The Devil Wears Black

CHAPTER FOUR

CHASE

First thing I’d noticed about Madison Goldbloom when I’d hit on her in Croquis’s elevator? Her beautiful hazel eyes.

Okay. Fine. It was her tits. Sue me.

To anyone else, they were probably average, pleasant-looking tits. They were even modestly tucked inside a perfectly sensible, albeit visually offensive white turtleneck with a tacky lipstick pattern all over it. But they were so perky—so goddamn erect and round—I couldn’t help but note they were the perfect size for my palms.

In order to test that theory, I had to wine and dine her first. Since nature all but conned me to pursue her, I took Madison to one of Manhattan’s finest restaurants that same evening and spared no expense—nor compliment—for the sake of my palm-to-tit ratio research.

(Which turned out to be a success. Science, baby. Never failed.)

Madison was smaller than the average human being, which was preferable, seeing as I hated people, so the less there was of them, the better. Alas, this specific person was a honey trap. Because what she lacked in size, she made up for with enthusiasm. She was perky and charitable and got breathless when she spoke about things she was passionate about. She cooed at babies and patted dogs on the street and made eye contact with strangers on the subway. She was in-your-face alive in ways I wasn’t accustomed to or comfortable with, and that didn’t sit well with me.

As for her clothes . . . part of me wanted to take them off her because they were horrendous, and it had nothing to do with the sex part.

It was never supposed to be more than a fling. The thought of it exceeding the shelf life of a week hadn’t even crossed my mind. My relationships typically coordinated their expiration dates with my milk cartons. In my thirty-one years of existence prior to meeting her, I’d only had one girlfriend, and it had ended in a farce that reminded me that humans, as a concept, were faulty and unpredictable and, although unavoidable, should be kept at arm’s length.

Then came Madison Goldbloom, and poof! Girlfriend number two materialized. If we were being technical here, she didn’t earn the title. She stole it.

Mad and I went out the evening I’d met her (the no-fraternization rule didn’t apply since we technically didn’t work in the same company). She had very big, very brown-green-whatever eyes rimmed by brown and gold speckles, a pixie haircut that gave her a dramatic, will-slowly-steal-your-heart-if-you’re-not-careful Daisy Buchanan look, and lips so full and pillowy I got a semi every time they moved.

Which was every time she spoke.

Which was a whole fucking lot.

After I slept with Mad on the first date, we texted back and forth. She told me she didn’t normally sleep with first dates and that she would like to take it slow. Which, of course, made me want to sleep with her again almost immediately. I did just that. The third time we texted, she threw her rules out the window and began to play according to mine. Before I knew it, we got into a comfortable arrangement of eating dinner together, followed by having sex. This arrangement occurred frequently during the week. In hindsight, too frequently. It was the tits, and the fact that underneath her (I cannot stress this enough) truly horrid clothes, she wore sexy chemises and matching lingerie.

Perhaps I was not entirely without fault when it came to setting the tone for our extended fling. At some point, I made a strategic error. It made logistical sense Madison would have access to my apartment. Having her at my disposal was convenient, and buzzing her up constantly grated on my nerves. No emotions were involved while making the decision to give Mad a spare key. My housekeeper and PA had one, too, and I was not in danger of proposing to either of them. In fact, I changed PAs as often as I did underwear.

And just for clarification, I was a highly hygienic person.

As for occasionally taking Madison to the movies—I genuinely wanted to watch whatever we went to see. Sue me for being a Guillermo del Toro and Tarantino fan. It wasn’t like we cuddled in the theater or even shared popcorn (she poured a bag of M&M’S into her bucket of popcorn on our first outing to the movies. That should have been my first clue the woman was raised in the wilderness).

It took me five months to find out I was in a relationship. Mad was the person to point it out to me. She did it in a sly, adorable way. Not unlike a Care Bear with a butcher’s knife. Said her father was in town the week after the next and asked if I wanted to meet him.

“Why would I want to meet him?” I asked conversationally. Why, in-fucking-deed. Her answer made my whiskey go down the wrong pipe. The same Scottish single malt I’d been sipping at a friend’s party I’d taken her to, not because we were dating but because it was less hassle than making the journey to her place when I was done.

“Well, because you’re my boyfriend.” She batted her eyelashes, cradling her cosmo cocktail like she was a tourist trying to live her best Carrie Bradshaw life.

(Note to self: She was a tourist. She’d grown up in Pennsylvania. I should have checked if I could deport her back there, although at this stage, it had been way past fourteen business days.)

It was in that come-meet-my-dad moment that I realized I hadn’t screwed anyone else since I’d met Madison, and I didn’t have any desire to do so in the near future (voodoo vagina). And that we spoke regularly on the phone (even when we didn’t, technically, have much to say to each other). And that we had sex all the time (I was attached to a dick; enough said). And that I naturally assumed my weekend plans included her (again—I was attached to a dick).

That, coupled with the fact I brought her over to see my parents at Christmas, was how things started getting serious and not at all fling-like.

More specifically—how they crashed and burned, setting my entire life philosophy on dumpster fire. I was now officially taken and with a girlfriend, two things I’d promised myself would never happen again. So I did what I had to do to remove Madison Goldbloom from my life. Got rid of her Band-Aid-style, once and for all.

I thought we were over.

Done for good.

I wanted to be done with the little, mouthy, sex-on-atrocious-Babette-shoes woman who thought wearing petticoats at twenty-six was adorable, as opposed to deranged.

Then my father had thrown a burning curveball straight into my hands, and here I was, tossing it from side to side, actively spending time with Madison. Doing the very thing I’d vowed not to do.

“You’re here!” Mom pounced on my windshield like a frenzied kangaroo as I parked the Tesla by the Hamptons estate. Madison jolted awake from her slumber beside me. She patted her chin to see if she was drooling—she was—and sat up, rearranging her pearl headband.

Rather than offering her a few seconds to get ready, I did what any other world-class dick would do and shoved my door open and rounded the car to hug my mother.

“How was traffic?” Mom’s french-manicured nails dug into my shoulders. She peppered kisses across my face, thinly concealing her eager peeks into the car. She was quivering with barely restrained excitement.

“Bearable.”

“I hope Madison didn’t mind the traffic.”

“She loves traffic jams. They’re her favorite hobby.”

Right after trapping innocent men into relationships.

Anyway, since when was Madison above trivial inconveniences such as traffic? That was what happened when you never brought anyone home. The first so-called partner I had, and my parents treated her like the Second Coming of Jesus.

I opened Madison’s door, helping her out of the car but really thrusting her right into reality’s arms. She shimmied her pencil skirt down, trying to make a graceful exit.

Mom tackled Madison like a professional linebacker, plastering her to the car. To her credit, Mad played the part of a happy fiancée semiconvincingly. Meaning she was awkward but not above her usual gracelessness. After they squealed at each other, Mom examined her engagement ring from all angles, oohing and aahing like it was the first time she’d seen a diamond in her life. It was a nice piece from the Black & Co. exclusive line. I’d asked for the most stupidly expensive, generic thing they had. Something that said the fiancé is rich but also and knows nothing about his bride-to-be. Something perfect for the two of us.

“I hope you don’t mind, but it’ll be a smaller event. We haven’t had much time to prepare since Ronan . . .” My mother trailed off, apologizing to Madison.

Madison shook her head almost hysterically. “No, no. I totally get it. The fact that you’re doing anything at all considering the circumstances is . . . ah . . .” She looked around herself. “Amazing, really.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll still be the belle of the ball.” I patted Madison’s shoulder, looking down at her with the warmth of a butter knife. I might or might not have watched several Hallmark movies in order to mimic a loving fiancé. As I’d been jogging on the treadmill. Real talk, the cardio was the only reason I hadn’t fallen asleep during the BS overload.

“You’re too kind.” Madison put her hand over mine on her shoulder, squeezing it in the hopes of breaking a few bones.

I bit back a smirk. “Never too kind for you.”

“Oh, stop it.” She smiled tightly. “Really,” she stressed.

Mom looked between us, basking in whatever she thought she was witnessing and clapping her hands together. “Look at you two!”

Although Madison did not do anything overtly bad to fuck things up, she was far from Oscar-worthy in the loving-fiancée department. She tucked her head down whenever she was asked a question that needed to be answered with a lie. Her cheeks were so beetroot red I thought her head was about to explode. And she regarded me with polite, fake enthusiasm, like I was bad macaroni art made by a particularly distracted child.

“Katie is dying to see you, and I don’t think you’ve met Julian, Chase’s older brother, and his wife, Amber, yet. They weren’t with us last Christmas. They celebrated with Amber’s family in Wisconsin,” Mom blabbed, snatching Madison’s hand and leading her into the house after ten painful minutes. “Clementine, their daughter, is such a peach.”

“Sounds fruity,” Mad squeaked, getting whisked away by Mom without sparing me another glance.

Sounds fruity.She’d actually said that. I’d been inside this woman at some point. What in the holy fuck had I been thinking?

Two uniformed employees materialized from the entrance, rushing to carry Madison’s suitcase. I directed them to the room we were going to share—yes, share—glancing at the golf cart by the Tesla. I entertained the idea of heading straight to the golf course to interrupt Julian and Dad, then thought better of it. I wasn’t some hysterical preteen begging to be included. Besides, I had to go upstairs and work the Madison angle. Prep her before she met the rest of the Black clan.

My father had the uncanny ability to see past bullshit and dissect situations and dynamics successfully. I wouldn’t put it past him to call me out on this engagement if he noticed my bride was contemplating murdering me with a steak knife. Yes, I decided. The crap with Julian could wait. It wasn’t like we were going to go for each other’s throat near Dad, anyway.

Reluctantly, I headed to our room on the left wing of the estate. The side reserved for immediate family. Julian and his family resided in the right wing. The official reason was because they needed more space. If it were three years ago, I’d have bought it. Not now, though. Now, Julian felt like an outsider through and through.

