Chapter 2

Fletcher broke the kiss as violently as he had started it.

He tore his mouth away. His chest heaved against hers. His breathing was heavy and ragged. His dark eyes were locked onto her swollen lips, burning with a raw, terrifying intensity.

Elodie's mind went entirely blank. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She gripped the lapels of his shirt, trying to ground herself. She desperately tried to pull oxygen back into her burning lungs.

A loud, piercing buzz shattered the silence.

The elevator doors had been open too long. The mechanical alarm echoed through the empty hallway.

Fletcher flinched. He took a sudden half-step back. His hands dropped from her hair. He reached up and adjusted his shirt collar. In the span of a single second, the fire in his eyes vanished. The ice returned. His face became a perfect, unreadable mask.

The whiplash made Elodie dizzy. A hot flush of humiliation crept up her neck. It felt as if the desperate kiss had only happened in her imagination.

She took a deep breath. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached into her Birkin bag. She pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope. The gold foil edges caught the dim hallway light.

"My Grandma Eleanora is hosting her charity gala on the Upper East Side this weekend," Elodie said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. She held the invitation out to him. "I want you to come with me. As my date."

Fletcher stared at the heavy paper. His eyes traced the intricate McCarthy family crest embossed on the front. A microscopic sneer pulled at the corner of his mouth.

He didn't reach for it.

"Are you sure you want a broke startup guy dragging down your family's reputation?" he asked. His voice was devoid of emotion.

Elodie's stomach dropped. She reached out and grabbed his wrist. His skin was warm, but the muscles beneath were rigid.

"She wants to meet you," Elodie pleaded. "I don't care what anyone else thinks. I just want you there."

Fletcher looked down at her pale fingers wrapped around his arm. The silence stretched. One second. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He slowly pulled his arm out of her grasp. He took the envelope from her hand.

"I'll be there on time," he said. His tone was as flat as a dial tone.

Elodie let out a shaky breath. A wave of profound relief washed over her. She offered him a fragile, hopeful smile and stepped backward into the elevator.

The doors slid shut.

Fletcher turned on his heel. He walked back into the office. He marched straight to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and tossed the gold-foiled invitation inside. He slammed it shut.

Downstairs, the elevator doors opened to the main lobby.

Elodie stepped out and stopped dead in her tracks. The sky had cracked open. A torrential downpour was washing over Manhattan. Thick sheets of rain pounded against the pavement.

She didn't have an umbrella. She walked over to the massive floor-to-ceiling glass wall of the lobby. She crossed her arms, shivering slightly as she waited for her driver to pull the Maybach around.

Bored, she turned her head to look at the outdoor patio area attached to the side of the building.

Through the rain-streaked glass, she saw him.

Fletcher was standing outside. He was holding a large black umbrella.

And he wasn't alone.

Dani stood right beside him under the dark canopy. She was holding two steaming paper cups of coffee. She tilted her head back, laughing at something. Her face was bright and glowing.

Fletcher's expression was still stoic, but he didn't move away. He didn't put an inch of distance between them.

Elodie watched as Dani casually reached out. The younger woman brushed a stray raindrop off the shoulder of Fletcher's shirt. Her fingers lingered on his fabric.

Fletcher didn't flinch. He didn't pull away like he had done with Elodie upstairs. He just looked down at Dani and said something. They looked comfortable. Intimate.

Elodie's fingers clamped down on the handles of her Birkin. Her knuckles turned bone-white. Her nails dug into the leather.

The memory of him dodging her touch in the conference room flashed in her mind. The contrast was a physical knife twisting in her gut.

A loud horn blared.

The black Maybach pulled up to the curb.

Elodie tore her eyes away from the umbrella. She pushed through the revolving doors and sprinted through the rain. She threw herself into the backseat of the car.

The heat was blasting inside the luxurious cabin, but Elodie felt freezing cold. Her teeth chattered. She pulled her phone from her purse and opened her text thread with Fletcher.

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

What are you doing?

She stared at the words. Her chest ached. After a long, agonizing minute, she hit the backspace button. She deleted the message.

The Maybach merged into the heavy Brooklyn traffic. Elodie stared out the wet window. A dark, ugly seed of doubt had just taken root deep in her chest.