“Uneventful,” I lie, weaving my fingers together, slowly bending my hands back and forth.

When he finally looks at me, the expression on his face hints of disappointment. The kind that makes me wish I hadn’t come up here at all. “You’re a woman of many words.”

“Sorry. I’m a little out of it today.”

In three strides he’s behind his desk, wrapping his long fingers around a tumbler half full of amber-colored liquor. He lifts one finger, signaling for me to take a seat. I do as he asks, watching him drain the last of his glass.

This Pierce is different than the relaxed one I enjoyed the company of the other night. This one intimidates me.

He sits back in his oversized leather chair, staring at me intently. “You don’t look so good, no offense.”

“Rough weekend.”

“I take it things didn’t go well after I dropped you off?”

“You could say that.” He’s crossing the line of professionalism again. The one I wish we’d never stepped over in the first place.

“Did you ask about her?” I wonder why he can’t just say her name, but I’m not as free with my line of questioning as he is.

“Not that it’s really any of your business, but we got in a fight before I had the chance.”

He sizes me, running his forefinger along the top of his empty glass. “That doesn’t surprise me. He tends to fuck things up.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?”

His skin pales. Pierce Stanley likely has very few sore spots, but I’ve hit one. “It would be better coming from him.”

Still, I push. “Will you at least tell me why you hate him so much?”

“Let’s just say we had a similar interest at one point,” he replies, narrowing his eyes.

I dig deeper. “Work related?”

He shakes his head. I’m young and naïve, but I’m not stupid. This all has to do with a woman . . . one likely named Alyssa. Whatever it is, I don’t want to get caught in the middle of it.

“That’s not why I called you up here anyway,” he says, changing the subject.

“Is there another benefit you’d like me to accompany you to on short notice?” I tease.

He smiles. “No, but I’ll make sure you get the invite first next time. By the way, I have some good news. Do you remember Wade who I introduced you to the other night?”

I nod, listening more intently.

“He wants me to bid a project in New York, and he requested a fresh eye—your eye, to be exact.”

I stare at him, dazed. There’s no way he asked for me. I’m as green as they come. “I don’t understand.”

Pierce leans forward, forearms resting on his desk. “He wants us to fly to New York on Wednesday. We’d arrive early, see the site and then fly home Thursday.”

“Do you really think I’m ready for this? I—”

“You’re ready, Ms. Fields,” he interrupts. “Your mentor showed me some of the stuff you’ve been working on. I like what I see.”

Successful businessmen. New York. First big project. It all spins like a wheel in my head. This is what I’ve always wanted—what I went to school for—but having it within my grasp scares the shit out of me. Failure is a feeling we get from not accomplishing something, but when it’s our dreams that go unrealized, it’s something far worse that burns us inside.

“It’s settled then. I’ll pick you up at seven Wednesday morning.”

He’s so sure of himself, leaving no room for argument. “Okay,” I say quietly.

“Good.” He relaxes back in his chair. “I want you to put together a mood board for a new boutique hotel. He likes modern and planet-friendly. Remember that.”

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I ALWAYS MAKE THE WORST decisions when I feel as if my life is unraveling. When I feel as if I have no control, I grasp for any thread of power I can get my fingers on. Most of the time, I end up regretting rash decisions. It’s impossible to anticipate the consequences when my mind is surrounded by dense fog.

What I’m about to do might end up being one of those decisions I’ll regret when I wake up in the morning.

I open the door to Charlie’s, hurriedly stepping inside to escape the cold December weather.

The bar isn’t anything like it is on the weekend—maybe it’s because it’s Monday or maybe it’s the snow. Charlie stops what he’s doing as soon as he notices me. I never come here when I’m not working; I don’t even want to be here when I’m getting paid.

“Did you get fired from your boring day job? Coming to beg me to give you more hours?” he teases. I had to tell him about my job at Stanley to get the night of the benefit off. He’s been waiting for me to quit ever since.

“What are you talking about, Charlie? They’d never get rid of me.” I slide onto one of the empty barstools away from the other patrons.

“Bad day at work?”

“More like bad week in life.”

He leans on the bar in front of me, watching me curiously. Charlie’s not a bad guy . . . just a little rough around the edges. “Can I get you something to drink? Alcohol solves all problems.”

I should say no, tell him what I came here to say, and leave, but alcohol sounds pretty damn good right now. “Vodka water with lime, please.”

“You got it.”

He leaves me alone to make my drink, giving me more time to process everything that’s happened recently. It’s probably not a good idea—giving me time to reflect. It leaves me feeling rejection, confusion, and sadness. Why do I keep doing this to myself? I shouldn’t let myself get hung up on men who are complicated, who I know are just going to leave me in worse condition than when they found me.

I need safe, reliable, and romantic, which just sounds boring as hell.

“Here you go,” Charlie says, placing my drink on a napkin.

“Thanks.”

“You look like you might need a couple.”

“That’s actually what I need to talk to you about. Do you have a few minutes?” I ask, feeling a little nervous. I’m not a quitter so this has been wearing on me.

He glances around the bar and smiles. “It’s pretty busy, but I can make time for you.”

His good mood leaves me feeling even guiltier. Charlie the asshole would have been so much easier to quit on. “My boss informed me that I need to go to New York later this week, which means I’m not going to be able to work on Thursday.”

He nods, but I think he senses there’s more because he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s becoming obvious that I’m not going to be able to keep two jobs . . . not with the demands of my new job.”

He nods again.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me . . . giving me this job when I first got to town. I can work the next two weekends on Friday and Saturday to give you time to find a replacement.” I keep rambling. It’s safe to say I suck at this.

“Are you done?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“Look, Lila, I knew when I gave you this job that you wouldn’t stick around forever. You’re a bright woman who has dreams and all that other shit you all move here for. I get it,” he says, staring at me with softness in his eyes that I’ve never experienced from him.

I release the air I’d been holding in my lungs. “Whew. I thought you were going to yell at me.”

He laughs, tossing a bar towel over his shoulder. “Nah, I learned to control myself when I was locked up.”

My eyes widen unintentionally.

“Relax. It was almost fifteen years ago. I’m a changed man.” He winks, and then continues, “If you can work this Friday and Saturday, I can cover the rest. There was a young lady who stopped by earlier to fill out an application . . . another dream catcher. And I always have Dana.”

I thought about Dana a lot this afternoon when I was tossing this idea around in my head. It’s as if I’m abandoning her, but I know if I asked her, she’d tell me this is the right thing to do.

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“No problem. Just don’t forget me when you’re rich and famous.”