I found Madison caught in a mindless conversation with Katie and Mom in our room. Amber was probably taking a bubble bath somewhere in the mansion, trying the latest skin-care fad. Koala blood or turtle shit or whatever it was she smeared on her face to appear younger. The women in my family were still holding Madison’s hand hostage in turns, cooing at the engagement ring like it was a newborn. Clearing my throat, I stepped inside and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

The gesture didn’t feel familiar or pleasant. I’d never done it before, even when we were seeing each other. Madison had slim, narrow shoulders, something I’d never truly noticed before. It didn’t feel right, the weight of my entire arm on this woman. Other men obviously didn’t have partners Mad’s size, or they’d bury them completely. How I’d been able to be on top of this girl several times a week was a mystery to me. She looked so fragile standing next to me in that moment. I decided not to put the full weight of my arm on her shoulders, which resulted in my arm sort of hanging in the air an inch from her body. It was inconvenient, but she was tiny.

So tiny she couldn’t possibly count as an entire person.

I technically only had half an ex-girlfriend.

Just admit you had a fucking girlfriend, you full-size piece of shit.

“I was just asking Maddie how come we haven’t seen her for so long.” Katie turned to face me, fiddling with the pearls on her neck. She was tall for a woman, with long dark hair and an impeccably malnourished figure she liked to wrap in elegant dresses. She was the type of person to blend in with the furniture and take up as little space as possible. The opposite of small, olive-skinned, chatterbox Madison.

“You mean grilling her,” I corrected. I didn’t want my fake fiancée to be under unnecessary scrutiny. Her lying game was probably as weak as her fashion sense. Katie recoiled visibly, insulted by my dig, and I immediately felt like a douchebag. For all my resentment of romantic relationships, I was usually a decent human to my family.

“Thank you, Chase. I can take care of myself.” Madison smiled tightly.

And you might need to with the asexual fool you’re dating.

“You’re right, sweetheart. I know firsthand how good you are at taking care of yourself.” I elevated a suggestive eyebrow, referring to the arsenal of sex toys I’d once found in her kitchen drawer while looking for a spoon for my coffee. (“I’m space efficient, okay?” she’d yelled. “This is a studio apartment!”) Madison, as predicted, turned crimson in a second.

“Self-care is important.” She looked up at the ceiling, presumably trying not to combust.

“Preach, sister.” Katie sighed, our innuendos flying over her head. “I’m thinking of going back to therapy now that we found out about Dad.”

Mad’s eyes dropped back to Katie, her face crumpling from horrified to sad. “Oh, honey.” She touched my sister’s arm. “You should do whatever it takes to put yourself in the best state of mind. I think it’s a great idea.”

“Did you go to therapy? During . . . ? After . . . ?” Katie asked hopefully. My sister was a little older than Madison and yet ten times more naive. I chalked it up to a sheltered upbringing, combined with the luxury of never knowing true hardship.

“Well, I couldn’t really afford it.” Madison scrunched her nose, making Katie’s eyes bulge out with horror. Yeah. She forgot shrinks were a perk not everyone could afford. “But I had my dad. And anyway, lots of family, so . . .” She shrugged.

There was an awkward pause in which Katie probably felt like dying, I felt like killing someone, and Madison . . . who the heck knew what she felt at that moment?

“Well”—Mom clapped with a cheerful smile, snapping us out of our reverie—“let’s leave you lovebirds alone to settle in. We’re having a late snack at ten. Nothing formal, just a bit of food and a chat. We’d love to have you, if you are not too tired.”

Mom gave Madison one last hand squeeze before dragging my sister out of the room and closing the door behind us.

I removed my arm from Mad’s shoulders at the same time she swiveled toward me, stomping on my foot with all her might. It took a second to register her foot was on mine. She weighed practically nothing. Most of it was fabric and accessories she’d probably found in a Claire’s discount basket.

“We’re not staying in the same room.” She wiggled her finger in my face. I began to loosen my tie, sauntering into the walk-in closet, in which a full-blown wardrobe was waiting for me, appropriate for all seasons. I knew she’d follow.

“Fact-check that statement, Madison, because it looks like we are.”

“This place has like three hundred rooms.” She was at my heels, waving her arm around.

“Twelve,” I corrected, opening the watch drawer. Rolex or Cartier? The least heavy one was the right answer, in case there was more shoulder hugging. I knew I’d have to at least pretend to like her in front of my old man, and touching her was, unfortunately, a part of the charade. If he’d be half as happy as Mom and Katie were to see her, my place in heaven was secure.

God, I hope they serve booze there.

“Still enough for me to sleep elsewhere.” Madison jutted a hip against the shelves in my periphery. Narrow waist. Wide hips. Not disproportionately so, like that reality-TV family of human clones. She was deliciously feminine. Everything about her delicate and small and round. I wondered if that Dr. Goody Two-Shoes appreciated that about her.

“Why would two lovebirds like us sleep in separate bedrooms?” I closed the drawer, beginning to undress. I trusted Mad could turn around if she felt offended by my partial nudity. Not that it was something she hadn’t seen before. Up close.

“Lots of reasons,” she said breathlessly, snapping her fingers together. “Celibacy. Let’s pretend I’m saving myself for marriage.”

“Sweetheart, you sang your carols in the pantry, Jacuzzi, three of the bedrooms, and the pool when we stayed here last Christmas. Your virtue couldn’t find its way back to your body with a map, a compass, and a GPS.”

“They heard us?” Her eyes widened, and she blushed again. Admittedly, she was a cute blusher. She had apple cheeks and a soft jawline. Too bad she also had the ability to trick me into commitment when I wasn’t paying attention.

“Yes, my family heard us. People in Maine did too.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Now, now, we celebrated JC’s birthday, but it was me who did all the dirty work.”

“I don’t recall you complaining.”

“A bit hard, since my mouth was strategically placed between your legs.”

She swatted my bare chest before turning around and pacing back and forth. She linked her fingers behind her neck as I continued to strip down to my briefs, flexing every muscle in my body. I was not above vanity (in truth, I was not above most things).

“I’m not sharing a bed with you.” She shook her head. Stopped. Pointed at the floor. “You’re welcome to the carpet.”

Resisting the urge to ask her if she meant another round with the one between her legs, I bowed my head. “Not sure you are aware, Mad, but it is possible for two people to sleep in the same bed without having sex. Cases of that have been recorded throughout history.”

“Not where you are concerned.” She gave me the stink eye, ignoring my state of undress. Fair point. I wasn’t used to her calling the shots or refusing me in general. Back when we were dating, Madison went with the flow and danced to my tune.

She definitely wasn’t doing that now, and I didn’t know what to make of it.

I was going to launch into another counterargument when she began to unzip her suitcase and fling her clothes out of it. They landed on the floor in a heap of patterned fabrics. Perfect to start a bonfire.

“You’re not going to convince me otherwise, Chase, so I suggest you just make yourself comfortable on the floor with a pillow and a blanket. I will not hesitate to go back home if you don’t respect my boundaries.”

“With what car, exactly?”

“Uber, if need be. Don’t test me, Chase. I am not your prisoner.”

“Nor was I yours,” I muttered.

“Excuse me?” She snapped her head up.

“Funny, I didn’t know you were into that.”

“Into what?”

“Respecting boundaries.”

“When did I not respect your boundaries?” Her eyes were so wide I could see my entire reflection in them.

When you made me your boyfriend without my consent.

I realized, even as I said that internally, how carnally pussy it sounded. I could have walked out of my relationship with Madison at any given moment. I’d chosen to stay. I chose her superior baking skills and the excellent fucks and the comfort of deleting hookup apps over my principles.

I also chose to screw it all up.

I made a rough calculation. If I cheated on her, she’d go away, then come back eventually (they all did), and we’d fall into a more casual, no-strings-attached arrangement. I wasn’t a total pig. I’d move her into a nicer place, get her nice things. I just didn’t want to settle down. The mere term bothered me. Settle. You settled for an ugly car to make sure it was secure enough for your family. You settled for a boring date so you could fuck her at the end of the night. You did not settle when it came to your entire goddamn existence.

Thing was, Mad never came back. She blew up, broke up with me, and left for good. She did end up sending me a birthday present, though, in the form of a bag of Daisy’s hair balls and her latest vet bill (which, let it be known, I was enough of a good sport to pay). I still remembered the note she’d added to the invoice.

Chase,

I got Daisy spayed. I think we can both agree nothing that comes from you should ever reproduce. Feel free to pay this at your earliest convenience.

—Madison

Back in reality—in our shared room—I felt my jaw tightening. I answered Madison through clenched teeth. “Fine. If you are so worried about grinding your ass against my crotch at night, I’ll sleep on the carpet.”

“Thank you.” Her lips puckered. She was fighting a smile, I realized. Why would she smile? I noticed my ears felt hot. I resisted the urge to touch them. I wasn’t blushing. This was a fact. I never blushed.

“Stop looking at me.” I tapered my eyes, throwing a bath towel over my shoulder.

“Stop pointing at me.” She went back to tossing her horrendous dresses out of her suitcase, biting down a smile. Point at her? Was she crazy?

I looked down.

Oh.

Oh.

I turned around, rearranging myself through my Armani briefs, thinking, Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Yeah, I know.” She sighed behind my back. “That’s usually what you think about when your body reacts this way.”

I’d said that aloud? What in the ever-loving hell was wrong with me?

“Go make yourself presentable,” I muttered, stomping my way to the shower before I did more female things. Like blushing again, or maybe fucking swooning in her arms. “And for the love of God, try not to wear anything patterned.”

She wore a patterned outfit, head to toe.

Her black heels had little white cross prints, her dress was flowery, and she had a checkered headband. She’d done that thing I fucking loved with her hair. Her bangs were iron straight, but the rest of her short hair was messily wavy and falling over her face and neck like a waterfall.

Her style reminded me of her apartment. A crowded, color-clashing mess that looked like a piñata full of secondhand furniture and bad decisions had exploded inside. I wouldn’t call her a hoarder per se, but her apartment didn’t look pretty. It was possible Madison Goldbloom was the most sentimental person on planet Earth. She collected everything, including—but not limited to—flowerpots, fabrics, sketches, postcards, wedding invitations, hair elastics, touristy knickknacks, a poodle-shaped mannequin made solely from wine bottle caps, and even a Prince-shaped Chia Pet.

Clutter. Clutter. Clutter.

I had no idea what I found appealing about this girl, other than her talent to offend any pair of working eyes in a two-hundred-mile radius. She designed wedding dresses for an exclusive bridal company that didn’t suck. I knew that for a fact—their designs sold like hotcakes; that was why we were in partnership with them. Sven said she was his most valuable employee. I did not question that at the time we were dating.

I should have.

