That is a lot of money for anyone, but especially a seventeen-year-old going back to a roach-infested apartment above a 7-Eleven.

“And your mother? What did she say?”

“About the money?” He lets out a derisive laugh. “I never told her about it. She would have taken it and there was no way I trusted her with that much, not when my dad and brothers were asking for cash. God knows she’d find a way to smuggle it in for them. No . . . I decided that if I was gonna take money from your father, I was gonna make it matter. So I hid it. I used what I needed to get a decent car. We were already getting kicked out of our apartment, so I convinced Mom to go to California. We drove for two days straight, found a cheap apartment down there.” He shrugs. “I told her I earned the money from Wawa.”

“And she believed that?” I ask doubtfully. I remember those pitiful paychecks.

“Of course not. She figured I was doing something shady on the side, but she didn’t ask too many questions. She never did. As long as there was money at the end of it.” There’s no shortage of bitterness in his voice.

I’ve often wondered what kind of woman gave birth to Kyle and his brothers. Now I’m not sure I ever want to find out.

Uncomfortable silence lingers in the room as I try to process this bomb. “So that’s why you disappeared. It wasn’t because . . .” My words drift.

“Because I didn’t care about you?” He looks steadily at me. “No. That’s not why.”

And did you ever stop caring? I bite my tongue on that and ask instead, “My father . . . How do you feel about him?” I can’t even begin to wrap my head around how I feel about him right now, but if what Kyle is saying is true, then I have to wonder if him working here, in my father’s building—having easy access to him—is going to be a problem.

And what happens when my father sees Kyle sitting in the lobby?

What will he do if he recognizes him?

I watch Kyle carefully, to see if I can read the lies in his answer.

He surprises me by smiling softly. “You know, it’s funny—ironic, actually . . . As much as I hated him back then for making me leave you like that,” his somber eyes flash to mine, “that money changed our lives. I got Jeremy away from Poughkeepsie, away from prison, away from all of it, before he could get himself into trouble. A fresh start in San Diego turned out to be the best thing for us. Jer has no interest in getting dragged down with the rest of our family, either.”

“That’s good. I guess.” At least something positive came from my heartbreak.

He opens his mouth to speak but then stops.

I have more questions, but right now I need time to think. I need time to calm this inner turmoil down.

“So . . .” He hesitates, watching me through wary eyes, as if trying to weigh my thoughts. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Until my father recognizes you.”

A grim smile touches his lips. “Right.”

“Don’t worry, though. I’m sure if you play it right, you could make a cool million off him this time around.” I say it flippantly, knowing I don’t need a harsh tone to hit my mark.

The muscles in Kyle’s square jaw tense. He nods once. “Fair enough. I deserved that,” he mutters. “But I promise you, I’m never taking another dime from that man again. And if you want me gone, just say the word. I’ll put in a transfer request. Hell, I’ll quit. It was worth it, just to see you again.” With that, he smoothly exits, leaving the delicate masculine scent of sandalwood and musk trailing behind.

I keep my back to the elevator, waiting for the ping of the doors, a storm of emotions brewing inside me.

Am I even angry with Kyle for taking the money? I can’t imagine what it must have been like, a seventeen-year-old boy facing off with Kieran Calloway, who was basically blackmailing him. What should he have done?

I know what my sixteen-year-old self would have expected him to do—tell my dad to shove the money up his ass. Or take the money and then tell me what my father had done, so we could hide our relationship from him.

How could my father do something like that, in the name of protecting me? I was an emotional wreck in the months after Wawa. I couldn’t get Kyle out of my head. All those nights of falling asleep wrapped in desolation, wondering where Kyle was, what happened to him. Replaying every word, every touch, every promise, wondering what I’d done to make him behave so cruelly toward me. All the anger I learned to wield against happy memories of us, just long enough to help me let go, to heal, to finally move on.

Dad offered me sad smiles and calm hugs, and kept telling me that I was beautiful and smart, and that hooligan didn’t deserve a Calloway.

My teeth are clenched so tight that my jaw begins to ache. I should have known.

Do I confront my father now, though? Or should I wait until he recognizes Kyle and blows up, sends him packing?

Kismet or not, coming to this building was a ballsy move on Kyle’s part, given the risk.

Is he just stupid? Or does he think the risk is worth the potential reward? And what is that reward, exactly? Is it working with me again? A friendship with me?

Or more?

My stomach flutters.

Kyle is single.

He moved here, in part, because he wants to be in my life again.

And the only reason he ever left in the first place is because of my father.

Three truths I need to decide what the hell I’m going to do with.

“You want me to help you poach Jack’s assistant?” I glare at David in disbelief as we ride the elevator down to the lobby. I was almost successful in ducking out without notice, until David came barreling out of the restroom and crossed my path.

“She doesn’t want to work for that stooge,” he argues. “She basically told me as much.”

“No, she did not.” Cheryl is the minutes taker for the Monthly Women’s Network meetings I lead at CG and a sweet, single thirty-eight-year-old mom who I suspect is in love with her boss—our CFO, and a married man. Then again, maybe that’s why she’d want to move desks—unrequited love is unenjoyable, but especially so when you have to face it day in, day out.

“Just ask her, would ya?” David pleads.

“Why me?”

“Because, I can’t! Obviously. Jack would kill me. And you’re . . . you! And a woman, and, I don’t know . . .” He throws his hands up in the air, as if giving up. “It’s what you women do!”