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“You make me …”

“Texts only, Ms. Hayes.”

A louddingjolts me from sleep, and I find myself tangled in the sheets of my bed in Nick’s guest room,again,panting like I’ve just run a marathon. Sweat beads my brow. My nipples tingle. They could cut through the fabric of my pajama shirt, they’re so hard.

Not good.

Muted city lights shine through the sleek blind over the window, melting into the light from my phone charging on my bedside table. It’s the night before the charity gala, and I’m going to need my beauty sleep. Figures.

I sit up in bed, swallowing hard, and pass my fingers between my legs.

Not good.

My phone says 12:54 AM. There’s a notification glaring from the screen, and my hands tremble, my heart playing a basketball game in my chest.

Nick, 12:53 AM

Night, Sienna. If you need anything before tomorrow, let me know.

I remind myself to breathe. They’re dreams. Just dreams—but my brain is reeling. I’ve forgotten my line, forgotten the role I’m supposed to play, forgotten my own fucking name.

Nick Harwood has gotten into my head.

I imagine him in his bed, only a short walk from where I’m sitting, staring at his phone. Lying beneath those soft charcoal and navy sheets, light seeping in from around those tall curtains. Waiting for me to reply.

Shaking myself, I clear the notification and put my phone on Do Not Disturb. Then I unplug the whole thing and toss it in the bedside drawer.

Fuck a full battery. I’ve got to keep it together.

“I require complete silence for this important announcement,” Lena tells me over the phone the next morning.

I close my eyes, pausing as I lay my scarlet ball gown out on my bed. “Seriously, Lena, you don’t have to?—”

“I told you so.” There’s a clapping sound in the background. Is she seriously applauding herself right now? “That feels so good to say, Sienna, you don’t even know.”

“Ugh.”

“I can’t wait to tell Mason you have a crush on your fake husband, who is alsoour client, by the way.”

“Lena.”

“Mason and I knew this would happen. We had a bet! It’s only been two weeks, so I get a twenty. Your crush is making me rich.”

Sinking my face into my hands, I say, “It’s not a crush, it’s …”

I don’t have any clue how to finish that sentence. An obsession? A fixation?

Running my fingers over the soft silk of my gown, I turn to pull open my closet, looking for a pair of matching heels. “It’s just that … living with Nick makes it difficult to avoid him.”

“Well, yeah,” Lena says. “You live in the same apartment.”

“I don’t mean physically. Like, we have different schedules, so we don’t see much of each other, but when I’m alone here, I can’t help but notice things about him.”

His TV always defaults to the music app. His bookshelves in the living room are filled with business titles and food travelogues—the food books are dog-eared while the others have gone untouched. On the mantle, there’s a picture of a younger Nick with longer hair and a devil-may-care grin, his arm around the shoulders of an older woman.

Laurie was beautiful. She had shrewd eyes with Nick’s smile and short-cropped hair.

“He showed me his plans for the restaurant he wants to open,” I tell Lena. “An upscale comfort food place calledEmber & Hearth.He’s got the concept, the menu, everything.” I can’t help but imagine myself sinking into the coziness he wants to conjure there, the firelight, giving him lingering looks over good wine.