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  For mom,

  for begging me to write.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “What a perfect day,” I said.

  Winter had thawed in Boston and spring was upon us. The campus had come alive, buzzing with college students, tourists, and city natives.

  Many still wore their graduation gowns from this afternoon’s ceremony, the entirety of which I was still processing. Everything felt surreal, from saying bittersweet goodbyes to friends to the anticipation of facing real world problems in the days ahead. A blur of emotions whirled through me. Pride, relief, anxiety. But what I felt most was happiness. To be in this moment. To have Marie by my side.

  “It is, and no one deserves it more than you, Erica.” Marie Martelly, my mother’s best friend and my own personal lifesaver, gave my hand a little squeeze and hooked her arm into mine.

  Tall and slender, Marie towered over my petite frame. Her soft skin was the color of cocoa and her brown hair was twisted into dozens of short dreads, a style that expressed both her eternal youth and eclectic style. From the outside, no one would suspect that she was the only mother I’d had for nearly a decade.

  I told myself over the years that not having parents was sometimes better than having the kinds of parents I heard about and occasionally met. My classmates’ parents could be so overbearing. Physically there but emotionally absent, or old enough to be my grandparents and suffering from a serious generational gap. Excelling seemed vastly easier when I was the only person putting pressure on myself to succeed.

  Marie was different. Over the years, she had always offered the perfect measure of support. She listened to my friend drama and my moaning about work and finals, but she never pushed me. She knew how hard I already pushed myself.

  We walked down the tiny paths that wove through the Harvard campus. A soft breeze blew through the full leafy trees, rustling quietly above us.

  “Thank you for being there for me today,” I said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Erica! I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You know that.” She smiled down at me and winked. “Plus I always enjoy a little trip down memory lane. I can’t remember the last time I was on campus. Makes me feel young again!”

  I laughed at her enthusiasm. Only someone like Marie could visit her alma mater and feel younger, as if no time had passed.

  “You’re still young, Marie.”

  “Oh, I suppose. Life moves too fast though. You’ll figure that out, soon enough.” She sighed softly. “You ready to celebrate?”

  I nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s go.”

  We stepped outside the campus gates and hailed a cab that took us over the Charles River into Boston. A few minutes later we pushed through the heavy wooden doors of one of the best steakhouses in the city. Compared to the sunny streets, the restaurant was dark and cool, and a noticeable air of refinement floated over the quiet murmur of the evening’s patrons.

  We settled down with our menus and ordered dinner and drinks. The waiter promptly delivered two glasses of sixteen-year Scotch, on the rocks, a taste for which I had acquired from more than a few complementary dinners with Marie. After weeks of overdosing on coffee and late night take out, nothing said congratulations like a cool glass of Scotch and a steak dinner.

  I traced lines into the sweat on my glass, wondering what today might have looked like if my mother was still alive. Maybe I’d still be at home in Chicago, living an entirely different life.

  “What’s on your mind, baby girl?” Marie’s voice broke me from my thoughts.

  “Nothing. I just wish Mom could have been here,” I said quietly.

  Marie took my hand in hers from across the table. “We both know Patricia would have been so proud of you today. Beyond words.”

  No one had known my mother better than Marie. Though distance had separated them for years after school, they remained close—all the way to the bitter end.

  I avoided her eyes, unwilling to let myself succumb to the emotions that tended to rush over me like a goddamn flood every Hallmark holiday. I wouldn’t cry today. Today was a happy day, no matter what. One I would never forget.

  Marie released me and held up her glass, her eyes brightening. “How about a toast, to the next chapter?”

  I raised my glass with hers and smiled through the sadness, letting relief and gratitude fill the empty place in my heart.

  “Cheers.” I tipped my glass to Marie’s and took a healthy swallow, savoring the burn of the liquor on its way down.

  “Speaking of, what’s next for you, Erica?”

  I let my thoughts drift back to my life and the real pressures I was still under. “Well, this week is the big pitch at Angelcom, and then at some point I need to figure out where to live.”

  “You can always stay with me for a while.”

  “I know, but I need to get set up on my own for once. I’m looking forward to it actually.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Not really, but I need a break from Cambridge.” Harvard had been great, but academia and I needed to start seeing other people. I had spent the past year seriously overachieving, juggling a thesis, starting a new business, and managing the usual senior burnout moments. I was eager to start the next chapter of my life well away from campus.

  “Not that I would ever want you to leave, but are you sure you want to stay in Boston?”

  I nodded. “I’m sure. The business might take me to New York or California at some point, but for now I’m happy here.”

  Boston was a hard city sometimes. The winters were hell, but the people here were strong, passionate, and often painfully direct. Over time, I’d become one of them. I couldn’t imagine calling anyplace else home on a whim. Plus, without parents to go home to, this had become my home.

