“What would hurt more is getting cut off.”

Xavier was set to inherit billions of dollars if and when his father died. However, his current income came from an extravagant annual allowance that would immediately cease if he violated one of the two terms: 1) He must retain me as his publicist, and 2) He couldn’t do anything that damaged the family reputation.

There was a three strikes policy for the second condition, and somehow, I was in charge of determining whether Xavier was in compliance. He’d raised holy hell when he first found out about it, but he’d settled into grudging acceptance since.

I didn’t abuse my power. However, I was this close to adding a second strike to his record (the first had been his twenty-ninth birthday in Miami).

“Maybe,” Xavier said, sounding unconcerned. “Regardless, you can’t do that on vacation.” He nodded at my phone.

“What, check my emails?”

“Exactly. A vacation isn’t a vacation if you’re working the entire time.”

I scoffed. “If you think I’m spending an entire week without checking my emails, you’re more delusional than I thought. I run a business, Xavier, and if you want me in Spain, then you’ll agree to my terms.”

“I see.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I never took you for a liar, Sloane. Our trip hasn’t even started, and you’re already going back on your word.”

He might as well have slapped me in the face. “Excuse me?”

I’d been called many things in my life, but I’d never once been called a liar. Sure, I might’ve bent the truth at times—which publicist worth their salt didn’t?—but when it came to promises, I kept mine. Always.

That was one of the reasons I’d agreed to this stupid bargain with Xavier in the first place. I’d promised Pen I’d see her tonight, and the only way I could do that was by giving in to his demands.

“No work, just play,” he said. “I distinctly remember that being one of the terms when you agreed to them. Checking emails is considered work, which means you’d be reneging on your promise.”

Dammit, he was right. Again. I’d somehow blocked out that condition of our deal, if only because it was so absurd. I couldn’t ignore my messages for a week, but I couldn’t go back on my word, either.

“I propose an amendment,” I said tightly. “I can check my personal emails at any time, and I can check my work ones if all I do is delegate them to my team.”

Xavier’s eyes narrowed. Several beats passed before his face relaxed into a smile again. “Amendment accepted. Now—”

“Ahem.” The driver cut him off before he could finish his sentence. Apparently, he’d tired of our conversation “Where to?” he asked pointedly.

Xavier and I answered at the same time. “Claridge’s.”

“Stansted Airport.”

“You promised me a vacation,” Xavier said when I stared at him. “Time to put your money where your mouth is.”

“We literally arrived in London hours ago, and we don’t leave for Spain until tomorrow.”

That much travel in one day made me want to die. “Check your watch. It’s five past midnight.”

It was, indeed, five past midnight. I just kept taking losses tonight.

Note to self: in the future, specify a departure time and not just a departure day.

“My luggage is at my hotel. I need to get it,” I said, trying to stall.

“Already taken care of.” He held up his phone. “I just messaged my hotel butler. Our luggage will be waiting for us on the jet when we arrive.”

“It’s too late.” I grasped for another excuse to delay the trip. “It’s dangerous to fly at this time.”

Xavier didn’t deign to acknowledge my ridiculous statement.

Red-eye flights took off after midnight all the time.

The cab driver twisted around to glare at us. “Claridge’s or Stansted?” he demanded. “I don’t have all night.”

“Stansted. Sorry, my man.” Xavier shoved a handful of bills toward the front seat. “Appreciate it.”

Mollified, the other man grabbed the cash and sped off.

I guess I wasn’t the only one who bribed drivers when the occasion called for it.

“Relax, Luna.” Xavier laughed as we wound through the near-empty streets at a breakneck pace. “You’re officially off the clock for the next week. Enjoy it.”

I pressed my lips together.

All I have to do is get through the week without slipping up. I wasn’t sure what “slipping up” would look like, but foreboding inched beneath my skin the closer we got to the airport.

I didn’t know what would happen when I didn’t have the buffer of work to shield me, but if Xavier thought he could trick me into letting down my guard in Spain, he had another thing coming.

Vacation or not, I was still me. I didn’t let people see past what I wanted them to see, and nothing would change that—not even a forced week off with my client nemesis.

CHAPTER 5

Xavier

Sloane and I flew to Mallorca in silence. I could tell she was plotting my demise the entire time, but luckily, all sharp objects remained blood-free when we landed.

By then, we were so tired she didn’t argue over sharing a villa with me, and I didn’t protest when she took the primary suite. I was simply happy to fall into bed and pass out.

Despite my exhaustion, it was a fitful sleep plagued by replays of the same dream. I was crossing a bridge with Hershey, my pet chocolate Lab from childhood, but every time I made it halfway, the gaps between the planks widened. No matter how hard I tried to jump the distance or cling to the railing, we fell through the gap. I plunged into quicksand and watched helplessly as the surrounding river swept my beloved dog away.

Hershey died years ago from old age, but that didn’t matter to Dream Me. The crushing anchor of failure weighed me down more than the quicksand.

The fall happened over and over and over until I woke up, heart pounding and body drenched in sweat.

Variations of the dream had haunted me for years.

Sometimes, I was with Hershey. Other times, I was with my mother, an old friend, or an ex-girlfriend. Whoever it was, the result remained the same.

I was stuck watching them die.

“Fuck this.” My harsh voice chased some of the ghosts away as I tossed my covers off.