“Jacking off?” I offer.

Tiffany makes several retching noises. “Ew! But seriously, I don’t know what to do with him. He goes off like he’s going to conquer the world, then comes back a shadow of his former self, refusing to talk about what happened . . . all while making my apartment living room his official man cave.” Tiffany growls, but her fire is dimming, replaced with sadness. “It’s almost as if he met some crazy succubus out there that sucked the life right out of him and replaced him with . . .”

She loses her voice for a moment, shaking her head. At the worried look in her eyes, I feel a pang of sadness too. I know Ace is in pain, and whatever is going on with him hurts Tiffany too because she loves her brother like I love tacos and cake, which is a lot. Complaining about him to me is her way of dealing with it, and I suspect, her way of coming up with a plan to fix whatever mess he’s in.

That’s Tiffany’s way of showing love. She’ll fix your shit right up, whether you want her to or not.

“Maybe you should try getting him some help,” I offer gently. “Looks like whatever’s going on with him, it’s not healthy.”

“You’re telling me,” Tiffany mutters, “except I’m pretty sure he’d just tell a therapist to fuck off as it is right now.”

She looks sad and lost in thought as she nibbles her lower lip. “I do worry about him, though, which is why I’m putting up with it . . . for now.”

I reach out and gently pat her hand. “Everything’s going to be okay, Tiff. He’ll come to his senses eventually.”

“I hope so,” Tiffany sighs. “I really do. Because if he doesn’t get his shit together soon, I’m going to have to put my foot down.”

And that’s one thing I love about Tiffany. She might be a shit-stirring, grade-A professional instigator who likes to play around, but when it comes to serious issues, she can show a surprisingly level of maturity.

“Anyway,” Tiff says, waving a hand and wiping at her eye in one flourish while appearing to simultaneously brighten up, “did you get your usual call from Daddy this morning?”

“Tiff!” I protest, glaring daggers at the nickname she’s adopted for my dad. Tiffany has disturbingly let me know that she has a crush on my dad.

I let her know just as certainly that he is off limits because it gives me the heebie-jeebies whenever I think about it. I love my dad and I want him to find a woman who’s a perfect fit for him. Grown up, professional, a woman who can be his equal.

And while I love her to death, Tiffany is none of those things.

“What?” Tiff asks innocently as I keep glaring at her.

“Stop calling him that! Maybe Ace isn’t the only one who needs a therapy appointment.” I throw my voice into a caricature of my professional tone. “Daddy issues . . . right this way, please.”

“I’m just playing. Chill.”

“Yes, I did talk to him this morning . . . and no, he didn’t ask about you.”

“Whatever.” Tiffany laughs, knowing not to press my buttons any further on the issue.

Everything’s good until we get off the freeway and run smack dab into traffic.

“Ugh!” Tiffany groans as we watch four cars get through the intersection ahead before stopping. “It’s like everyone and their grandma is in the way!”

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. “There’s a garbage truck ahead, you know.”

“So?” Tiffany asks.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Tiffany grins, pointing to the oncoming lane which is currently empty. “Pop it.”

I look over at her grinning face, her perfectly white model’s smile tweaked into that little tilt that I know way too well. “Are you nuts? Intersections like this, you know the cops—”

“Just skip ahead. I dare ya.”

The words hang in the air, and Tiffany’s grin widens as I turn my attention back to the road, my hand resting on the gear shift. “Fine . . . on the green.”

Up ahead, the light goes green and I floor it, throwing my Camaro into first while jerking my steering wheel to the left. Adrenaline rushes through me, filling my blood as we rocket through the intersection and beyond. Up ahead, I see the problem—a city sewer repair truck—but I’m committed now.

“Elle, there’s—” Tiffany yells, but I see it. A flagman, traffic . . . oncoming traffic.

I push it a little harder, shooting the gap and jerking my wheel back to the right just in time to avoid getting my bumper clipped by a soccer mom in an oversized SUV. “Yes!”

I don’t let up, making a quick right and then a left a block later to try and not be followed by the cops before I merge back onto the main road and slow down like everything’s normal. “That was fun.” I pat the dashboard of my baby. “Good girl, Cammie.”

Next to me, Tiffany looks like she’s ready to lose her breakfast, and I’m betting she only had coffee. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she gasps. “Damn, girl. That was close.”

I grin like I just did something amazing. It really wasn’t even that close. It was definitely a bitch move to make, and those folks had every right to honk at me, but it wasn’t nearly as dangerous as Tiffany’s making it out to be.

Dare done.

And that adrenalin wears off, leaving me buzzed and fizzy inside, ready to tackle another day.

Chapter 2

Elle

Fox Industries headquarters is one of those rare things in the corporate world, a headquarters that doesn’t look like a headquarters. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Nobody who drives by the five-story, half-mile-long building is going to think it’s just your average business park.

It’s built into a hillside. On the side that you park on, only the top three floors are visible, each one surrounded by a wide, shaded walkway that you can use to get from one end of the building to the other while getting some fresh air if you want.

But on the other side . . . well now, that’s where it gets truly impressive. From that side, you see all five floors overlooking a wide, shallow half canyon that opens up into a view of the entire valley below us.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think the building was a hospital, or maybe a technological college. But for forty years, it’s been the Fox headquarters, and as we walk into the lobby on the ‘ground’ floor, I’m once again glad to work here.

Just not under Dad.

Well, technically, I guess I do work for him. Tiffany and I work for everyone in the company. Every executive has their own team, but the business assistants like Tiffany and I get the grunt work.

Answer the phone? Yep. Give tours? Every day at ten and two if there’s someone here who wants a peek behind the Wizard’s curtain. Make copies, file paperwork, create binders for presentations, act as a courier from one end of the building to the other, and plug numbers into spreadsheets for data analysis? Yes, yes, and yes to all that.

It’s not exactly what I thought I’d be doing with my business degree, and definitely not what Dad wants me to do. He offered me an unpaid internship as an analyst in his department straight out of school with near assurances that it’d become a permanent job after the twelve weeks. And while the brainwork of that had definitely appealed, I want to earn my positions myself, so we’d compromised that I’d work at Fox in a role where he doesn’t hold any sway. And in a job where I’m not being subsidized by his bank account. I might not make much, but I earn every penny myself and that’s important to me.