Two people in a city of eight million, reunited against all odds.
Coincidence? Hell no.
Farrah was the one who’d taught Blake to believe in fate, and like everything else about their relationship, he’d carried it close to his heart all these years.
“Do we have a deal?” Blake kept his tone even, but inside he was a chaotic storm of need and emotions.
Say yes. God, if she says yes, I will never ask you for anything else ever again. Except maybe for a team other than the Patriots to win the Super Bowl, but I’m willing to negotiate on that front.
Farrah fiddled with her necklace while indecision flickered across her face. After an eternity, she bit out, “Yes.”
Blake released his breath and sent a quick thank you up to the heavens.
“It’s a deal.” He grinned, revealing his trusty dimples in all their glory, and held out his hand.
After a brief pause, she took it.
A current of electricity sizzled through his body the second they touched, and judging by the way Farrah’s nostrils flared, he wasn’t the only one who’d felt it.
Blake’s grin widened.
The universe had handed him his second chance on a platter, and this time, there was no way in hell he was going to fuck it up.
Chapter Five
Farrah made it two blocks before she fell apart.
She’d sat stone-faced through lunch, hauled ass to a department store near Z Hotel, and bulldozed her way into a restroom stall before she collapsed into a heaping mess.
Blake freakin’ Ryan.
Of all the times he could’ve walked back into her life, he had to do it now, when she was 1) unemployed and therefore unable to brush off his generous offer, and 2) so sexually frustrated she’d gotten turned on by a handshake.
Farrah shivered when she remembered the strong, warm grip of Blake’s hand around hers and the resulting shock of electricity that had traveled up her arm and into her chest, making her heart beat in a way she didn’t think it capable of doing anymore.
She’d dated other guys since Shanghai. Some of them she’d liked, some of them she hadn’t. None could turn her into a live wire of emotions like Blake could.
Smoky memories of long nights, passionate kisses, and whispered secrets crawled into Farrah’s brain, drowning her in the past.
I think you’re a smartass who’s too stubborn for your own good. I think you drive me crazier than any person ought to. And I think I might die if I can’t be with you.
Whatever happens, we can get through it together.
You said once every second counts, and I don’t want another second to go by without you knowing that I am totally, completely, one hundred percent in love with you.
A sob escaped her throat. Farrah pressed a fist to her mouth, struggling to remain calm before she turned into a girl-crying-over-a-boy-in-a-public-restroom cliché. Even though her eyes were already glazed with tears. Even though her chest ached so much she wanted to curl up in a fetal position on the floor, germs and potential cholera be damned.
She wasn’t in love with Blake anymore. You needed trust for love, and he’d lost hers long ago. But dammit if he couldn’t make her heart pound with one smile, and her body clench with one touch. Their physical chemistry had always been off the charts, and apparently, the flames still burned hot after all these years.
A call from Olivia lit up her phone and yanked her thoughts off the dangerous path they’d taken.
Farrah swallowed and composed herself before answering.
“Hello?” A slight waver. Pretty good, considering snot and dried tears streaked her face. Farrah yanked a few so-thin-they-were-transparent squares of toilet paper from the roll and wiped her face. It was like exfoliating her skin with sandpaper.
“Hey! How’d the lunch meeting go?” Olivia asked.
“Fine. What are you doing calling me from work?” Farrah stalled, debating whether to clue Olivia in on today’s developments now or wait until they were face-to-face.
Now, she decided. Olivia was going to shit bricks. She’d hated Blake since he broke up with Farrah, and Farrah was already bracing herself for the hurricane once she told Olivia she’d accepted Blake’s job offer.
“I’m on a coffee break,” Olivia said, which surprised Farrah almost as much as seeing Blake at The Aviary. Olivia worked long, hard hours as an analyst at Wall Street’s most prestigious private equity firm, and she rarely took a break on the clock. “I have six minutes and twenty-seven seconds before my break is over, so give me the deets quick.”
“Okay.” Farrah took a deep breath. “Long story short: I got the job, and they’re paying me $900 an hour.”
Always lead with the good news first.
“Oh my God!” Olivia whisper-yelled. “That’s amazing! $900 an hour? We have to celebrate! I won’t make it out in time for happy hour today—this deal we’re working on is the bane of my existence, I swear—but I’ll pick up ice cream and wine on my way home. We can have a proper celebratory dinner this weekend.”
“Sounds great.”
There was a pause. “Why do you sound so not excited about this? Is it the client? He’s a jerk, isn’t he? Or is he a creepy old perv? Remember, if he tries anything, you can take one of your stiletto heels and jam it up his—”
“It’s Blake.”
“Blake who?”
“Blake Ryan.”
Another pause, and then, “Your new client is Blake Ryan?”
Her yell pierced Farrah’s eardrums. Farrah winced and held the phone away from her ear as Olivia uttered a stream of curses so colorful and fantasy murder scenarios so graphic, she could’ve moonlighted as a horror author.
Once she stopped for breath, Farrah interjected. “Look, I get it. The situation is not ideal.” That was putting it mildly, but Farrah didn’t want to fan the flames of Olivia’s anger. “But I don’t know when I’ll get a new job, and I need the money. He’s paying me a lot, Liv. Like…enough to cover half a year of expenses if I’m smart about saving.”
She could hear her friend ruminating in the silence that followed. “Have you asked yourself why, exactly, he’s paying you so much?”
Farrah frowned. She’d been so surprised by Blake’s sudden reappearance in her life she hadn’t stopped to think about the reasons behind his offer. “No…”
Suspicion seeped into her veins. Why had Blake been so insistent on hiring her? He’d kicked her to the curb for his ex-girlfriend, and they hadn’t spoken in half a decade. Plus, he could hire any designer in the city for the price he was paying.
They weren’t friends on social media, but she’d stumbled on articles about him over the years. His sports bars were doing well. Really well. Despite herself, a flicker of pride flared in Farrah’s stomach at his success.
Farrah had walked into the meeting intending to quote $150 an hour, given this was her first freelance gig. Once she’d realized the client was Blake, she’d jacked the price up to $300, desperate for an excuse not to have to see him again. When he not only agreed but tripled her rate, Farrah nearly had a heart attack. Not even Kelly Burke commanded $900 an hour.
“He’s up to something. Be careful,” Olivia warned. “The boy is your kryptonite. Don’t do anything stupid.”