Hannah

RAIN SPLATTERS AGAINST THE WINDOW.

I sit curled up on the couch in our living room, watching Seinfeld. I'm on season five, even though I've seen the show all the way through twice. It's my go-to comfort show that I turned on the instant I got home.

Sofia is still gone. She texted me saying she's staying late for work. I haven't seen her since the club on Sunday night. We agreed to a late lunch together after my interview, but I texted her it ran long and to go without me.

I'm still debating if I should tell her what happened today. I'm not sure how I feel. It's more complicated than when I dealt with the aftermath of Sterling. Then, I felt sad and stupid.

And now? I shove my spoon into my tub of chocolate chip ice cream. Now I feel stupid and something else...

Pissed. Yes, that's it.

For two reasons.

One, my chances of working on Silicon Avenue are approaching zero.

The Bass family owns half of it, and their reach and influence must stretch down the entire street. My promising client relations interview practically went out the window the moment I stepped foot into his office.

And two, Damien knew I was his brother's ex when Sterling found me at the bar, and he said nothing. The whole night, he didn't tell me. I blow out a breath of annoyance. That arrogant billionaire thinks he can get whatever he wants, that he can conjure up some fake position at his company, and I'll drool all over it and his cock.

Images of us in the hotel room flash behind my eyes. The first is me on my knees, looking up at him and his impressive length inches from my mouth. The next is me dragging him by his tie to the window. Sit and watch, I tell him, feeling so confident in the moment.

I know what last night was for you—an awakening. Damien's words replay in my ear.

So what if he's right? It doesn't erase what he did.

Neglecting to tell the truth still counts as a lie.

I'M four episodes deep into my shameless N*****x binge, that has now migrated to my bedroom, when my phone lights up. It's face up on my old nightstand, and the number isn't in my contacts, but I recognize it immediately as the same one crinkled inside my purse.

I hit deny, for the third time in the past hour. I don't want to hear the sultry voice on the other end of the line, but there is another I'd prefer.

I sigh.

I don't want her to know anything's off, though. I can't bring myself to talk about what happened today. I want a normal, happy call from my ever- cheerful mom. Pulling up her contact, I plaster a fake smile on my face, hoping it'll resonate in my voice.

She picks up on the second ring. "Hi, sweetie."

"Hey," I say brightly.

"How's it going? How'd the interview go?"

I put her on speaker and pick at the sides of my nails, preparing myself

for the lie.

Focus on the beginning, before everything took a turn for the worse.

"It went well. They seemed to be impressed with my previous employment."

My mom knows I worked for Sterling, not that I dated him. I strategically kept that information out of our conversations. I didn’t want to worry her, with her knowing I'm dating someone from a completely different world than I grew up in. She would think I'd get taken advantage of...

Which I did.

From a trailer park to a run-down farm, my family never had it easy. But my parents remodeled the whole thing and started a small farm business, growing corn and potatoes. They opened the door to a whole new life for themselves. It's quite inspiring, actually. My mom's the one who pushed me to chase my big city dreams from an early age.

"That's great! I knew they would. You'll be a great fit."

"Hopefully they'll call back soon. If not, I'll interview at a few more places."

"They will. All the years helping with the farm made you a hard worker, and they'll pick up on that."

I smile. "Thanks, Mom. Speaking of the farm, how's it going? I bet the yield this year's big." I chuckle, remembering hours upon hours of harvesting corn by hand, piling them so high my wheelbarrow could barely roll on the dirt.

The line goes silent, and my face drops. "Mom?"

She clears her throat. "You should come by sometime, Hannah."

She never sounds like that.

My heart sinks at the thickness in her voice, and I dare to think of the

worst. "... It's what happened last year, isn't it?"

"Yes," she whispers. "The soil hasn't quite recovered from the flood.

Crops this year are producing next to nothing."

My eyes burn, reluctant to believe her words. She played it off so well,

not wanting me to know how bad it must've ruined their chances for a high yield, for the farm's chances of survival.

"I can come help."

"No." Her tone is urgent. "No, sweetie. You stay there. It's where you're meant to be, you know that."

"I know... but I don't mind. It would only be for a while."

"It wouldn't do any good. The soil needs at least another year or two to fully recover. There isn't much we can do."

I swallow hard, stifling the sniffles sitting thick in my throat. I'm not particularly attached to the farm. Never have been, not like the rest of my family. But my younger brother grew up his entire life on it. He must be devastated.

"Your dad's looking for work in the town. It's going to be fine, Hannah." "Are you sure?"

"Of course. We're a strong bunch."

Grinning, I roll my eyes, weathering the inspiring speech I've heard a gazillion times, all coated in optimism and the resilient Lockwood spirit.

