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Lola clenched her jaw with enough force to rival an enraged mastiff.

“If you must know, your cousin Gil needed the money to start his taco truck. And I haven’t lived in the house long enough to take out a line of equity, even though I told the glorified receptionist at the bank—”

“A taco truck?” She closed her eyes. “What the hell does Gil know about making food? Do you know how expensive taco trucks are? Where did he even find one? You know you need licenses to be a food vendor, right? And where does he plan to set up this taco—”

“It’s Cuban-Dominican-Mexican fusion,” her mother snapped. “And he made some for us to try. They were wonderful. Maybe you can introduce him to that lovely chef client of yours. I bet one word from her and he’d rocket—”

“Who isus? Did you go to some kind of investor pitch meeting? Let me guess, you’re the only one who gave him money.”

“I didn’t raise you to be selfish,” her mother said with a tremble in her voice. It was her Victim Voice — the tone Lola hated most. She’d actually prefer Righteous Indignation or Misplaced Blame or Unable to Take Accountability. Those were less theatrical.

Lola took another deep breath. “Have you missed any mortgage payments? What are the terms?”

Despite what her family failed to understand, Lola wasn’t some kind of millionaire. Her base salary was good. Six figures good. But it wasn’t enough to carry herself and her mother and a gaggle of miscreants. Not in Miami.

She’d only start making the kind of money Adriana was making once she grew her stable of talent. The bonuses were where the real money was, and for that she had to sign clients who made it big. She’d never get there if they all dropped out after confusing lust for love and running off to marry strangers.

Her mother was rambling without giving her an answer when Natalia strode into the open kitchen visible from Lola’s glass-encased office.

“Mom, I have to go,” she said, cutting her off. “I’ll send it to you, but this is a one-time thing.” She opened her banking app and transferred money from the savings account she never managed to pad very well into her mother’s account. “If you want to throw away my hard work by losing the house, that’s going to be on you, okay?”

“As if I would ever do something like that to you,” she said, forgetting the car she’d bought and lost. Lola had only learned that she’d forged her name as the cosigner on the car loan when her credit score tanked a month after the repo.

Lola didn’t remind her that she’d had to lock her credit before hanging up. Grabbing the paper cup she kept in a new, more reliable warmer, Lola hurried to the kitchen before Natalia could start making coffee.

Lola strode into the sleek kitchen, holding out the still-hot coffee. “I got you something better than that.”

Natalia turned, regarding her with an inscrutable expression. She took the cup. While she sipped it, Natalia’s dark gaze darted over Lola’s face. She was searching. Reading her. Looking into her like an x-ray machine, a microscope, a freaking lie detector.

Lola tensed. What had she noticed with her keen eyes? Her ability to pick up on the slightest changes? Had she heard her conversation with her mother?

“You’re wearing yesterday’s clothes,” Natalia observed after a beat.

Lola froze, pulse hammering. She’d been in something of a daze that morning, but she distinctly recalled showering. Had she really put on the same clothes without noticing? She resisted the urge to look down at herself and confirm.

“I had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction.” She forced a carefree laugh. “Spilled coffee right down my front on the way in. Had to swap the blouse for an emergency backup.”

Natalia stared at her, eyes narrowed. Lola held her breath until Natalia made a noncommittal sound with her throat that sounded like disapproval.

When Natalia sauntered out in her impeccable black jacket, shoulder pads only seen on Parisian runways balancing out the envy-inducing curve of her hips, Lola looked down at her watch. She wouldn’t have time to run to her car and grab a change of clothes before the meeting. The best she could do was throw off the blazer and swap it for the cardigan on her coat rack.

It might be different enough that Adriana wouldn’t notice her clothing faux pas too. The last thing she needed today was Adriana’s snide, judgmental gaze landing on her.

She couldn’t afford even a hint of impropriety tarnishing her professional reputation. Not when she had to be twice as good to get half as far as the likes of Adriana.

Lola smoothed the wrinkles from yesterday’s clothes as best she could. She had to keep it together. Prove she was focused, committed.

Whatever madness had happened with Carmen didn’t change anything. It was a detour. An aberration. Just like last time. Two mistakes were still just mistakes.

Lola shut it from her mind as she headed into the meeting, determined not to slip again. This was her career, her dream, and she wouldn’t let anyone jeopardize it. Not even Carmen and the distracting ghost of her touch swirling around her like a perfume.

Sliding into the conference room at the heart of the agency without revealing her annoyance that both Natalia and Adriana had beaten her there, Lola projected an air of confidence she was sure would appear naturally as soon as they got started.

Natalia, seated at her usual place at the head of the long, glass table, pulled on her glasses and looked down at her leather-bound notebook. “Lola, where are you on your prospecting efforts, given Starla’s imminent sabbatical?” Her piercing gaze jumped over the frame of her glasses and settled on Lola.

It was a direct hit with all the warheads in the nuclear arsenal. She sat up straighter and provided the only potential she’d started scouting.

“I’ve been talking to an up-and-coming talent named Kiki. She’s stunning, charismatic—”