Mad descended the stairway while the rest of us were seated in the dining room. The staff sprang into action, serving the food as soon as she slipped into the seat next to me, smiling at everyone and waving hello. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you guys were waiting.”

Madison had the ability to be a shy wallflower to the world and a little nymph in the bedroom. I used my foot to pull her chair closer to me so our arms and legs were touching. It dragged along the marble floor noisily, making everyone in the room chuckle.

“He already misses you. That’s so sweet.” Katie put her hand to her chest, her voice hoarse with emotion. Madison let out a hysterical, nervous laugh. I gritted my teeth silently.

Don’t screw it up, Goldbloom.

“Caja-China-roasted Mecox farm pig, bacon cake, buttermilk coleslaw, scallion on a bed of pretzel rods,” one of the hostesses explained to Madison, pointing at the different dishes on the table. As far as ten o’clock snack went, this was a full-blown feast. My parents couldn’t help themselves. It irked me that I’d have to break it to my mother and Katie that Madison and I weren’t together. Although I wouldn’t have to deal with it until after Dad . . . after Dad.

I couldn’t get past that sentence.

My father was dying, and there was nothing within my power to help him. I’d grown so accustomed to throwing money at my problems; the idea I was defenseless against something so profound, that would alter my life in such a radical way, made me irrationally angry.

Madison smiled and nodded dutifully where appropriate. She leaned forward at the long table, addressing my father, who sat at the head, looking smaller than he had before we’d found out. “Thank you so much for inviting me, Mr. Black.”

“Well, I didn’t really know how much time I’d have to get to know you.” He awarded her one of his rare real smiles. Her throat worked. “Chase and you must’ve really taken to one another. Marriage is an important decision after less than a year together, and with your busy work schedules, that didn’t allow us to get to know you.”

I was beginning to feel marginally sorry for Madison. My family had a way of cross-examining her, and everybody seemed to be playing the bad cop.

“May I just say how sorry I am that you’re . . . well, that you . . . ,” Mad started.

“Are dying?” He finished the sentence for her, his tone dry. “Yes, sweetheart, I am not too happy about that either.”

She blushed, looking down at her lap. “I’m sorry. Words fail me at times like these.”

“Not your fault.” He took a sip of his whiskey, his movements slow and measured. He was an older version of me, with a headful of white hair, a tall frame, and arctic eyes. “I doubt anyone is good at talking to a dying person about their state. At least I know Chase has someone to lean on. He is not as tough as he always seems, you know.” He arched an eyebrow.

“He is also right fucking here”—I pointed at my own head, knowing he’d find my annoyance amusing—“and a part of this conversation.”

“Trust me, I know Chase has a fragile side.” Madison patted my shoulder, still smiling at my father. An obvious dig at me. One–zero to the away team.

“Fragile is a bit of a stretch.” I smiled good-naturedly.

“Delicate, then?” She whipped her head around, blinking at me with a bright grin.

Two–zero.

“Touchy is the word you are looking for.” Julian clucked his tongue, his Cheshire cat grin on full display, at the same time that Mom snort-laughed. “Nice to meet you. I’m Julian.”

He extended his hand over the table. Mad shook it. A sudden urge to flip the table upside down struck me.

“Touchy.” Mad tasted the word on her tongue, smiling at my cousin. “I like that. He is like a porcupine on Shark Week.”

That made Katie, Mom, Dad, Julian, and Amber burst into laughter. It was such a normal family moment that I wasn’t even overtly annoyed with Madison for making fun of me or with Julian for existing. It was the first we’d had since we’d found out about Dad and the first time I’d seen Julian looking pleased in years.

Everyone began to dig into their food. Other than Amber, but skipping meals in favor of alcohol was just another Tuesday for her. Mad shrank into her seat, downing her glass of champagne like it was water. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to what she was doing. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. But when ten minutes had passed and her plate was still empty, I felt my teeth gritting in annoyance.

“What’s wrong?” I hissed sideways at her.

The food was fine. More than fine. A Michelin-star culinary phenomenon had cooked it, not some asshole sous-chef who’d made his way from Brooklyn to make a fast weekend buck.

“Nothing,” she said, just as her stomach began to growl. It wasn’t a feminine rumble either. It sounded like her intestines were trying to pick a fight with the rest of her body.

I leaned toward her, brushing my lips along the shell of her ear so it appeared that we were sharing an intimate conversation, one that didn’t include the subject of her stomach making Freddy Krueger sounds. “You’re a terrible liar, and I’m an impatient bastard. Spill it, Madison.”

“I have no idea what any of the things the waitress said mean,” she whispered under her breath, her blush making another guest appearance. “Some of these things are unrecognizable to me. I’m sorry, Chase, but bacon cake sounds like something that should be outlawed in all fifty states.”

I pressed my lips together, resisting a chuckle. Taking her plate, I started filling it with food, knowing it earned me brownie points in the fake-fiancé department. Mom quietly glowed as I slid the plate back to Madison, smiling at her with what I hoped looked like warmth (inspiration: Jesse Metcalfe in A Country Wedding).

“You’ll like these . . .” Don’t say sweetheart. Don’t be that cliché. “Baby.”

Baby?Could I sound like any more of a douchebag?

“How are you so sure . . .” She hesitated, too, aware of how all eyes were on her. “Darling?”

Amber nearly spat out her wine, laughing.

“I know your taste.”

“Doubtful.”

“Trust me,” I gritted out through my fake smile.

“Never,”she whispered.

Still, she took her fork and stabbed at a sautéed brussels sprout coated with bread crumbs, herbs, and cream. Her eyes rolled inside their sockets after the third chew. The sound that followed, coming from the back of her throat, made my dick jerk in appreciation.

“Now I see the light.” She sighed. I wanted to show her other things. To drag her into my dark side for a little while, then spit her back out to her sunshine existence.

“So. Madison,” Amber purred from across the table, running her long, pointy fingernail along her champagne glass in a comically wicked manner. I braced myself. Amber was, without doubt, the most dangerous person at the table. “How did our Chase propose?”

OurChase. Like I was a fucking vase. She wished.

Amber had witchlike acrylic pointy nails, enough hair extensions to make three wigs, fake eyelashes, and cleavage that left nothing to the imagination. Smugness hung around her like a cloud of perfume. She was my age—thirty-two—and her hobbies were limited to plastic surgery, finding the new workout/diet craze celebrities were fawning over, and having public arguments with her husband. Julian put his arm around his wife’s shoulder, wiggling his brows, as if to say it was showtime.

Brace yourself for an Oscar-worthy performance, coz.

“How did he propose?” Mad repeated, her smile more frozen than Amber’s forehead. All eyes were on her. I supposed Madison wanted something a bit more romantic than the story of how we’d met. One morning, we’d walked into the same elevator, the one Black & Co. and Croquis shared, and instead of continuing my way up to the last floor in our high-rise building—a.k.a. management floor—I’d slipped into Croquis’s studio with her, leaned against her drawing table, and asked her what it’d take to get into her pants, though in not so many words. Madison chugged her second flute of champagne before putting it down and lifting her eyes to meet Amber’s.

“The proposal was actually really romantic,” she said breathlessly.

Is she drunk?I needed her sober. She was swimming with the sharks, bleeding in the fucking water. No, she was just being New Maddie again, meaning she was about to rip me a new one.

“It was?” Julian’s eyes hooded skeptically. I didn’t like his eyes on her. Let me rephrase—I didn’t like him these days, period. But I especially didn’t like the way he looked at Madison. There was something sinister about the obsidian quality his eyes took on. I wasn’t the possessive type, but punching a hole through his face seemed inevitable if he continued staring at Madison like this. Like he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to have sex with her, mock her for how socially unpolished she was, or both.

“Yes.” Mad munched on the side of her lip, stealing glances at me. God dammit. “We were at the Brooklyn Heights promenade, enjoying the romantic view—”

“Chase went to Brooklyn?” Amber cut into her words, raising a microbladed eyebrow. Rookie mistake. Everybody knew anything south of the East Village and north of Washington Heights was dead to me in the city. Hell, I considered Inwood fucking abroad.

Madison made a mm-hmmm sound, taking another sip of champagne. She looked like a trapped animal, cornered and frightened. But helping her out would look suspicious. I felt like a turtle mother watching her wonky-ass hatchling wobbling offshore to the ocean, knowing it had a 5 percent chance to survive.

Then, lo and behold, a Christmas-in-July miracle happened. Madison cleared her throat, straightened her back, and found her voice.

“I was leaning on the banisters, taking in the sights. Before I knew what was happening, he was on one knee before me, a sweaty, blabbering mess. I thought he was going through a mental breakdown. He was so nervous. But then he said the sweetest thing. Remember what you told me, honey?” She turned to me, blinking angelically. I gave her a curt smile. She wanted something along the lines of You’re the love of my life, my moon and my stars or I can’t live without you and frankly don’t see the point in trying to or even [insert any other Hallmark cliché I’d listened to during my research, which had triggered my gag reflex].

“Of course.” I took her hand, brought her knuckles to my lips, and brushed them along her flesh. Goose bumps rose on her arms, and I grinned into the back of her hand, knowing we still shared enough sexual tension to make the mansion explode. “I told you you had a mustard mustache, then wiped your pretty face clean.”

Mad’s smile dropped. Amber let out a metallic chuckle. My parents and Katie smiled. Julian narrowed his eyes, his gaze ping-ponging between us.

“Carry on.” He rested his chin on his knuckles. Julian was a decade older than yours truly. A Saturn-looking man. Tall, surrounded by rings of fat, with a shiny, bald head that made you want to rub it and see if a genie would come out of his ear.

Mad looked between us, picking up on the murderous vibes. “He helped me clean my, uh, mustard stain, then told me he originally wanted to wait a bit longer—a year is nothing in the grand scheme of things—but his love for me was just too much. That I was his entire world. I think the word he used was obsessed. He began to gush. It was kind of embarrassing, actually.” She pressed her foot over mine under the table, daring me to defy her story. “Like, really going at it. To the point he started crying—”

“Chase? Crying?” Amber wrinkled her nose, visibly appalled now. It was sixty-nine steps too far, and I was eager to drag Madison back to our room and spank her for every lie she’d spat out at dinner.

“I wouldn’t go as far as weeping, but . . .” Madison turned to me, doing that auntie arm pat again, giving me a three-nil-for-the-away-team look. I couldn’t contradict her version of our proposal story. Not publicly, anyway, when we were supposed to sell ourselves as a loving couple. I was, however, going to retaliate for this little stunt.

