I figure out the hero.”

  “Please do.” He pulls a pen from his pocket and hands it to me. “My lawyer wasn’t supposed to take this from you. He always gifts his favorite clients the signing pen at the end.”

  “Will I receive a picture of him bloodied and bruised in my car tomorrow morning?”

  He tilts his head to the side. “Was he inappropriate with you today?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Not at all.”

  “Then, no.” He smiles. “He’ll be fine.”

  “Are you Satan, Ryder?”

  “Some people think so.” He looks amused. “If you agree with them, feel free to go inside and delete my number. I’ll happily leave you alone forever.”

  “You mean that?”

  “No.”

  Silence.

  I stare at him, feeling compelled to move closer, not the slightest bit concerned or worried.

  He takes the lead and closes the gap between us, running his fingers through my hair. “For what it’s worth, regardless of who I am, you’re better off with me, and I think we both know that.”

  From the way he’s looking into my eyes, I’m tempted to invite him inside, but I can’t risk him seeing that he’s the subject of my makeshift research project.

  “Thank you for your help, Ryder,” I say, attempting to kill some of the tension. “I mean, again.”

  “You’re beyond welcome, again.” His fingers are still entwined in my hair. “How much longer do I have to wait for you to officially move on?”

  “Depends on how long it takes you to ask if I want you or not.”

  His lips curve into another devastating smile. “Come again?”

  “I need you to ask me if I’m interested in you, not just assume.”

  “Okay, Autumn.” He tilts my chin up with his fingertips. “Is it okay if I show you the type of man you belong with?”

  “That’s not the question I’m looking for.”

  “Yes, it is.” He caresses my cheek. “Is that okay with you?”

  “I don’t have any more love to waste, Ryder.”

  “It’s a bit early for love.” His touch sends a jolt through my body. “Am I that charming?”

  “I can’t be with another man who hurts me or keeps secrets.” I pause, looking deep into his eyes. “Can you tell me how you already knew my name, or how you crossed paths with my husband?”

  “No.” His voice is terse, but he quickly softens it. “I can’t ever tell you that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you just said that you don’t want me to hurt you… I won’t.”

  Before I can say another word, he presses his lips against mine, rendering me speechless and thoughtless all at once.

  I shut my eyes as he grips my waist, as he pulls me flush against his chest and shatters every fantasy I’ve ever had about kissing him.

  Sliding his tongue between my lips, he makes it more than clear that his mouth was made for mine. That my kisses belong to him.

  I let out a moan as I wrap my arms around his neck, waiting for him to demand more, but I can taste his restraint. He’s not pushing things with me, not right now.

  “We’ll have to finish this some other time,” he whispers as he pulls away, leaving me wet and bereft. “I only came over to say that I need you to start your job with me this weekend.”

  “And if I still need time to consider your offer?”

  “Friday. Eight o’clock in the morning.”

  “Did you not hear what I just said?”

  “Wear a black dress and pack a bag for the weekend.”

  “After I explore my other options, I’ll give you my availability.”

  “I’ll call at six to wake you up.” He presses his lips against mine again, instantly killing my weak argument with another soft yet tempting kiss.

  This time, when he pulls back, he looks as if he’s tempted to stay. “Enjoy reading the rest of your romance novel. Goodnight, Autumn.”

  “One last thing I need to know,” I say. “Are any parts of my job illegal?”

  “I’ll never let you go to jail.”

  What? “It’s a yes or no question.”

  “It’s a trust me.” He looks as if he’s about to say something more, but his cell phone sounds in his pocket.

  Keeping his eyes on me, he holds it up to his ear.

  “Yes?” He pauses. “How much is it off by?… I see.” He clenches his jaw. “No, that’s okay. I’ll handle it personally.”

  He ends the call.

  “Change of plans,” he says. “You need to start a little sooner.”

  “You mean, like Thursday?”

  “I mean, like tonight.”

  End of Episode 16

  Episode 17

  Ryder

  Autumn is still standing in her open doorway, her chestnut brown hair tousled all over her head, her deep brown eyes staring into mine.