  “Do you ever think of going back to Chicago?”

  “No.” I chewed my salad in silence for a moment, trying not to think about all the people who might have been here for me today. “There’s no one back home for me anymore. Elliot remarried and has kids now. And Mom’s family has always been… you know, distant.”

  Ever since my mother had come home from college twenty-one years ago, newly pregnant with no plans to marry, her relationship with her parents had been strained, to say the least. Even as a child, what few memories I shared with my grandparents had felt uncomfortable and colored by how I had come into their lives. Mom never spoke of my father, but if the circumstances were upsetting enough for her to keep silent about them, I was probably better off not knowing. At least that’s what I told myself when curiosity started to get the best of me.

  The sadness in Marie’s sympathetic eyes reflected my own. “Do you ever hear from Elliot?”

  “Mostly around the holidays. He has his hands full with the two little ones now.”

  Elliot was the only father I had ever known. He’d married my mother when I was a toddler, and we shared many happy years together as a family. But no more than a year after my mother had passed, he became overwhelmed with the prospect of raising a teenager alone and enrolled me in boarding school out east with my inheritance.

  “You miss him,” she said quietly, as if reading my thoughts.

  “Someti
mes,” I admitted. “We never had a chance to be a family without her.” I remembered how lost and out of step we became when she died. Now we were bound to each other only through the memory of her love, a memory that faded a little more with each passing year.

  “He meant well, Erica.”

  “I know he did. I don’t blame him. We’re both happy, so that’s all that matters now.” With a degree and a new business under my belt, I had no regrets about Elliot’s choice. Ultimately it placed me on the path that had led me to where I was today, but nothing could change the fact that we’d grown further apart over the years.

  “Enough about that, then. Let’s talk about your love life.” Marie shot me a warm smile, her beautiful almond eyes glittering in the dim light of the restaurant.

  I laughed, knowing she would want every detail if I had anything at all to divulge. “Nothing new to report, sadly. How about we talk about yours instead?” I knew she would take the bait.

  Her eyes lit up and she gushed about her newest love interest. Richard was a jet-setting journalist nearly a decade her junior, which was no surprise to me. Not only was she in great shape for her age, Marie was incredibly young at heart. I often had to remind myself that she was my mother’s age.

  While she reminisced, I enjoyed a short love affair with my food. Perfectly prepared and dripping with a red wine reduction, the bone-in filet nearly melted in my mouth. Deeply satisfying, the meal almost made up for the past several months of sexual deprivation. If it didn’t, the plate of chocolate covered strawberries we finished our dinner with definitely did.

  College had provided me with regular opportunities for short-term flings, but unlike Marie, I was never really looking for love. And now that I had a business to keep up with, I barely had time for a social life, let alone a sex life. Instead I lived vicariously through Marie, genuinely happy she had a new man who kept a little pep in her step.

  We finished and Marie agreed to meet me outside after she freshened up. I made my way toward the door, feeling happy and a little buzzed. I passed the host and turned back when he thanked me for coming. The next minute I ran straight into the man coming through the front door.

  He caught me by the waist, pulling me up as I steadied myself.

  “Sorry, I—” My apology fizzled when our eyes met. A mesmerizing tornado of hazel and green poured into me, obliterating my ability to speak. Gorgeous. The man was drop dead gorgeous.

  “Are you all right?”

  His voice vibrated through me. My knees weakened a little at the sensation. His arm tightened around my waist in response, bringing our bodies infinitely closer. The shift did little to help me regain my composure. My heartbeat quickened by the way he held me, possessive and confident, as if he had every right to keep me there as long as he liked.

  A small part of me, the part that wasn’t humming with desire for this strange man, wanted to protest his boldness, but all rational thought was clouded as I drank in his features. He couldn’t have been much older than I. With the exception of his wayward dark brown hair, he appeared to be all business in a charcoal blazer over a white collared shirt with a couple buttons loose. He looked expensive. He even smelled expensive.

  Out of your league, Erica, a little voice sang, reminding me it was my turn to speak.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he murmured seductively, with a hint of a smile. His lips were etched and full of promise, impossible to ignore with my face just inches from his. He slid his tongue over his bottom lip, and my jaw dropped with a soundless sigh. God, the sexual energy rolled off the man like tidal waves.

  “Mr. Landon, your party is here.”

  While the host waited for him to respond, I sobered enough to straighten, confident I could stand independently again. I leveraged the effort with my hands on his chest, hard and unforgiving even through his suit. He released his hold on me, his hands blazing a trail of fire over my hips as they left my body slowly. Sweet Jesus. Dessert had nothing on this man.

  He nodded to the host but barely took his eyes from me, paralyzing me with that single thread connecting us. Irrationally, I wanted nothing more than his hands on me again, possessing me like they had so easily before. If he had my head swimming with a mere touch, there was no telling what he could do in the bedroom. I wondered if there might be a coat closet nearby. We could get to the bottom of this right now.