“It was emotional,” I concluded, taking a small sip of my whiskey. “Although, truth be told, the mist in my eyes was mostly due to your brown-and-green-checked dress with the blue dots, sweetheart. It was a lot to take in.”

“But a pleasure to take off, I assume.” Julian was baiting me, a cold smile playing on his lips.

My father dropped his utensils on his plate, clearing his throat deliberately. Julian looked up and waved away the discomfort at the table. Sometimes riling me up trumped acting like an actual human being in company. It was a recent development and one I didn’t appreciate at all. “That was highly inappropriate of me. I apologize, Madison. Brotherly banter gone too far.”

Brotherly, my ass. I wouldn’t trust him with a plastic spoon.

“Please, call me Maddie.” She bowed her head.

“Maddie,” my father repeated, sitting back. I made a mental note to remind Julian I was not above hurling him out of an open window if he were to sexually harass my fake fiancée.

“I must admit we were having our doubts since we haven’t seen you since Christmas. We thought Chase might’ve gotten cold feet,” Dad piped, pinning me with a glare.

“Nothing cold about this man.” Madison smiled big at Dad, pinching my cheek. Christ, I was glad this was going to be over in a couple of days. The woman was bound to drive me to alcoholism. “The hottest man I’ve met.”

She blurted the sentence out before she realized what she was saying. I turned my head and stared at her with a smug smile. Her cheeks turned pink. Her neck and ears were quick to follow.

“Thank you for marrying this savage of a man.” Dad smiled.

“You owe me one,” she joked. Everyone laughed. Again.

We fell into pleasant conversation as more courses were served. Thirty minutes later, Katie’s back straightened, and she frowned.

“Where is Clementine?” She stabbed a berry swimming in her club soda with a toothpick and tossed it into her mouth. I hoped the lack of alcohol in her glass was a telltale sign that she was back on her meds. That was an encouraging development. Katie’s anxiety brought everything else in her life out of focus, and even though she was great at what she did, marketing, I knew she wanted to meet a nice guy and settle down. She couldn’t do that as long as she was mentally frail.

“Asleep upstairs.” Amber flipped her platinum-blonde hair, cutting her gaze to mine pointedly. “She didn’t even get to see her favorite uncle.”

“She will tomorrow,” I said, clipped.

“Thanks for clearing some time in your schedule to see her. I know how busy you are.” More sarcasm.

I raised my glass, pretending to make a toast. “Anything for my niece.”

And nothing for her parents.

“Maddie, I don’t suppose you’ll be in the mood to play Monopoly with us afterward? You must be exhausted.” Mom turned to my fake fiancée, batting her eyelashes. She was laying it on thick. “It’s a tradition the Black women keep every time we’re in the Hamptons.”

Mad perked up. “Really? I don’t remember us doing it during Christmas.”

That’s because Mom just made this tradition up,I refrained from saying. My family went gaga over this woman, and I wasn’t entirely sure why.

“We wanted to give you and Chase some, er, alone time as a new couple.”

It alarmed me that Mom was more invested in Madison than I was in the stock market. Maybe she simply liked the idea of me not dying an old, solitary grinch. Madison was the only woman I’d brought home since She Who Shall Not Be Named.

“I would love to,” Mad exclaimed sunnily. I didn’t doubt her enthusiasm. Knew she’d rather take a bath in a deep fryer than spend a minute with me.

Katie and Mom exchanged the Look. The one they shared whenever they watched Pride and Prejudice and Colin Firth was stuttering something charming onscreen.

I stabbed at my steak like it had tried to stab me first, watching it bleed juicily onto my plate, feeling an impending calamity hanging over my head.

Mad was digging her obnoxiously patterned, colorful roots into the Black family, and my parents and sister were falling hard and fast.

Unlike me.I was the only Black who was immune to her charms. To her smiles. To her heart.

I promised myself that.

CHAPTER FIVE

MADDIE

March 1, 2001

Dear Maddie,

Today was not a good day. I know you were upset when we told you we couldn’t afford to pay for your school trip to the Statue of Liberty. Your father and I are struggling financially; that’s not a secret, but I wish it was. I wish we could keep this fact away from you, to afford all the things you want to do.

There is so much I want to give you, but I can’t. My treatments are getting pricier, and ever since your father had to hire an assistant to run the shop while I’m in treatment or recovering, we’ve been treating things we took for granted like luxuries.

What broke my heart today wasn’t even that you were sad about the trip—but that you tried to hide it from us. Your eyes and nose were red after you came back from your room, but you smiled like nothing happened.

Fun fact of the day: Jasmine is called queen of the night in India, because of its strong scent after sunset. I left some in your room. My version of an apology. Remember to tend to them. You can learn a lot about a person’s sense of responsibility and devotion by the way they keep their flowers.

Thank you for tending to us, even when we can’t tend to you in all areas in life.

Love,

Mom. x

“To be honest, I thought you didn’t like us very much.” Katie dragged her thimble over the Monopoly board, her brows furrowed in concentration. The drawing room was bathed in golden light. The rich carpets over exposed wood, Pinterest-worthy fireplace, and handmade crème-and-blue throws made me feel like I was cocooned inside one of those Jen Aniston movies where everything looked perfect all the time.

In the last couple of hours, Katie had purchased all four railroads on the board and was in the process of acquiring over three houses on the orange-colored group. Last I paid attention, she’d been driving Lori and me to the ground, leaving us with measly small sheds in the bad parts of town and the clothes on our backs. Luckily, Lori and I were sharing a bottle of wine and pieces of gossip about the royal family, which, it turned out, we both shared an unhealthy obsession with. We’d spent the last hour dissecting Kate Middleton’s wedding dress before moving to the grave topic of Meghan’s wedding tiara.

“Are you kidding me?” I pressed my wineglass to my blistering cheek, enjoying its cool sensation. I was probably slurring. The four glasses of champagne and one glass of wine on a relatively empty stomach weren’t a good idea, but I had to dull all the Chaseness around me. He was a lot to deal with. “I love you guys. Ronan is, like, a legendary fashion icon, Lori is the mom I wish I still had, and you . . . Katie, you’re . . .” I paused, blinking at the Monopoly board. I hated the idea they thought I wasn’t around because of them. Hated that Chase had kept the truth from them and villainized me in the process. “You’re seriously someone I would be good friends with. The first time we met, at Christmas, my dress tore up across my ass. You didn’t even blink before ushering me to your room and giving me something to wear.” A Prada something, to be exact. It had taken everything in me to send it back with a thank-you note. “You’re amazing, Katie. Like, really amazing.” I leaned forward, putting my hand on her arm. I couldn’t tell through the fog of intoxication if we were having a tender moment or an awkward one.

Her eyes clung to mine. “Really? Because I thought maybe it was me.”

“Why would it be you?” My eyes widened.

“I don’t know,” Katie said, so sweetly shy she looked like a kid, even though she was older than I was. Her voice was like broken glass.

“No, you’re perfect.” I hiccuped. “I love you.”

Had I just declared my love to a relative stranger? That was my cue to retire before Martyr Maddie became Creepy Maddie and passed out over the Monopoly board.

“I think I better head to bed. Who won?” I squinted at the board. It was blurry, the little pieces swimming around it like they were chasing one another. I hiccuped again. “Me?”

“Actually, you owe me two thousand dollars and a house on Tennessee Avenue.” Katie laughed, starting to remove the Scottie dog, top hat, and thimble from the board. I yawned, my eyes flickering shut as I took spontaneous one-second naps between blinks. Somewhere in the back of my head, I realized I was being a mess, not at all the brilliant, responsible fiancée Chase wanted me to be. Screw him. I owed him nothing. As long as his family was having fun.

“I hope you like fixer-uppers and accept coupons, Katie, because I’m broke as all hell,” I snorted out.

“That’s all right. It’s just a game.” Katie folded the board and tucked it back into the box as she hummed to herself. She was so agreeable and docile. The opposite of her older brother. Almost like he’d hogged every drop of ferociousness in their DNA pool before he was born.

“Yeah, well, I’m flat-out broke in real life too.” I snickered.

Time to go to bed, Miss Hot Mess Express.

I stood up on wobbly feet. My knees felt like jelly, and there was a strange pressure behind my eyes. Knowing I’d be coming face-to-face with Chase made me break out in hives. I’d tried to postpone our reunion as much as I could, hoping—praying, really—he’d fall asleep before I got back to the room.

“Not for long.” Lori laughed.

I laughed too. Then paused. Then frowned. “Wait, how do you mean?”

“Well”—Lori offered me a one-shoulder shrug, picking nonexistent lint from her dress pants as Katie put the Monopoly box away—“you’re going to marry Chase, honey. And Chase is . . . well endowed.”

Katie choked on her soda, while I used every ounce of my self-control in order to not break into giggles. “Oh, Lori, you have no idea,” I said.

Now Katie cackled. It was a sight. The willowy, dark-haired beauty with her hair pinned back carefully let it all out and laughed. I grinned. I wondered when the last time she’d actually had fun was. Then resisted the urge to invite her for a night out with Layla and me. Martyr Maddie needed to be switched off this weekend to make sure things wouldn’t get overly complicated.

Lori wasn’t wrong, though. Chase was a billionaire. His level of rich was golden toilet seats and private jets containing sex swings. It was burn-the-money-just-to-see-if-it’d-make-you-feel-anything rich. The scary, jaded type of wealth that seemed wholly untouchable from where I was standing.

It hit me then that I’d never considered Chase’s money as a factor when we were really dating. His wealth was in the backdrop of our relationship, like a massive piece of furniture I learned to overlook, even though it was a part of the view. When he asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told him I needed a new heating pad. It was twenty-five bucks on Amazon, available on Prime, with a gift-wrap option included for an additional fee. Chase laughed and got me a pair of $10K earrings instead. He couldn’t fathom why I wasn’t enthralled by the lavish gift. The truth of the matter was I was broke post-Christmas and had really been counting on that heating pad.

I didn’t want something expensive and useless. I wanted something not so expensive and useful.

Lori’s comment made me sober up momentarily. I nodded, getting back into delighted-fiancée mode. “Oh yeah. Sure. But I’m going to be very responsible with his money. I mean, our money. Money in general.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “I don’t spend a lot.”