  Her puffy pink lips are moving a mile a minute, pitching me another set of questions that I have no desire to answer.

  I should’ve called you instead of coming over…

  The more I stare at her, the more I see how immense of an issue the two of us will be. How I should walk away and leave her abandoned in this world she knows, instead of pulling her into the realm of mine.

  Then again, we’ve had far too many “coincidences” at this point, and I’ve never been this attracted to any other woman before.

  I’ve never been this intrigued either…

  “Did you hear what I just said, Ryder?” Her raspy voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

  “No,” I say. “I need you to repeat it.”

  “I said, bosses don’t typically expect their new employee to start a new job within hours.”

  “This isn’t a typical job.”

  “I’m sensing that.” She bites her bottom lip. “I would like some details first.”

  Of course you would.

  I check my watch. “Invite me inside and we can talk about it.”

  “You can tell me right here.”

  “Inside would be better.”

  “You’re the one who wants me to do something for you, Ryder,” she says, defiant. “I have the upper hand.”

  “Is that so?” I smile at her, and her cheeks flush red.

  I’m not used to anyone pushing back on my requests, and if she were anyone else, this conversation would’ve ended long ago.

  “I’m aware that you temporarily have the ‘upper hand,’ Autumn,” I say, noticing her nipples hardening through her blouse. “Hence why I’m telling you to invite me inside, so I can happily re-balance things between us before you start working under me.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re referring to ‘talking’ at all right now.”

  “I’m not.”

  Silence.

  She grabs the door handle, but her eyes suddenly widen and she pulls it shut.

  “Is there someone else in your house?” I ask.

  “No, it’s—” She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to see my place right now.”

  “And why is that?”

  “It’s messy.”

  “It was messy when I came in the other night.”

  “I mean, it’s messier.” She clears her throat. “Far messier.”

  I can tell she’s lying, but I let it go.

  “Okay, Autumn,” I say, running my fingers through her hair, sensing that she’s done resisting for now. “I’ll send a car to pick you up in two hours. Same terms I mentioned earlier apply. Do I need to remind you?”

  “Black dress and a bag for the weekend,” she says. “Bail money, optional.”

  “You’re not going to jail, Autumn.”

  “What if I don’t own a black dress?”

  “I’ll take you shopping.” I slide my hand down to her neck, and a soft moan escapes her lips. “Do I need to do that?”

  “No…” She shakes her head. “I was just wondering.”

  “Let me know if that ever changes.” I step back. “It’s a dark grey Mercedes AMG, and the driver shouldn’t say anything except ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ to you.”

  “Noted.” She looks as if she wants to say something more, but she holds back.

  Stealing one last glance at her face, I return to my car and slide behind the wheel. I speed out of the parking lot and head toward my estate before I can reconsider things.

  She’s definitely going to be a problem.

  When I pull onto the highway, I call my lawyer.

  “Yes, Mr. Rochester?” he answers before it can fully ring.

  “When will the funds from Miss Jane’s divorce be made available to her?”

  “Standard time,” he says. “Ninety days or less. The luxury car will be returned to her by that time, as well. I’m working on the title transfer and the other things you requested.”

  “And the divorce is final?”

  “Yes, sir. One hundred percent.”

  “Good.” I switch lanes.

  “Is that why you called me, sir?”

  “No, I need you to represent someone who’s doing a side project for me,” I say. “He’s been slightly sloppy about hiding his face, and he didn’t get around to disabling a security system in time.” I pause for a few seconds. “He’ll be hit with some unfortunate charges, I’m sure, but I don’t want him to serve a single second behind bars or suffer a blemish on his record. Are we clear?”

  “I already handled the, uh…” His voice trembles. “The guy who assaulted Miss Jane’s previous lawyer. He’s all clear.”

  “This is a different guy.” I check the time on my dashboard, mentally calculating when Nate Taylor will pull into his garage and come closer than ever to serving his time in Hell.