  “Right this way, sir,” the host said, waving my rescuer toward him.

  He walked away with casual grace, leaving me tingling from head to toe in his absence. Marie joined me as I watched his retreat, a sight to behold.

  I meant to be embarrassed, but in truth I was shamelessly satisfied with my inability to balance on four-inch heels. In lieu of a love life of my own, mystery man would become fodder for many fantasies to come.

  ***

  I ascended the broad granite steps of the library building and traveled through the halls to Professor Quinlan’s office. He was staring intently at his computer screen when I knocked at the door.

  He swiveled in his chair. “Erica! My favorite Internet start-up girl.”

  His telltale Irish lilt had become less pronounced after living in America for so long. I still found it adorable and clung to every word.

  “Tell me, how does freedom feel?”

  I giggled a bit, warmed at his genuine enthusiasm to see me. Quinlan was an attractive man in his early fifties, with salt and pepper gray hair and kind pale blue eyes.

  “Still getting used to it, to be honest. How about you? When does your sabbatical start?”

  “I fly into Dublin in a few weeks. You must visit me if you find time this year.”

  “I would love to, of course,” I said.

  What would this year look like for me? Hopefully I’d be nursing my business through early growing pains, but in truth, I had no idea what to expect.

  “For some reason I feel like it would be strange seeing you outside of campus, Professor.”

  “I’m not your professor anymore, Erica. Call me Brendan, please. I’m now your friend and your mentor, and I certainly hope we’ll see plenty more of each other beyond these walls.”

  The professor’s words hit me hard, and my throat tingled a bit. Sentimental moments were plaguing me this week, damn it all. Quinlan had been incredibly supportive these past few years, guiding me through my major and making connections for me to push the business forward. The tireless cheerleader every time I needed a boost.

  “I can’t thank you enough. I want you to know that.”

  “Helping people like you, Erica, is what gets me up in the morning. And it keeps me out of the pub.” He gave me a crooked smile, revealing a lone dimple.

  “And Max?”

  “Well, unfortunately Max’s ambition for drink and women far exceeded his ambition for success in business, but it seems like he turned it around after all. I’m not sure if I was any help there, but perhaps. They can’t all be like you, dear.”

  “I’m so worried things with the business won’t work out in the long run,” I admitted, hoping he had some clairvoyance that I lacked.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind that you will be successful, one way or the other. If not with this, there will be something else. None of us know where life will take us, but you’re making sacrifices and working hard for your dreams. As long as you stay true to those dreams, keep them at the forefront of your mind, you’re moving in the right direction. At least that’s what I tell myself.”

  “Sounds right to me.” My nerves were strung tight in anticipation of tomorrow’s meeting, which would be a make it or break it moment for the business, and for me. I needed all the encouragement I could get.

  “I’ll let you know when I figure it all out anyway,” he promised.

  I didn’t know whether to be inspired or discouraged, knowing he sometimes felt as aimless as I felt right now.

  “In the meantime, let’s see what you’ve got for our friend Max tomorrow.” He
motioned toward the folder on my lap and cleared a path on his desk.

  “Definitely.” I laid out the business plan and my notes, and we set to work.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The receptionist at Angelcom Venture Group gave me a questioning glance before leading me into the conference room at the end of the hall. I checked myself over, making sure nothing was grossly out of place. So far so good.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Hathaway. The rest of the group should be arriving shortly.”

  “Thank you,” I said politely, grateful the room was momentarily empty. I took a deep breath, trailing my fingers along the edge of the conference table until I reached a wall of windows overlooking Boston Harbor. Awe mingled with my growing anxiety. In a moment I would be face-to-face with a handful of the city’s most wealthy and influential investors. I felt so far out of my comfort zone, it just wasn’t funny. I took a deep breath and shook out my hands anxiously, wishing my body would relax a little.

  “Erica?”

  I spun around. A young man about my age, with blond hair parted neatly to the side, dark blue eyes, and wearing an impressive three-piece suit, approached me. We shook hands.

  “You must be Maxwell.”

  “Please, call me Max.”

  “Professor Quinlan has told me a lot about you, Max.”

  “Don’t believe a word of it.” He laughed, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth contrasting with a tan that made me wonder how much time he actually spent in New England.

  “All good things, I promise,” I lied.

  “That’s good of him. I owe him one. This must be your first pitch?”

  “Unmistakably.”

  “You’ll do fine. Just remember, most of us were in your shoes at some point.”

  I smiled and nodded, knowing the chances of Max Pope, heir to shipping magnate Michael Pope, pitching to anyone other than his father for a measly two million dollars were slim to none. Regardless, he was the reason I was here this morning, and I was thankful. Quinlan had known just the favor to pull.