“Well, we all know I have the opposite problem.” Katie looked down at her feet.

Desperately eager to change the subject, I clapped my hands, standing in the middle of the room. “Where is Amber, by the way? I really wanted to get to know her.”

And by really I meant not really, but it seemed like something I should say.

Katie and Lori exchanged looks. I was drunk but not stupid and could tell they were doing this eye-communication thing Dad and Mom used to do when she was still alive to decide something I wasn’t supposed to know.

“She was tired,” Katie said at the same time Lori mumbled, “I think she came down with something.”

Huh.

So Amber disliked me. For no apparent reason, as far as I could tell.

“That’s unfortunate,” I said.

“Very,” Lori muttered in a tone that conveyed it really wasn’t. Then I remembered Lori and Amber hadn’t really communicated very much during dinner. Then again, Amber had been either busy with her phone or glaring at Chase and me simultaneously, waiting for one of us to spontaneously combust.

I kissed Lori’s and Katie’s cheeks goodbye and turned toward the door. I promised myself not to read into Amber’s reaction to me. I’d done nothing wrong.

Other than deceiving the entire Black family,a little voice inside me said. But Amber wasn’t privy to that, was she? Then I remembered she hadn’t seemed sold on my Brooklyn story. Neither had her husband, Julian. It worried me that I may have blown it. If Ronan knew Chase and I were lying, he’d be devastated, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

I ascended the stairs barefoot. The velvet carpet pressed between my toes lusciously. Everything was crème and navy and powder blue. Nautically rustic, with big pieces of furniture and white-painted wood. It felt almost unreal to be a part of this place. Like I’d cheated my way in. Which, in a way, I had.

I reached the second floor, holding the banisters for dear life, still buzzing with alcohol. I zigzagged past the hallway doors. One of them was ajar. It was a double door.

A low, gravelly growl seeped through the crack. “Over my dead body.”

I froze, recognizing Chase’s diabolical voice. He sounded ready to murder whoever was with him in that room, and I didn’t want to be there when it happened.

Move along,something inside me whispered. Nothing to see here. Not your business, not your war.

I checked the time on my phone. One a.m. What the hell was he doing up, and who was he arguing with? Curiosity got the better of me. I leaned against the wall, holding my breath, careful not to get caught.

“If that’s what it takes,” Julian drawled sardonically. I recognized his voice too. He had traces of a Scottish accent, littered in his words sparsely. Ronan Black’s family was originally from Edinburgh. Julian, Ronan’s late sister’s son, had been flown from Scotland when he was only six to live with the family after his parents died in a fatal car crash on Christmas Day. The Black couple, Lori and Ronan, once said in an interview Julian was the best Christmas gift they’d ever received. I’d read about it on the Black family Wikipedia page when I was Chase obsessed during the first month of our relationship. Julian and Chase grew up as brothers and, according to Wikipedia, were close. Whoever had written this page had been high, because during my six months with Chase, he’d rarely mentioned his cousin to me and never made an introduction. Now that Julian was here, he and Chase acted like sworn enemies.

“Don’t mistake my devotion to my father for weakness. My focus is on his health and well-being. If something happens to him . . .” Chase left the sentence unfinished.

I stuck my nose in the gap between the doors and peeked through it. They were standing in a darkened library. It was a gorgeous room, with floor-to-ceiling white shelves containing thousands of books seemingly arranged by the color of their spines. Chase was leaning behind a heavy oak desk, his knuckles pressing the exposed wood. Julian was standing in front of him, tall but not as tall as Chase, my fake fiancé’s shadow cast over him like a dark castle.

Julian threw his arms in the air, exasperated. “Something will happen. He is dying, and you’re not a good fit to replace him. Thirty-two and barely out of your corporate diapers. You’ll spook the shareholders and drive the investors away.”

“I’m the COO,” Chase boomed. It was the first time I’d heard him raise his voice to anyone. He was always deadly quiet and in complete control.

“You’re a fucking thief, is what you are,” Julian bit back. “You proved it three years ago, and I still haven’t forgotten.”

Three years ago? What had happened three years ago? Of course, I couldn’t very well walk in there and ask. One of the more unfortunate side effects of eavesdropping.

“He chose me as next in line. He chose you as CIO. Deal with it,” Chase barked, his eyes hooding.

“He chose wrong,” Julian deadpanned.

“You have some nerve talking to me about this bullshit on my engagement-party weekend.” Chase leaned back, opening a drawer and removing a cigar from it. Rather than lighting it, he broke it in two and fingered the material inside.

He was trying not to snap, I realized.

“About that.” Julian took a seat on a chair behind him, crossing his legs. “As soon as I met little Miss Louisa Clark, I realized something was amiss.”

“Louisa Clark?” Chase frowned.

“Me before You. I watched it with Amber. She cried a lot.”

“I would, too, if I had to fuck you on the reg,” Chase muttered. “Is there a point to your little story?”

“Your fiancée. She is a Louisa Clark. You don’t truly expect us to believe you are marrying this . . . this . . .”

“This?”Chase stopped squashing the tobacco between his fingers and cocked an eyebrow, daring him to finish the sentence. I swallowed. My heart was thrashing helplessly against my rib cage. I didn’t want to hear whatever came next but couldn’t unglue myself from my spot either.

“Come on.” Julian snorted. “Before we were enemies, we were brothers. I know you. This eccentric, artsy-fartsy, quirky-but-full-of-depth chick isn’t your type. You like them severely malnourished and personality-free. Your type wears designer clothes and doesn’t get sloppy drunk during family gatherings. I see through you, Chase. You want to show Ronan you’re good for it. That you’re ready to settle down, have kids, the whole enchilada. And with a normal, average girl, no less. Is that who you are now, brother? Grounded? Reliable? An all-around stand-up guy?” Julian threw his head back and laughed. He stood up, shaking his head. “I don’t buy your sudden engagement, and I don’t buy this relationship. You’re just vying for the CEO seat to get back at me by acting all high and mighty. You can play house with a girl who’s a six all you want, but I don’t for one second believe you’ll marry below ten.”

A six.I felt nauseous, so much so the need to throw up almost overwhelmed me. I wanted to slap Julian across the face. How dare he put a number on me? And how dare Chase just stand there and listen to this? I was his fake fiancée. In fact, screw that. I was his ex-girlfriend. A human being. He couldn’t let Julian speak this way.

“You think I want to become CEO to get back at you?” Chase smirked, amused.

“Why else? You didn’t even care for the job when you graduated.”

“Oh, fuck you, Julian.”

“Not if I fuck you first.”

“Well.” Chase let loose a smile so frigid it made my insides twist painfully. “As it happens, the vacancy for CEO is not available just yet, so you’ll have to sit pretty and watch as my so-called fake engagement unfolds.”

Unfolds?

Unfolds into what?

I’d told Chase this was a one-off. I wasn’t going to start playing the dutiful fiancée part like this was some sort of Kate Hudson rom-com. He knew full well whisking me off to the Hamptons was already pushing past my boundaries. Setting them on fire, more like.

He also knows you’re Martyr Maddie and will stop at nothing to please others, no matter who they are or how you feel about them.

It took me a few seconds to realize Chase was stalking to the door. I jerked back, before darting to our room, tripping over my own feet. Once inside the room, I knocked a vase down in my haste to close the door. Not wanting to get caught, I left the shattered glass on the floor, dashing into the bathroom. I locked the door behind me and plastered my back to it, panting.

A few seconds later, I heard the door open, then the sound of crunched glass as Chase stepped over the broken vase. There were jasmines inside. Their scent soaked the air now, filling it with thick sweetness that seeped under the crack of the bathroom door. I felt bad for the flowers, squashed under Chase’s shoe. My heart had once suffered a similar experience.

“Madison!” he roared into the silence. His voice pierced the air.

I winced. I didn’t much care what he thought, but I hated that it was common knowledge I was sloppy drunk tonight and that Julian had thrown it in his face.

“I know you’re in there.” His words got closer, darker. My dinner clogged my throat, begging to purge itself. Knowing the door was firmly locked, I hurried to the toilet, threw the seat up, and lurched into the bowl. My whole body convulsed as my stomach pumped up the little I’d eaten tonight.

“Should’ve hired a sorority girl for the job,” he muttered under his breath behind the door, giving the handle a firm shake. “Fun drunk beats sad drunk every day of the fucking week.”

Fun drunk is not an option when a jerk like you is in the vicinity.

I continued throwing up. Tears ran down my clammy cheeks, snaking into my mouth, their saltiness exploding on my tongue. I never got drunk. I must have been more anxious than I’d realized.

We were supposed to be wide awake and ready to go on a family hike tomorrow at ten a.m. I very much doubted I would be in any shape to get out of bed, if I even made it to it and not straight to the ER tonight.

“Madison!”

“Leave me alone.” I scrambled up to brush my teeth. I got as far as the sink and tumbled back down. The pressure in my head made it impossible to open my eyes. Julian’s words spun inside it, circling like clothes in a washing machine. A six. I was so painfully average and so royally out of my depth here.

I was on my second attempt to hoist myself over the sink and try to brush my teeth when Chase kicked the door down. Unhinged, it flew to the floor, landing with a thump. Luckily, the Jack-and-Jill bathroom was more spacious than my studio, and the door landed a few feet away from me. I looked up and blinked at him, my mouth slack.

Asshole kicked the door down.

“You . . . you stupid . . .” I squinted, trying to find adequate words. And failing. He strode over to me, picked me up from the floor, and righted me against the sink. He turned on the tap and began to wash my face for me, running his big palm over my nose and mouth. He held me by the waist to keep me from falling.

“Finish that thought, Mad. I’ve a feeling it’s going to be amusing,” he said tonelessly, plucking my toothbrush from the silver container by the sink and applying a generous amount of toothpaste onto it.

“Conceited . . . arrogant . . . egotistical . . .”

“Nah-ah. You don’t get to use synonyms. That’s cheating.”

“Bastard!” I roared.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He stuck the toothbrush in my mouth, applying gentle pressure as he brushed my teeth for me. He was a thorough brusher. Of course he was. “What else have you got?”

“Stupid . . .”

“You already said ‘stupid.’”

“Okay, dumb . . .”

“How about we continue this tomorrow?” He cut through my stream of insults. “I promise to be convincingly insulted and cry into my pillow the minute you’re done.” He finished brushing my teeth, rinsed the toothbrush, and filled a glass of water for me to gargle.

