with you?”

I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that Cole had called me. Cole the uber-rich guy. Cole the most beautiful man alive. Cole the fiancé of my nemesis. Cole, who was under my skin and grating my nerves. “None of my comings and goings with Martin are any of your business.” I should have ended there, but Barolo. “Especially the lack of coming, due to that workaholic taking a fucking phone call in the middle of getting busy on his kitchen counter.”

Long, uncomfortable silence passed. Enough time for Ray Donavan to put a bullet through a priest’s head.

Cole blew a hard breath through the speaker. “He left you hanging?”

“He left me hanging.”

“The fuck’s wrong with that guy?” Two more heavy breaths. “On behalf of my douchebag best friend, and men everywhere, I apologize.”

“Not necessary.” I pointed the remote at my flat screen and pushed Pause. “Cole.”

“Yeah?”

My phone buzzed in my hand, alerting me to incoming texts. I ignored them. “How did you get my number?”

“Martin.”

Shamefully, I wasn’t upset that Cole had my digits. “Why are you calling me?”

He huffed a nervous laugh. “He wanted me to check on you.”

What kind of man does that shit? If Martin was worried, he should’ve made the call. “Okay. So we’re back in junior high?”

A deep, chocolatey, gooey chuckle reached my ears. “You’re right. Immature. Again, I apologize.”

“You’re forgiven,” slipped my lips, and I sank deeper into my cushions.

“Uh. Wanna meet for dinner tomorrow? Victoria’s heading to Portland for a bridal shower. Ellis and Lacey are MIA.”

I hadn’t spoken to Lacey in days. I was lonely, and maybe that was why talking to Cole seemed like a necessity. But savoring the sound of his voice was wrong on too many levels. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“I think you know why.” I swallowed another long pull of my wine.

“Are you drunk, Natalie?”

“Maybe a little.” Why did he care? “Barolo never lets me down,” I whispered, saddened by the truth of that statement. “I’ll never love a man more than I love Barolo.”

“Listen. I’ll be at Wall Street Thai tomorrow at six, having my usual. Join me or don’t. Just thought I’d offer, seeing as we’re both without our significant others for the weekend.”

“Significant.” I laughed. “That’s funny.” Martin was of no importance to me. Not really. Pathetic, I know.

“What’s funny?” His voice echoed like he was in a large empty room.

“Never mind.”

He grunted, then released a long exhale, the sound of metal clinking in the background.

“Where are you?”

“Gym.”

I glanced at the clock. Ten thirty-six PM. I remembered him boxing with Ellis, his grace. His power. I sighed.

“You okay?”

No, I was not. “I will be, soon as Ray ditches the priest’s body.”

“What?” His breaths quickened and a thump, thump, thump, thump reached my ears.

I emptied my glass. Swallowed. Lay back down, stretching my legs across the sofa. “It’s sad how we root for people to die, isn’t it?”

“The hell you talking about?” His breaths came measured in sync with the background noise. Thump, thump, whack. Thump, thump, whack.

“It’s wrong for us to take pleasure in their deaths, yet we do.”

“Who died?” Whack, whack, whack.

“Take Ray Donovan for example. The priest abused him. Raped countless children, including Ray’s brother. And while that old fucker sits there on the couch, bleeding, we’re silently hoping, please Ray, please, just end that bastard. Don’t take him to the hospital. Don’t forgive his sins. Just end him. And bam! Bullet to the head. And I’m happy. Happy that a man was murdered. Does that make me a bad person?”

“No.” Huff, thump. Huff, whack. Huff, thump, thump.

The sound was a lullaby, a calming caress. I let my guard down, closed my eyes, and whispered, “I used to wish someone would kill Victoria.”

“Natalie,” he whispered, low and gruff. A warning, perhaps.

“Sorry. Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

“How bad was it?”

“I’ve had too much to drink. I should go.”

A mumbled “fuck” reached my ears. “Why won’t either of you talk about what happened?”

“She’s your fiancée. I won’t.” I wanted to. “I can’t.” I had no right. He wasn’t mine. “Goodnight, Cole.”

I powered down my cell. Drank through two more episodes. Woke the next morning with a killer headache, a sour stomach, and Cole on my mind.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Gone were the dimples. Even wearing a scowl, the man was devastating. He wore a light blue sweater, worn jeans, and black sneakers. His messy hair only added charm.

The flutter in my chest was wholly inappropriate, and the very reason I had waited for him to finish eating before walking through the door and to his table.

“I only came to apologize for last night. In person. Not over the phone.”

“You have no reason to apologize.” He cleared his throat and dropped his wadded napkin on the empty plate, then tilted his strong square jaw to meet me eye to eye.

My glasses slid down my nose, an irritating distraction. I pinched the rim, sliding them back into place. “I said some things.”

“You were intoxicated.”

Damn wine. “That’s not an excuse.”

“Natalie.” He sighed, pushed to stand, and then pulled out a chair. “Sit with me.”

“No.” I moved back a step. “I need to get home.”

My phone buzzed in my hand, breaking the tension, and I glanced down at the screen.

I see you.

Fucking whore.

Pulse kicking, I looked out the window across the street. A glance left, then right. No sign of Holden or his Tundra.

Over the past couple weeks, the texts had changed from pleading to ugly. I blocked every caller, yet new messages kept coming. I would have to change my number, but I feared even that wouldn’t stop his efforts.

Cole whispered, “What?”

“What, what?” I asked, not sure where to aim my attention, gaze bouncing from the phone to Cole to the phone to Cole.

“You’re white as a ghost.” He stepped around the table, standing close enough I could smell his laundry soap. “Is it him? He still bothering you?”

I hadn’t the energy to lie. “Yes.” I showed him my

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