“He’s rich as Croesus,” Yolanda said. “You’ll be set for life.”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

Yolanda waved a dismissive hand. “Ancient Greek guy. Not important.” She turned to Will and said, “I really don’t think she knows who your brother is.”

“I’m getting that impression,” Will said.

“I know who he is,” I said, annoyed that they were talking about me like I wasn’t there. “He told me. He’s a rich businessman, so what?”

“The Turner Group is one of the biggest private equity firms in the world,” Yolanda said. “He’s beyond rich. The company is worth billions.”

A quick glance at Will’s face told me that Yolanda wasn’t exaggerating. I sat there, fork frozen in midair, considering her words. Well, that was why he hadn’t balked at paying me a quarter of a million for one month of moderately kinky sex. “He’s still a jerk. I don’t really care how rich he is.” I looked at Will and said, “No offense.”

“None taken,” he said. “I agree that Alex can be insufferable at times.”

I looked down at my plate. Insufferable maybe wasn’t the word I would have chosen.

“The point is, you’re on the gravy train,” Yolanda said. “Take full advantage.”

“Are you encouraging her to use my brother for his money?” Will asked, smiling like he thought Yolanda was amusing instead of incredibly crass and inappropriate.

“Sure,” Yolanda said. “Why not? He’s got enough of it, doesn’t he?”

They started talking about the ethical obligations of investment banks, or something, and I stopped paying attention. I didn’t care about money unless it was in my bank account. I picked at my dinner and wondered why I wasn’t trying to milk Turner for everything he was worth. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to make him fall in love with me. And then I would be set for life, like Yolanda said—wouldn’t I? All of my problems would be solved.

But he would never fall in love with Sasha, and I didn’t want to be Sassy for him anymore. I couldn’t.

Something in my heart wouldn’t let me.

I hated having feelings. It was a waste of time and energy, and it clouded my judgment.

If I had any sense, I would fall for someone like Will, who had his own demons but seemed to be coping with them, who was kind and mild-mannered and careful with his hands. You could build a life with a man like that.

But Turner lit a fire in my belly, and I didn’t want to move away from that heat.

I just had to wait it out, that was all. Three more weeks, and then I would be free of Turner forever. And free of New York; free of any reminders of him. I would be home with my family, where I belonged.

I just had to keep my head above water until then.

Well, easier said than done.

PART TWO

Alex

11

I hailed a cab outside Sasha’s apartment, cursing myself, Will, Sasha, and goddamn Bywater and Reginald Martin for good measure. My life was a goddamn mess, at least for the next forty-eight hours, and Sasha’s smart mouth hadn’t helped. Kissing her had helped even less, because now I couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if I’d thrown all caution to the wind and fucked her on her bed, Will and Yolanda and even the buyout be damned.

She always seemed to get the best of me. I went into every interaction feeling utterly sure of myself: Alex Turner, ladykiller, force of nature. And then by the end, she was usually yelling at me.

The only woman who I tolerated yelling at me was my mother.

And yet.

Sasha was such a goddamn pain in my ass.

“Broadway and Liberty,” I told the cabbie, and he peeled away from the curb.

I didn’t even attempt to take out my phone and get any work done. I needed a few minutes of quiet to gather my scattered thoughts. It had been a long and aggravating day, and it wasn’t over yet. I’d spent so many hours dealing with Will that I was desperately behind on the work I needed to complete before Friday, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.

Not that I begrudged Will the time. I was proud of him: first for admitting that he had a problem, and second for seeking treatment, and for maintaining good spirits throughout. And when my father had called me that afternoon, and told me that Will was getting discharged and insisted on being squirreled away somewhere until the buyout was complete, I didn’t hesitate before I told him I would handle it.

I rubbed one hand over my face. I should have found somewhere else for him to stay.

Sasha drove me insane. I’d been making bad decisions since the first moment I saw her, when she tripped on the sidewalk and skinned her knees. I should have walked away and left her there—none of my business, and she was an adult, or at least passed for one in polite society—but I didn’t, and I’d been paying for it ever since.

I was almost thirty, and it was time for me to stop thinking with my dick.

The cab crept downtown, stymied by rush hour. Traffic was my least favorite part of living in New York. I took out my phone and texted my dad: Will’s with a friend. All’s well. Then I made a note to call him later. My father had only recently acquired his first smartphone, and he routinely sent me text messages like email and call Alex, so I couldn’t be sure that anything I texted him would in fact be received and read.

I refused to make phone calls from taxi cabs. I detested the idea of a stranger listening in on my conversations.

The cab ground to a stop as we approached the entrance to the Holland Tunnel. I jiggled one leg impatiently. Sitting in traffic was a waste of my time. “I’m getting out here,” I told the driver.

“But sir, it’s very far,” he said. “I will get you there fast.”

“It’s a mile,” I said. “I’ll walk.” I fished two twenties from my wallet and passed them to him, and then levered myself out of the cab and headed down 6th Avenue.

I regretted my decision almost immediately. I shucked my suit jacket by the end of the first block, and sweated through my undershirt not long after. The air had the approximate consistency and temperature of split pea soup. Summer couldn’t end quickly enough for me. After this buyout was finalized, I planned to spend a few days in the Hamptons, enjoying the sea breeze and doing nothing that could be remotely construed as productive. Maybe I would take Sasha with me, to thank her for looking after Will, or to punish her for being such a thorn in my paw. I would enjoy watching her sunbathe naked on the roof deck, or doing the dishes wearing nothing but a pair of high heels.