Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
Nathan’s Parents and Family
Family Tree
A Note on Chronic Fatigue Syndrome
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Abby Brooks
ONE
Mina
“You’ve got this, Mina. This is the first day of the rest of your life.” I blow a puff of air past pursed lips and flex my hands against the steering wheel. On the other side of my windshield is a large stretch of undeveloped land—trees, beach, ocean—the site of my next project and today’s meeting with the two men I’ll be working with for the next several months. Both larger than life. Both wildly successful. Both wealthy and sought after in their respective fields.
And me?
I am just Mina Blake. Simple. Hard working. Counting every dollar and hoping life will finally cut me a break with this new interior design contract. I so do not belong with the two men I’m about to meet.
“But I’ll fake it ‘til I make it,” I say to myself.
It’s my battle cry, one that brought me this far, and the woman staring back at me through the rearview looks positively ferocious.
I arrived a respectable fifteen minutes early to the meeting, expecting the same from my soon-to-be colleague and our very famous client. However, twenty minutes have passed and I’m still pep talking myself all by my lonesome, so I pull up our group chat to verify the address the client sent last night. Definitely at the right spot. Still, nerves get the better of me, so I send a quick text as a get out of jail free card.
This site is gorgeous! Can’t wait to talk ideas for the build!
If I am in the wrong place, I’ll find out soon enough.
A black Tesla whines to a stop beside me. The most beautiful man in the entire world glances my way and smiles, which only amps up the wattage on his allure. With effort, I close my mouth, gulp down my libido, and lift a hand before climbing out of my twenty-year-old Honda to meet the man Architectural Digest named “One to Watch” for five years running before basically crowning him King of Architecture.
Benjamin Bancroft. Smart. Talented. And sexy as all get out.
Chocolate hair hangs playfully into dark eyes. Tight jeans hug an ass I’d love to sink my teeth into and a worn T-shirt clings to broad shoulders, screaming, “I’m too cool for business attire. Look how easy and breezy I am, arriving for a meeting with a famous client in casual clothes.” A worn khaki messenger bag bounces off his hip in agreement.
My thrift store blouse, slacks, and heels don’t stand a chance next to him, vintage vibes be damned. I smooth the front of my pants then close the car door, the ancient hinges groaning in complaint.
Mr. Hot, Cool, and Talented gives a quick scan of my dated clothes and vehicle as he closes the distance between us. I brace for impact. These wealthy types can be difficult to deal with once they know you’re not in the same class. There’s no hint of judgment, another check in his favor.
“Hey there! I’m Benjamin Bancroft,” he says, in a voice as smooth as a warm slice of chocolate lava cake. “You must be Mina Blake. I’ve heard good things about your work.”
My grin widens until I remind myself to crank it down a notch or seven. I may be slightly in awe of the man. I know all his projects by heart after obsessively following his career as I was building mine. Which possibly, maybe, led to a teensy tiny crush. Totally innocent and understandable, especially after seeing him in person. How is it possible he’s better looking in the flesh than on the cover of a magazine? Even the sun shines brighter in appreciation, bringing out beads of perspiration at my temples. Florida heat is not to be trifled with.
“It’s such an honor to work with you.” I extend a hand to the living legend. “I promise to do whatever it takes to live up to these good things you’ve heard.”
“With an attitude like that, I’m sure you will.” Benjamin chuckles, a low sultry rumble that’s yet another check in his favor. Could he be more perfect? “Though, between you and me, I wouldn’t get my hopes up about this project. I’ve heard Mr. West can be difficult to please.”
“Da da dunnnn…” I hum the international theme song for danger before my brain has time to analyze the appropriateness of said action. Which it does. Quickly. Then sends a panicked rush of adrenaline through my system, slamming the abort button.
Dear God. Make it stop. Sincerely, Mina Blake.
Thankfully, Benjamin laughs again, then indicates the shore with his chin. “I’m gonna wander the site and get my bearings before Mr. West arrives.” He takes a few steps before pausing to turn over his shoulder. “Stick with me, kid. We’re gonna do good things together.”
There are so many good things I’d like to do with the man in front of me. Business. Pleasure. The mind boggles with options. I try not to swoon as he saunters away, dictating notes into his phone.
Hormones aside, working with someone like Benjamin Bancroft could be the professional break I need. I haven’t spent a lot of time with people who can afford interior designers and architects for their private builds. They have money to spare and time to waste and I’ve never had much of either. Try as I might, they sniff out my ‘poor as dirt’ background faster than a police dog searching for a donut.
While I stare after Benjamin, a second vehicle rumbles to a stop beside me. Sleek. Black. Drenched with the understated pretension of generational wealth. A tall man climbs out, affording me my first look at our client live and up close. Nathan West, firstborn son of Collin and Harlow West, pop culture icons who retired right here in the Florida Keys to be near Harlow’s family, the Huttons.