I was too disoriented to pretend to care he was taking care of me. In all of the six months we’d been dating, I’d been careful not to expose him to any part of my less glamorous side. I’d brushed my teeth before he’d woken up to avoid morning breath, gone number two while the shower was on so he wouldn’t hear (which had also cornered me into taking frequent showers at his place), and categorically pretended my period hadn’t existed, sparing him any mention of Mother Nature’s visits to my body. Now, here I was, letting him clean traces of my puke straight from my mouth with his ring on my finger. Oh, irony really did have a sick sense of humor.

I gargled the water he helped me sip before spitting into the sink and side-eyeing him. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Thank fuck for that, you’d be a nightmare to tame.” He didn’t spare me a look, picking up my pink bag of toiletries and plucking two sheets from my makeup-removal wipes. He began to scrub my eyes, probably worried my $5 waterproof mascara would stain his $5,000 linens.

“And you’d be a tyrant to work for,” I slurred. He chuckled, tossing the dirty wipes into the trash can, picking me up honeymoon-style, and carrying me back to the bedroom. I was still trying to come up with creative insults, refusing to cave to temptation and wrap my arms around his neck. The aftertaste of puke still lingered on my breath, but I was oddly unbothered when I spoke directly to his face.

“You’re not even that attractive,” I muttered confrontationally as he put me down on the bed. He removed my shoes, then reached for the hidden zipper in the back of my pencil skirt and rolled it down. He was stripping me bare. It felt too good to get rid of my work clothes to care. Anyway, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. And we weren’t exactly seducing one another. I was half-dead, and he’d basically admitted my mediocrity to Julian by not defending me.

Oh, also—I hated his guts.

“And you’re cold and sarcastic and lack basic empathy.” I continued listing his shortcomings. “Just because you’re helping me now doesn’t mean I forgot who you are. The devil incarnate. You’re far from Prince Charming. For one thing, you’re rude. And not the saving-princesses kind. You’d probably send someone over to save them for you. Also, you’d look ridiculous on a horse.”

I was half-sorry I wasn’t still puking. Vomit was favorable to what left my mouth as I tried to insult Chase. That was some second-grade stuff right there.

“Permission to remove your bra,” he said thickly.

“Granted,” I huffed.

He unclasped my bra with one hand, then produced a Yale sweatshirt from his nightstand drawer. He pulled it over my head, then stopped, staring at my breasts for a few good seconds.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

He tugged the sweatshirt down in one go, his throat bobbing with a swallow. The fabric was warm, soft, well worn. It smelled of Chase.

“And what kind of name is Chase Black, anyway?” I let out an unattractive snort. “It sounds made up.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but it’s as real as your hangover is about to be tomorrow morning. I suggest you chug this.” He unscrewed an Evian bottle that sat on the nightstand and handed it over to me. He rolled his black dress shirtsleeves up his elbows, exposing forearms so veiny and muscular I was surprised I hadn’t humped them months ago, when I’d still had the chance. “I’ll go get you some Advil.”

“Wait!” I called out to him when he was at the door. He stopped but didn’t turn around to face me. His back was so deliciously ripped inside his dress shirt that I was half-mad at myself for never exchanging nudes with him when we were a thing.

“Pick up the jasmines and put them in a vase full of fresh water. They don’t deserve to die,” I croaked. “Please.”

He made a grumbling sound, shaking his head like I was a lost cause.

The last thing I remembered was gulping the two Advil Chase put in my mouth and passing out.

I woke up with a pounding headache the next day. The clock on the nightstand signaled eleven. It was official—the weekend had started off with me being a spectacular failure, as far as my duties as a charming fiancée went. First, I’d gotten accidentally drunk; then I’d missed the Blacks’ family hike. The room was empty, save for a tray with bacon, eggs, fresh bread toasted with butter, and a steaming cup of coffee. There was a new vase full of slightly distressed jasmines on the dresser by the door. A neatly folded blanket and a fluffed-up pillow were sitting on top of one another tidily on the floor.

And a note on the nightstand.

M,

Went hiking. Jasmines are alive. Assuming you are, too, soak up the alcohol with the breakfast I left for you.

PS:

I’d look fantastic on a horse. #Fact.

—C

I spent the rest of the weekend working hard on redeeming myself in the eyes of the Blacks.

At lunch, I was glued to Katie’s and Lori’s sides, making pleasant conversation and helping Lori stitch back a part of her favorite vintage dress that had gotten torn. I then rolled up my sleeves and made scones for everyone, bantering with the family baker (because what kind of family didn’t have a baker on their payroll?) and laughing with Katie, who didn’t participate in the baking but was content to sit on the counter and tell me about the half marathon she was training for.

“It’s the only thing that makes me feel accomplished. My dad gave me a job and threw enough money at my education, but running? No one does it for me. It’s all me.”

When the family went wine tasting, I opted to stay behind, seeing as I’d drunk my own body weight the previous night and was afraid even the scent of alcohol would upset my stomach. I sketched and watched the sunset at Foster Memorial Beach, the ocean crashing ashore tickling my toes with its foam. The air was salty and clean. My heart twisted painfully. Mom would have loved this beach.

My phone pinged with a message.

Layla: Wellllllll?

Maddie: Welllllll?

Layla: What’s going on? Also, I think Sven is onto you. He knows the Blacks are in the Hamptons this weekend. Coincidentally, he dropped by your apartment earlier and I had to tell him you’re out. Anyway, should I be worried for Ethan’s marshmallow heart?

Maddie: Nope. Chase is gross as ever.

Layla: Totally gross. In a want-to-have-his-sociopathic-babies way, right?

Maddie: First of all: I cannot believe they let you work with children. Second: I told you. He is a cheating cheater who cheats and we are not warming up to him (we = me and my body).

Layla: This sounds a lot like you trying to convince yourself.

Layla: Also, I just want to point out, I was voted teacher of the month last July. So HA.

Maddie: You mean during summer break, when kids are not at school?

Layla: Bye, party pooper. Tell the cobwebs on your va-jay-jay I said hi.

I must’ve gotten carried away with my sketching, because when I got back to the Black mansion, the door in our en suite bathroom was back on its hinges, unlike yours truly. Chase was already showered, dressed, and looking like the billion bucks he was worth, ready for dinner. I’d managed to successfully avoid him throughout the entire day by spending time with his family. I refused to thank him for taking care of me last night on the grounds that he cheated on me and was still a jerk, and I decided to continue ignoring his good deed. Chase asked if he could count on me not to spontaneously puke at the table. I flipped him the finger and headed to the still-steaming shower. He went downstairs to spend time with his father and niece while I threw three bath bombs into the hot tub, lay in it until my skin became prune-like and I’d shrunk to the size of a ten-year-old, and chose my outfit for the night (A-line black dress with cat ears on the shoulders paired with an orange cardigan and blue heels).

I did not drink a drop of alcohol through dinner and politely ignored Amber’s death stares. The stainless beauty of her, paired with the fact her husband thought I was subpar, rattled something I hadn’t known existed in me. Luckily, her daughter, Clementine, who looked to be around nine years old, turned out to be an unexpected delight. I hit it off with the little ginger thing immediately. We talked about which princess dresses were the best (Cinderella and Belle, hands down), then about our favorite superheroines. (That was where we agreed to disagree. Clementine exclaimed Wonder Woman was her first choice, while I thought the clear, obvious answer was Hermione Granger. Which led to another subargument about whether Hermione was a superheroine or not.)

(She definitely was.)

Clementine was fantastic. Open and bright and full of humor. It helped that she looked nothing like her grim father and gorgeous mother. A completely fresh entity, with different coloring, a constellation of freckles on her nose, and uneven teeth.

I got into bed early, avoiding all communication with my fake fiancé, and was delighted when I woke up in the morning and not only felt brand new but found Chase sleeping on the floor again. I took a moment to watch the frown between his eyebrows as he slept, the thick slash of his dark eyebrows pinched together. A pang of something warm and unwarranted unfurled in my chest.

Devilishly handsome.

I turned my back to him and slept through the morning, but not before writing him a note and leaving it exactly where he’d left his, on the nightstand.

C,

Thank you for brushing my teeth Friday night.

Next time don’t use all the hot water.

PS:

You’d look ridiculous on a horse.

—M

CHAPTER SIX

CHASE

I crumpled Madison’s last note while she was in the shower before slam-dunking it into the trash can. I scribbled another one before she came out.

M,

Can’t help but notice you failed to comment about the jasmines. No wonder we broke up. You’ve always been unappreciative (Xmas diamond earrings come to mind).

PS:

Re: me on a horse. Do I smell a bet?

—C

I had trouble wrapping my head around the fact my convenient, timid ex-girlfriend had turned into a feisty, take-no-bullshit warrior.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.” I put the pen down. I expected Dad. We hadn’t had time to talk one-on-one during the weekend, and I wondered if he’d picked up on the tension between Jul and me. We hadn’t had many weekend-long family gatherings with Julian in the past three years. Not since Dad had announced I’d be chief operating officer of Black & Co., the second-in-command to his CEO and chairman position. He’d given Julian the CIO position—chief information officer—and the message was clear: I was to inherit the CEO seat when it was time for Dad to retire.

Julian had been resentful since then. He thought, considering he was the elder “son,” that he would be the natural successor. Only he didn’t feel so much like a son anymore and opted out of most family gatherings these days. In fact, I was surprised he’d come to the Hamptons. But of course he had—he’d wanted to see Madison, find out what kind of woman I’d decided to marry.

I looked up at the open door. It wasn’t Dad. It was Amber.

Fucking Amber.

She wore a pair of leather pants tighter than a condom and a blouse she’d conveniently forgotten to button around her generous, surgically enhanced rack. Her dyed-blonde hair was freshly blown out, and her face was immaculately made up, including her painted-on eyebrows, which gave her a Bert-from-Sesame-Street edge. I jutted my chin out in hello but didn’t stop shoving Mad’s clothes into her suitcase. My fake fiancée’s unaccountability infuriated me. She had nonexistent organizational skills. I couldn’t trust her to be ready in time, and I wanted to be out of here before we hit traffic. Another prime reason we were a terrible fit.