"Oh my god, Mom. Stop. I believe you, everything's going to be fine."

"Good," she says, and we laugh, chatting a while longer before we say our goodbyes.

Shutting off the TV, I sink further down my squeaky mattress, tugging my comforter up to my chin.

In comparison, my boy problems are nothing.

"YOU WHAT?" Sofia's eyes shoot from her sockets.

A few days later, we're seated on the patio at Matteo's, sharing a

pineapple and pepperoni pizza. Her slice drops from her hand, slapping face-down on her plate.

"Shh! Keep it down." Two tables over, a pair of heads turn. I give them a thin smile. "I didn't know it was him! He didn't tell me."

She rescues her pizza, flipping it over, and starts picking at the pineapple pieces like popcorn.

"So, let me get this straight. You slept with Damien Bass... Damien Bass." I cringe. Why does she have to say his name like that? "Interviewed at his company without knowing it, and then he called you into his office to be his personal assistant?"

"... Yes."

"Wow."

"I know." I take an unnecessarily large bite, chewing at a rapid pace

before swallowing. "You could've told me Sterling's brother owns Innovex." "I'm sorry." Her expression softens. "It's such a large company, and I know how much you want to work on Silicon Avenue. I thought you'd

never see him, let alone work with him."

"It's okay. If it wasn't for running into him at the club, there's no way I'd

see him working there." I sigh. "I want to learn about business at work, not... other things."

The corners of her mouth rise. "Why not learn both?"

"Sofia!"

“Woah, woah." She pumps her hands, palms facing me. "There's nothing wrong with mixing business and pleasure. I say go for it, if you like the sex, of course." She narrows her eyes, baiting me to give her more information. When I don't budge, she leans over, her eyebrows lifting. "So, anyway. How was he?"

I open my mouth, then shut it. I can't answer that, not without spilling each and every dirty detail from our night together. My cheeks burn.

"It was that good, then?" Her eyes light up.

"It doesn't matter how it was." I angle my head down to conceal my smile. "It's not happening again."

"Oh, it so is."

"It's not!"

"You poor, poor girl."

"No. He's just some pretty guy in a suit who's probably got nothing

going on upstairs. I've tried that. Not interested. I bet his family gave him that company as some birthday present. Isn't that what high society does for their children?"

"Most of them, ya. But not Damien. He started his company on his own when he was twenty-three. He invented the new family of G-line chips himself. Everything that's high tech uses them, and no other company has successfully reverse-engineered them. And that's not from a lack of trying."

I should cover my ears, block out all this new information. I don't need to make this any more complicated for myself.

"And he double majored. In electrical engineering and applied physics. Nobody does that." She sighs, a twinkle dancing in her eye. "I'd hate you if I didn't already have my eyes set on Ross in the computer engineering department."

"Oh, really? No more club-hopping, silver foxes for you?"

"They're just for fun and can't catch my eye like a man who can solder a circuit board so cleanly it makes me wet." Oh my god, am I listening to nerd porn? "So, I'll take cutie Ross and you can have the king of Silicon Avenue."

Before I can start my deflective response that is sure to further my denial, Jenna stops in front of our table. She wears Matteo's signature black and red colors, with an apron wrapped around her waist.

She plops down in the seat next to me. "I'm so done with Aldo." Oh, no. Here we go about her boss. But I let out a sigh of relief, grateful for the

change of topic. She swipes a piece from our tray. "I don't care if he sees. He can go ahead and fire me already."

Sofia quirks her brow. "What'd he do this time?"

"The usual. Apparently, I can't make friends with my co-workers." She purses her lips in a pouty fashion. "I was keeping up with my tables, I swear. I was only trying to get Gabe's number—he's the new cook, by the way. So much better than Leo."

Jenna has a habit of dating half of her staff, each one the next love of her life—for a month or two, until she's onto the next lucky boy. Sofia and I are often stuck listening, along for the ride, but I'd be lying if I said I don't get sucked into the drama more often than not.

"He makes a mean pineapple pepperoni," I say with my mouth full, grabbing my next slice. I don't know how many I've had, and I'm not keeping count. "And they can't fire you. You bring in the most tips."

"Exactly! Thank you. They need me."

Sofia and Jenna keep chatting, and I lean back to soak in the sun. We haven't had a nice day in weeks, so it's nice to take it in while it lasts. A calm feeling washes over me, something I haven't felt in weeks.

Everything will be okay. I can always job hunt elsewhere. Some company on Silicon Avenue will be the right fit. Besides, maybe what Sofia said is right. There's nothing wrong with mixing business and pleasure, as long as I'm still furthering my career.

But not with someone who's my ex's brother.

