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Zach does that infuriating half-quirk thing with his eyebrow that sets my teeth on edge.

I inhale and exhale to calm myself down. “Zach, please,” I beg.

Now they’re both wearing the same ridiculous, stunned looks. Zach recovers first and pats his concerned fiancée when she leans closer to the screen. “Sorry, Keely. It has to come from him. But my suggestion would be to leave it alone.”

“Like you wanted me to leave you alone with your baggage last year?” Bethany glares at him over her shoulder. “What the hellisit with you men and your shoulder-it-alone bullshit?”

“Peaches, are you ever going to let me forget that?” He leans over her and slides his fingers into her hair. I catch the slightly glazed look in her eyes even as she responds.

“Hell no?—”

“Gee, I hate to come between your vomit-worthy prelude-to-sex tiff, but can we focus on me for a tiny second, please?” I snap again.

Bethany immediately looks contrite and Zach stares into the screen at me. “You know he’s been away for a while?”

“Yes, somewhere in the jungle. I also know he was married and now divorced, that he owned the yacht before you bought it, that he’s a genius inventor and has a brilliant, if sometimes cruel mind.” I stop for a second, then plough ahead with the suspicion that’s looming at the back of my mind. “I also know that he has—or had—a son?”

Zach stills, and his nostrils flare before he hides his surprise. But I’ve seen enough to cause my heart to shred with dread.

“He told you all this?” Zach asks.

“Some of it. The other details I found out on my own. So am I safe? Please tell me straight. The mind games I think I can deal with, but I need… other reassurances.”

I shake my head at Bethany when her face creases in concern, but my eyes return to Zach.

“He’s complicated. And I’m not saying that to be fucking cryptic or mysterious. You’re not safe if you decide to pursue a relationship with him. But you’re strong. If you choose to take him on, I get the feeling you’ll handle yourself more than adequately. Worst-case scenario, if he fucks with you beyond your comfort zone, I fuck with him. Good enough?”

Despite my like/hate relationship with Zachary Savage, I feel a warm glow. I glance at Bethany, and she’s wearing that sickening love glaze again as she gazes up at him.

I roll my eyes. “Good enough.”

19

KEELY

Six years ago

I dress nice in my short, black leather skirt and a sexy fuchsia halter top. Ashley has grudgingly loaned me her knee-high heeled boots in exchange for doing her laundry for a week. Since I tend to do it most days or risk brain damage from the skanky smells from her gym bag, it’s no biggie. I would’ve gone for plain black platform heels, but Ashley assured me guys go wild for leather boots, especially stilettos. And since she seems to have a hot guy on the go every other night of the week, I’ve decided to trust her on this crucial point.

Leo’s town car arrives at eight sharp.

I try to act cool and not giggle when the chauffeur doffs his cap and calls me ma’am. A few students drifting out of the frat house across the street whistle when I expose a little thigh sliding into the back of the car. Although I blush, I’m more than a little pleased by the confidence-boost I get from their male appreciation. I settle into the back of the car and, as we exit the campus, check out my subtle make-up in the window reflection.

We head south on Westwood Plaza, then hang a right on Wiltshire. I’m dying to ask where exactly the party is, but it feels as if it’s something I would know, and I don’t want to appear unsophisticated. I open my small clutch and check that the seventy-five dollars I tucked in there earlier—because my mom has ingrained in me never to leave home without a means to get back—is still there, along with my phone, a packet of gum and a tube of lipstick.

I debated whether to bring my driver’s license, but I decided against doing so. Since this is a private event, and I have a photo of my license on my phone that I can always access if I need to show my ID, I’m cool with not stuffing too many items into my tiny fuchsia purse.

We hit traffic, and I start twirling my hair as anxiety churns through me. I catch myself and try to play a couple of games of Bejeweled to distract myself instead. After I fail the same level five times in a row, I put my phone away. I’m too nervous to concentrate anyway. I look out the window and see that we’re climbing into the Hollywood Hills. The houses are getting bigger and farther apart. Below me, L.A. is a blanket of fuzzy twinkles.

I face forward and catch the driver staring at me with a touch of jaded curiosity that immediately gets my back up. Shit, should I have asked his name? Or made conversation? I hope he doesn’t mistake me for another self-absorbed rich brat. I attempt ahey-I’m-one-of-yousmile, but his gaze shifts and refocuses on the road.

I’m wondering what to say to him when we swing off the road and stop in front of a pair of towering black gates. He keys in a code and eases the car onto a white gravel road. Sleek sports cars and limos litter the tree-lined driveway, but there’s no one outside, which makes me wonder if and how late I am for the party. And also whether I need to text Leo to let him know I’m here.

I toss the idea out. It doesn’t seem like a cool thing to do, and I don’t want to come off asNeedy Nerd.

When the driver stops under a super-wide portico and comes round to open my door, I attempt another smile. His face remains impassive.

“You’ll need this.” He hands me a flat black box, then doffs his cap again. “Enjoy your evening, ma’am.”