And here was another one, in case I was tempted to dip into Madison’s jar ever again—she was a dreadful drunk. On a scale of one to Charlie Sheen, she was a solid Mel Gibson. Embarrassing to be associated with. Still, I applauded myself for being pleasant and supportive of her when she’d been about to pass out. Of course, I’d had to be. She was my fake fiancée, and tossing her to another room, letting her fend for herself, seemed cold, even by my arctic standards.

“Are you alone?” Amber pouted, crossing her arms over her chest to push her tits out. She was all class.

“Madison’s in the shower,” I supplied without looking up.

She took that as an invitation to waltz in and park her ass on the edge of the bed, on which the suitcase was open. I continued cramming burnable fabrics into the open jaw of the luggage, wondering who the fuck made the weird clothes Madison was purchasing with gusto. I tried to look at the labels, but there weren’t any. Very promising stuff.

“Clementine wanted to say goodbye.” Amber leaned toward me, pushing her chest even tighter. I really didn’t want it to burst. It would delay my trip back to New York by at least a few hours.

“I’ll come see her before we leave,” I tried to clip out, but I couldn’t help it. My voice came out softer than intended where Booger Face was concerned.

“We need to talk about her.” She put her hand on my arm. If she thought it’d stop me from moving, she was dead wrong.

“Booger Face or Madison?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call her that,” Amber huffed.

“Same,” I deadpanned.

I resented Julian and Amber for calling their daughter a name with zero nickname potential. Clemmy sounded like it was short for chlamydia, and Tinny made her sound like a mini can. I therefore referred to her as Booger Face, even though long were the days since she had sported actual boogers. When Clementine was born, Amber had asked me what I thought about the name. I’d said I didn’t like it. I was certain that was why she’d chosen it.

“Fine. Tough crowd. Let’s start with your fiancée. Is it real?” Amber glowered.

I zipped Mad’s overflowing suitcase wordlessly. What the heck kind of question was that?

“She’s a bit of an oddball.” Amber’s palm slid from my arm, her fingernail running circles on her thigh absentmindedly.

“She suits me.”

But she didn’t, and we both knew that. I hadn’t considered the fact that Madison wasn’t my obvious choice back when I had dated her, simply because I hadn’t thought there was anything to consider. She was supposed to be a fling. Nothing more. Now that Julian and Amber had pointed it out, I had to admit they weren’t wrong. I liked my women the same way I liked my interior design: impractical, obscenely expensive to maintain, with zero personality and frequent updates.

“About Clementine . . .” Amber stopped circling her fingernail over her thigh, digging it into the fabric. She was nervous.

“No,” I snapped, looking up. She reared her head back like I’d slapped her. “We’ve discussed it, and my demands were clear. Either you accept them or you zip it.”

“Are these my only options?”

“This is your only ultimatum.” My gaze flicked to the closed door of the bathroom. The stream of water stopped, and the glass door squeaked open. For a reason I didn’t care to explore, I didn’t want Madison listening to this clusterfuck of a conversation.

“You think I’d lie?” Amber’s emerald eyes flared. She had the audacity to put her hand to her neck and fake a dainty gasp.

“I think you’d do anything bar selling Booger Face to the circus to get what you want,” I confirmed nonchalantly.

She stood up, fists balled at her sides, no doubt about to spew something out. Another lie, probably. The bathroom door whined. We both glanced at it, Amber’s mouth still agape.

“Out,” I growled.

“But—”

“Now.”

Amber stepped toward me. Her face so close to mine I could catch the individual freckles under her three pounds of foundation. Her tits brushed my chest. They were hard and big, unnaturally enhanced. Nothing like the soft, small ones Mad had.

Don’t think about her tits Friday night when you put your sweatshirt over her body.

Oops. Too late for that.

“This isn’t over, Chase. It’ll never be over.”

My father once told me, “If you truly want to know someone, make them mad. The way they react is a telltale sign of who they are.” Amber was working extra hard on riling me up. Little did she know, my number of fucks to give was constantly on the decline and reserved for immediate family and true friends only.

“It was over before it started,” I hissed into her face, smirking tauntingly. “Before I even laid a finger on you, Amb.”

She galloped to the bedroom door and slammed it in my face, making a scene. She wanted Madison to know, to ask what had happened, to plant the seed of insecurity in her. My fake fiancée opened the bathroom door a second later in a bathrobe, rubbing a towel into her short locks. Odd timing. I eyed her suspiciously.

“Was that the door?” She tilted her head sideways, letting the towel fall to the floor. She strode to the bed, flicked open her suitcase, and—check this—began to unpack everything I’d packed for her as she sifted through her clothes. She lifted one frock at a time, examined it, then threw it over her shoulder, in search of something else to wear.

“What the hell are you doing?” The question came out in wonder more than anger. Her eccentric behavior always took me by surprise.

“Choosing an outfit,” she chirped. “What else would I be doing wrapped in a bathrobe, fresh out of the shower?”

Sucking me off.

“So?” she asked again. “Who was it? I heard you talking to someone.”

“Amber,” I grunted, my eyes tracing the outline of her body under the bathrobe hungrily. I hated that I wanted to pound her like a piece of schnitzel. (Madison, not Amber. I wouldn’t touch Amber if it brought world peace.)

“I’m guessing you two are close,” she said as she continued to look through her clothes. Her tone was neutral, matter of fact.

“You’re guessing wrong,” I bit out.

“But you have so much in common.”

“We both breathe. That’s the only thing we have in common.”

“You’re both also insufferably bitter.”

There was a beat of silence, in which I quickly reminded myself explaining to Madison how unlike Amber and I were wouldn’t matter.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” I groaned.

“For having my things sifted through by you without permission?” She turned to look at me, still all sugar and smiles. “That was extremely generous of you.”

“You know, I don’t remember you being so argumentative when you had a regular supply of vitamin D.” I tapered my eyes, hoping my semi wouldn’t blossom into a full-blown erection as we butted heads again. That part was true. Madison had done a complete one-eighty on me since I’d landed at her doorstep asking her to accompany me to the Hamptons. This new version of her was also the real person she was, and it pissed me off I’d never gotten to truly know her.

It pissed me off that she was actually funny.

And sarcastic.

And a handful, in a bizarrely attractive way.

But most of all, it pissed me off that she’d lied to me about who she was.

“I wanted to make an impression on you back then. That ship has sailed.”

“More like sank in the middle of the fucking ocean.”

“Well.” She shrugged, clutching a red-and-purple dress to her chest, choosing her outfit for the day. “You were the one to direct it into a six-ton iceberg in the middle of the ocean. Don’t you ever forget that, Chase.”

I smiled tightly and went downstairs to break something valuable in the kitchen. Breaking her, I realized, was not on the menu anymore. She was different. Stronger.

A few more hours, and I wouldn’t have to see her again.

We were in the foyer, the staff ushering our suitcases to my Tesla, when Julian made his first chess move. I’d been anticipating it all weekend, trying to figure out his game, why he was here. Not that I was complaining: Julian and Amber were train wrecks, but I was always game for spending more time with Booger Face.

I called bullshit about Julian’s six remark. Madison was a solid twelve, on her worst days. She wasn’t just wholesomely beautiful but also sexy in a way women who weren’t worried about being sexy were. What nagged him about her was that she was indifferent to the numbers in his bank account and his Armani suits. She was what he called a postfeminist. A girl with a we-can-do-it mentality who made her own path in the world. He, in contrast, had a let-the-butler-do-it mentality. Of course they were like oil and water. But if he thought I was going to flip my shit when he called her a six, he was in for a surprise. Letting him rattle me was not an option.

When I was a kid and Julian had come back from boarding school or college, we’d always played chess. Neither of us were big fans of the game, but we had this underlying competition between us. We competed over everything. From our sports accomplishments—we were both rowers for our high school and college teams—to who could stuff himself with more turkey at Thanksgiving. Despite that, Julian and I were close. Close enough that we talked on the phone regularly when he was away and hung out more than two brothers with a decade between them should when he was home. We’d play chess in the weirdest way. We’d leave the board in the drawing room and move our pieces throughout the day. It had the shine of an extra challenge, because we always had to remember what the board had looked like before we’d left it. No king, queen, bishop, or pawn went astray. We both watched our game with hawklike eyes.

It was a lesson in resilience, planning ahead, and patience. To this day, whenever Julian and I were at my parents’ house together, we’d play.

Most of the time, I’d win.

Eighty-nine percent, to be exact (and yes, I was counting).

Still, Julian always gave a good fight.

But now we weren’t close anymore, and I suspected neither he nor I was going to abide by the unwritten rules of our new game.

“Maddie, Chase, wait.” Julian clapped twice behind us like we were his servants. Madison stopped first, and I had to follow through with her foolish decision.

My parents and Katie gathered around us. Dad was holding Clementine. He adored her more than anything else in the world. At nine, Clementine was almost a preteen, and yet he still held her like she was a toddler.

That was the thing about my father, though. He had the eerie capability to be the best dad and grandfather in the world—the best husband, at least from where I was standing—and still be a mean son of a bitch when it came down to business. We had weekly hangouts consisting of drinking beer and watching football and talking smack about our competitors. Then he’d take Mom on a date night and read to her when they came back home. He’d take Booger Face to the zoo in the morning and buy-to-destroy a competitor in the evening. He really was the entire package. For a while, I’d thought I’d follow in his footsteps.

Perfect businessman.

Perfect husband.

Perfect everything.

But then something had happened to change everything I’d believed about my family. About women.

I realized I was going to bizarre, unlikely lengths to pacify my father. I wasn’t an idiot. People didn’t fake engagements outside of Ryan Reynolds’s movies. To understand my sacrifice, you had to remember—those dents you saw in families, the wear and tear of being holed up together during summer vacations and Christmas holidays and winter breaks? The tension, the underlying bitterness, the rile-you-up buttons your loved ones pressed when they wanted to make you snap? The Blacks didn’t have them. My immediate family, for the most part, remained a shiny, untouchable thing without any real indentations. No nasty arguments. No hostile baggage between siblings. No infidelities, money problems, dark pasts. I’d come to realize that almost every family in the world suffered through a lot of their relatives’ unbearable traits. Not so with mine. I didn’t tolerate my family. I worshipped them.

Well, three out of the four, anyway.

Mad turned around, looking at Julian with a patient, saintly smile. She didn’t trust him, but she didn’t want to come off as rude either. “Yes, Julian?”

“I was thinking.” He stepped toward us, swirling the thick liquid of his whiskey in his tumbler.