Releasing a slow breath, I study those passing us by on the sidewalk, an iron railing separating them from the tables. Most wear sunglasses and loose-fitting clothing, all except a dark-haired man crossing the street. He's wearing a charcoal gray suit, holding a phone to his ear, and he's looking right at me.

I gasp, sitting up straight, prompting my friends to snap their heads at me.

Jenna follows the line of my gaze. "Who's that? Do you know him?"

I ignore her.

He lowers his phone and beelines it towards us, getting closer. I hear

Sofia's quiet gasp, feeling like I can't breathe. Snatching a tall menu, I open it and stare a fiery hole right through the Lunch Specials section.

"Oh my god." Jenna's breath tickles my ear. "Oh my god. He's fucking hot!" She clutches my arm. "I think I've seen him on the cover of GQ."

"Stop staring!" I hiss, lowering my head. "He's no one."

"No one? Well, no one looks pissed, and he's heading straight for you." Sofia stands with a grin, tugging Jenna's sleeve. "I'm going to the bar.

Could you make me a drink?"

"W-what?" My eyes ping-pong between my two friends and Damien's

long legs eating up the pavement. "Sofia, no. I know what you're doing. Don't go."

"It'll be quick." Teeth flashing in the sun, her smile is brazen. "I really want a drink. You understand, don't you?" She nudges Jenna, pulling her from a trance-like state.

"Oh—ya, sure. I'll make you one." She guides Sofia into the restaurant, stealing looks over her shoulder.

Shitshitshit.

I slide further down my chair, my menu swallowing my face. Be invisible. Blend in. And don't look.

It's not him, I tell myself. There are plenty of men in the city who have perfect hair, suits tailored to their body like silk gloves, and the bone structure of a Greek god. Plenty.

And besides, on the highly improbable chance it is him, it's not like the last interaction I had with him ended with fuck you and me scurrying off like a madwoman with her rear end in flames.

Because that would be bad.

Very bad.

Crunching footsteps atop gravel sound to my left, on the opposite side of the railing and my very interesting menu. I don't breathe. I don't make a sound.

"Hannah," a sultry voice, that does not belong to Damien, purrs. Waves of shivers run up my spine, but I suffer through them. Okay. Act natural.

I flip to the next page.

"Are you serious right now?"

I clear my throat and flip again. Pictures of chocolatey deserts cloud my vision, two inches from my face.

"You are not reading that."

I reach for the corner of my menu, but it's snatched away from my grasp. Damien's striking features come into view, before he clasps the menu shut with one hand.

I purse my lips. "You're no fun."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I was the one who was immature."

I say nothing as he walks along the railing, then opens a latch to enter

onto the patio. In a whirlwind of time, too soon ago, I was watching him cross the street, but now he's sitting across from me, with a no-bullshit look on his face.

He seems so out of place here underneath our red-and-yellow umbrella. The other guests steal glances his way, and for good reason, too. They're all summer breezes and happy-go-lucky, and he's just downright suit and tie and no smiles.

"Are you here to get the last word?"

"Maybe I wouldn't have to track you down if you'd pick up the phone sometime."

It’s true. He's called me at least fifteen times in the past three days. I should've blocked him by now, but a little part of me gloats every time I press deny.

"How'd you get my number? I know I didn't give it to you."

"You did interview at my company."

"Wow. That smells suspiciously like some sort of privacy violation."

Appraising his frame that’s much too large for that wrought-iron chair, I suppress my laughter.

His face scrunches, morphing into an expression of annoyance, like he's explaining times tables to a fifth grader. "No, you agreed to a background check the moment you stepped foot into my building. Your private information is mine."

Sucking in a breath, I push my thighs together, burning under his intense stare. No, don't get turned on. I shove the traitorous feeling back down. That's wrong and an abuse of power.

I cross my arms. "Is this going to be a thing—you, showing up out of nowhere? Nowhere for me to hide in all of Silicon Avenue to avoid the Bass family's tyranny?"

A grin dances across his lips. Asshole.

"We're not everywhere." He grips his chin. "But now that you say that. Yes, until you listen to what I have to say."

"Fine."

I wonder if he can spot the steam shooting from my ears as I keep my arms crossed, planting the soles of my feet to the ground. I'll hear him out.

Listen to whatever nonsense he wants to spew at me about how I need his magical dick, only so I can be done with it and move on with my life and career.

He takes a considerable breath, the knuckles of his thumbs dancing around one another, and for the first time since meeting him, he lacks complete control. Is he... nervous? Whatever he has to say, he's working himself up over it.

Is it something bad?

Okay, Hannah. Don't get mad and storm off. Let him finish, so we can completely be done with each other.

He looks me dead in the eyes.

“We need to enter into a fake engagement.”