“Hello, Claire. It’s Tristan.”

“Oh.” She falls silent.

Fuck . . . Marley didn’t tell her it was me.

An unfamiliar feeling begins to seep into my bones. “I just wanted to see if you were okay after our meeting. I’m sorry if I upset you.” I screw up my face . . . what are you doing? This is not in the plan.

“My feelings are no concern of yours, Mr. Miles.”

“Tristan,” I correct her.

“How can I help you?” she snaps impatiently.

My mind goes blank . . .

“Tristan?” she prompts me.

“I wanted to see if you would like to have dinner with me on Saturday night.” My eyes close in horror . . . what the fuck am I doing right now?

She stays silent for a moment and then replies in surprise, “You’re asking me out on a date?”

I screw up my face. “I don’t like the way we met. I would like to start again.”

She chuckles in a condescending tone. “You have got to be kidding. I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man on earth.” Then she whispers, “Money and looks don’t impress me, Mr. Miles.”

I bite my bottom lip . . . ouch. “Our meeting was nothing personal, Claire.”

“It was very personal to me. Go and find a bimbo to wine and dine, Tristan. I have no interest in dating a cold, soul-sucking bastard like you.” The phone clicks as she hangs up.

I stare at the phone in my hand. Adrenaline is pumping through my system at her fighting words.

I don’t know whether I’m shocked or impressed.

Perhaps a bit of both.

I’ve never been rejected before and definitely never been spoken to like that.

I turn to my computer and type into Google: Who is Claire Anderson?

Chapter 2

Six months later

I read the invitation in front of me.

MASTER YOUR MIND.

Oh God, what a crock of crap.

I need to get out of this—I honestly can’t think of anything worse.

“I think this is going to be great for you,” Marley says.

I look up to my trusty best friend as she does her best sales pitch, trying to push me out of my comfort zone. I know her heart is in the right place, but this is just going too far. “Marley, I can tell you straight up, right now, that if you think a motivational conference with all those crazies is going to help me, you are more insane than I ever realized.”

“Stop it; it’s gonna be fantastic. You go away, regroup, and refocus, and you’ll come back refreshed, and the company and your life and everything else is all going to fall into place.”

I roll my eyes.

“Come on—can we at least agree that you need to change your mind-set?” she asks me as she sits on my desk.

“Possibly.” I sigh, dejected.

“And it’s not your fault you’re flat. You’ve been through so much: your husband’s unexpected death, caring for three boys, and struggling to keep the company afloat. It’s been hell. And realistically you’ve been fighting since Wade’s death five years ago.”

“Do you have to say it out loud? Sounds even more depressing.” I sigh again.

A knock sounds at my office door.

“Come in,” I call.

The door opens, and Gabriel smiles broadly. “Ready for lunch, Missy?” His eyes flick to Marley. “Hey, Marls.”

“Hi.” She smiles goofily.

I smile as well. “Mr. Ferrara.” I glance at my watch. “You’re early. Lunch isn’t for an hour. I thought you said two?”

“My meeting finished early, and I’m hungry. Let’s go now.”

I look over at the gorgeous Italian, tall, dark, and handsome in his designer suit. Gabriel Ferrara is a rock star in New York, but to me he is just a dear friend. He knew my late husband, and although I never met him when Wade was alive, he got in contact with me not long after his death. He owns one of the largest media companies in the world, and his building isn’t far from here. He gives me advice here and there, and we catch up for lunch when we can. It’s completely platonic between us—he’s a rock that I lean on from time to time.

“Gabe, tell Claire that she needs to go to this conference.” Marley sighs in exasperation.

He frowns as he looks between us. “All right . . . Claire, you need to go to this conference,” he repeats unenthusiastically. “Now let’s eat. Sushi awaits.”

Marley’s eyes find mine. “Can you just have a week off and go to Paris? Take some time for yourself. Get away from the kids. I can look after everything back here at the office. We had that cash injection—things are okay around here for the moment. Use the time to recharge.”

I exhale heavily. I know I need to pull myself out of this funk. My life is so dull; I’ve lost enthusiasm for everything. My life that was once wild and carefree has been replaced with animosity. Sometimes I’m so furious at Wade for leaving me with this mess that I tell him off in my head, as if he can hear me, and then afterward, I feel so guilty because I know he would have given anything to see his sons grow up and that leaving me would have never been his choice.

Life just isn’t fair sometimes.

They say that only the good die young—what about the best? Why did he have to go too?