“An unpromising start,” I deadpanned. People snickered uncomfortably around us. I wasn’t joking, but whatever.

“We haven’t really had time to get to know you at all. On Friday, you were . . . indisposed.” He said the word like she had puked buckets on the dinner table, as opposed to tipsily slurring her words when she’d retired to the drawing room with my mother and sister. “And on Saturday, you didn’t join us on the hike or wine tasting. You’re a difficult woman to pin down, huh?” He smirked.

She opened her mouth to answer, but he soldiered through with his speech, not giving a damn about what she had to say.

“It was impossible to get ahold of you, get to know you, and you are going to be a part of the Black clan. You’ll practically be my sister-in-law.”

“Not practically.” I wrapped an arm around Madison. “We’re not brothers, a fact you seem to forget only when convenient.”

“Chase!” my mother chided at the same time my father frowned, looking between us. Julian took a step back, tutting.

“No need to be scandalized on my behalf, folks. That’s just Chase being an unruly baby brother. At any rate, Amber and I would love to invite you guys over—along with Ronan, Lori, and Katie, of course—for a festive engagement meal. Say—Friday? Unless, of course, Maddie is busy again for the next six months.”

Motherfucker.

Queen’s gambit.He’d begun our mental chess game with the classiest chess opening, by pretending to offer a pawn. In this case, Madison. She’d been disposable to me a second ago, but now, when Julian was trying to prove his point, she became the queen. The most important piece in my game.

I smiled, clapping his shoulder good-naturedly with my free hand. “What a lovely offer. We accept.” I felt Mad’s shoulders stiffening under my arm. Her eyes darted to my face in surprise. I ignored her, still looking at Julian. “What can we bring?”

“Maddie’s banana bread,” Katie suggested. My sister hadn’t had cake for at least five years straight, so I wasn’t sure what business she had choosing dessert. “She told us she makes a mean banana bread yesterday.”

“Shocker.” Amber rolled her eyes.

Mad’s eyes ping-ponged between everyone. She said nothing, probably channeling the majority of her energy to muster the self-control not to maim me.

As soon as we buckled up in my car, she opened her mouth. She looked like a little woodpecker. Prettily annoying and ready to give me a headache. I was certain I liked Real Maddie even less than I liked Girlfriend Maddie, who had continuously tried to please me. Unfortunately, I had to make do with Real Maddie, because my family fawned over her, and because Julian’s newest mission in life was to uncover our fake relationship.

“I’m not going.”

“Yeah, you are.”

I prided myself on being a skillful negotiator. I also knew that, logically, starting the negotiation from an aggressive, dogmatic stance would get me nowhere. However, where Madison Goldbloom was concerned, I simply couldn’t help myself. She called to the four-year-old asshole kid in me. And he came running, ready to pick a fight.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you it was a one-off. No.”

“I will pay your rent. Twelve months up front.” My fingers curled over the steering wheel firmly.

“Are you deaf?”

Areyou?I’m offering you free fucking rent to do something most women would sacrifice a kidney for.

I had the sense to keep this as a thought and not spit it in her face.

“Do you want a bigger apartment?” I asked, willing to bend over backward to make this happen. It wasn’t even about Dad anymore. Not fully, anyway. My father looked sufficiently convinced Madison and I were an item. I’d kill Julian if he uncovered the truth. And I meant that literally. “There’s a vacant one in my building. Three bedrooms, two baths, sick view. Doesn’t your little friend from Croquis live there? Steve?”

“Sven,” she groaned. “And he’s my boss.”

I knew who Sven was. We did business together. I just wanted to work the “friends” angle and remind her why she wanted to live next to someone she was friendly with.

“You could be neighbors. The place is ready for Daisy to compromise every piece of furniture inside it.”

And I, apparently, was ready to never get her deposit back and shell out close to 750K in total for the pleasure of taking her on another date.

“Daisy is content humping dollar store plant pots to satisfy her needs,” Madison replied sunnily, opening her little pocket mirror and applying lip gloss. I liked that she didn’t paint her face to a point where she looked like someone else. She normally put on lipstick and mascara and called it a day.

“Money? Prestige? Black & Co. shares?”

I was officially the worst negotiator in the history of the concept. If my Yale professors heard me, they would take my degree, roll it into a cone, and smack me in the ass with it. I drove slowly to prolong our negotiation. I was not above kidnapping her if that didn’t work.

She shook her head, still staring out the window. She confused and infuriated me. The dazzling simplicity of her—of not doing something just because it didn’t feel right—was both refreshing and frustrating. In my experience, everyone had a price, and they were quick to name it. Not this chick, apparently.

“What would it take?” I grumbled, trying another tactic. The ball was in her court. I hated her court. I wanted to buy it, pour gasoline on it, and then burn it down. For the first time in my life, someone else had the upper hand. An unlikely someone else. And all because my idiotic brother-cousin (what was he to me, anyway?) had a hard-on for seeing me fail. Everyone else in the family ate up our romance and asked for a second serving. Katie had even prodded me about who was planning Mad’s bachelorette party. She wanted to take her future fake sister-in-law to Saint Barts, for fuck’s sake.

The worst part was that Julian was barking up the wrong tree. I didn’t give a crap about the CEO throne. I mean, I did, but I also knew my place as Dad’s successor was secured. For the first time in my life, I’d done something for an entirely unselfish reason. Whoever said giving was better than receiving was high, because I was definitely not having a merry time doing the charity work.

Still, if Dad found out I’d lied about Madison, he’d be heartbroken, and that was a chance I wasn’t taking.

“Anything?” Madison tapped her lips thoughtfully. “You’d do anything?”

Well, lookee here. I’d finally found something she enjoyed other than getting eaten while sprawled on my granite kitchen island—busting my balls.

I offered her a curt nod.

“And remember, whatever it is you give me, I will only go to one dinner with you,” she warned.

“Crushed,” I drawled sarcastically—again, zero self-control. “Get on with it, Mad.”

She bit her lower lip in concentration, giving it some genuine thought. I imagined she was going to try to inflict as much damage as possible. This was a person who preferred a heating pad to a Tiffany & Co. pair of earrings. A highly unpredictable specimen of a woman. She’d castrate me if she could.

Finally, Madison snapped her fingers in the air. “I know! I’ve been wanting to sleep in for a while now. But ever since you gifted me Daisy—bless her heart—I need to walk her at six in the morning. Any later than that, and she starts scratching the door, crying, and pissing in my shoes. If I go to that dinner thing, you have to walk her every morning for a week. Weekend included.”

“I live on Park Avenue. You live in Greenwich,” I retorted, twisting my head in her direction so she could appreciate how aghast I felt toward her idea.

“And?” She snapped her pocket mirror shut and shoved it back into her purse. We held each other’s gaze on a red light for a moment. I felt my jaw tightening so hard my teeth ground one another into dust. A honking sound from behind us snapped me out of our stare-off.

“And nothing,” I muttered, willing the throbbing vein in my forehead not to pop all over the leather seats. “It’s a deal.”

She laughed with delight, her throaty, sexy voice filling my car and giving me an uncomfortable semi. “Jesus, I can’t believe I dated you.”

I can’t believe you chose this bullshit over a brand-new Park Avenue apartment.

“I don’t know what we were thinking,” I agreed solemnly.

We weren’t dating. You were dating me without my knowledge. If I hadn’t woken up in time, we’d probably be married and pregnant by now.

Now I was thinking about pregnant sex with Madison, and the semi became a full hard-on.

“It was just the sex, wasn’t it? And movies. And eating. No real talking was involved,” she murmured, resting her head back against her seat, her hazel eyes dim.

That sounded about right. We’d talked very little in the months we’d seen each other. Madison had seemed intimidated by me, something I hadn’t bothered rectifying, as it had made our eating-fucking-sleeping arrangement supremely comfortable for me.

“If it makes you feel any better, my no-mingling policy extends to all humans, not just girlfriends,” I offered.

“That does not make me feel any better. I walked around thinking you thought I was stupid,” she accused.

“Not stupid.” I shook my head. “Not overtly brilliant, either, but definitely competent.”

Didn’t they say the truth would set you free? Why did I feel so fucking chained into this uncomfortable moment, then?

“Wow. You are like Mr. Darcy’s evil twin, but sans the charm.”

“So basically an asshole?” I groaned.

“Pretty much.”

I double-parked in front of her entrance. Pediatric Guy was slumped on the stairway. His kneecaps, ears, and Adam’s apple looked like they should be attached to a person at least twice his size. He was lanky in a half-formed-teenager way, his chest caving inward. He had glasses and an intelligent nose I highly suspected women like Madison found attractive. His cheek was propped against his knuckles as he read a wrinkled paperback like some kind of Neanderthal. An actual book with pages and everything. I bet he physically went to the supermarket for his shopping and got his own takeout instead of ordering Uber Eats. This was the kind of heathen she was associating herself with these days.

I bet he wrote her love letters and didn’t even mention her rack or ass. Prick.

She glanced at him, then at me, then at him again. What was his name? I remembered it was as generic as the rest of him. Brian? Justin? He looked like a Conrad. Something that was synonymous with douchebag.

“Ethan’s here,” she announced.

Ethan.I’d been close.

“I need to tell him about that stupid dinner. You still have my email, right? Send me the details.” She hopped outside without sparing me a look. I unloaded her suitcases like I was a goddamn bellboy. To save the remainder of my pride, I dumped them by her building without even glancing at her or her dudebro, not offering to help her take them upstairs. Let Dr. Douche do it himself.

I rounded my car and got back inside, watching her ass in that ridiculous A-line dress as she approached Ethan, flung her arms over his shoulders, and kissed his cheek. Cheek. Something not terrible happened in my chest when I realized that probably meant they hadn’t slept together. Yet.

I breathed through my nose, sending a little prayer to the universe that Ethan wouldn’t fuck my fake fiancée tonight, and looked down to retrieve my phone from my pocket.

There was a note stuck to the passenger seat. The same sticky white one with my family name engraved at the top from the Hamptons. She’d put it there when I wasn’t looking. Sneaky.

C,

You saved those jasmines because they are living things, not because I asked you to.

Also: We broke up because you’re a cheating cheater who cheats.

Also 2: What’s up with Julian?

PS:

Re: you smelling something unfamiliar. It might be a good time for your bimonthly STD check.

—M