Allie rounded her desk and shut her office door. “That was Oliver Harris.”

Harper looked confused.

“From the Harris Group.”

The lightbulb turned on. “The PR firm?”

Allie nodded. “Apparently Mr. Harris was at the museum Saturday night. He was just calling this morning to tell me how much he enjoyed the event.” She shuffled a few papers on her desk, trying to play it cool. “And to offer me a job.”

Harper’s eyes grew wide. “No way!”

Allie broke into a huge grin. “He asked me to join his nonprofit division and oversee all event planning.”

“Shit, that’s big time. They’re the ones who did that huge fund-raiser in Lincoln Park last summer.”

“At the zoo?”

“Yup. And I heard it was amazing. They even had Neon Trees.”

“What are neon trees?”

“They’re not a what, Alessandra, they’re a who. A band, actually.”

Having no clue, Allie shrugged.

The look Harper gave her only reinforced Allie’s belief that her friend considered her a total nerd when it came to her choice in music. “Oh, c’mon, you have to know who they are.” As if to prove her point, Harper sang a few lines. “Hey, baby won’t you look my way; I can be your new addiction.”

Allie laughed at Harper’s pitchy vocals and bobbing head. “Okay, okay . . . yes, I’ve heard the song.”

Harper stopped her impromptu concert. “So when do you start?”

Allie sank into her chair. “I don’t.”

“Come again?”

“I thanked Mr. Harris for thinking of me and told him how flattered I was, but that I couldn’t possibly leave my position at Better Start.” With the first charter school only up and running for a little over a month, and the groundbreaking for the second scheduled to take place in the spring, there was no way she could even consider it.

“Look, no one would miss you around here more than me, but I don’t see how you can pass this up. Sounds like your dream come true.”

Under normal circumstances that might have been the case, but Alessandra Sinclair’s life was anything but normal. As the daughter of Victoria Ingram, she’d been born into a family whose name was mentioned in the same breath as Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, and Hearst. With that life of privilege came certain responsibilities, and at the top of that list was family. Nearly every part of Allie’s life was connected to Ingram Media somehow. Always had been. Her grandfather’s empire had touched most of the city in one way or another and from a very young age she’d been taught what was expected of his heirs. Being involved in the family business was simply a given.

After college Allie had spent the better part of two years getting to know Ingram’s various subsidiaries. But it was the time she spent at her family’s charitable foundation that made her feel the most fulfilled, and she’d been working at their newest venture ever since. And not in the way her mother did, squeezing ribbon cuttings and board meetings in between morning tennis and afternoon tea. No, for the past three years Allie had worked long hours at Better Start and she was proud of what they had accomplished.

“I’m happy where I am,” she told Harper. And while that was true, recognition from someone as respected as Oliver Harris meant a lot, especially when a small part of her still wondered if she only held her position because of her name. The opportunity to prove herself on her own merits was certainly tempting, but for Allie the phrase “family first” was non-negotiable.

“If you say so.” Harper’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“So what had you so fired up on a Monday morning?” Allie asked, ready to move on to another subject. “You seemed like a woman on a mission when you came through the door just now.”

“Oh my gosh, I almost forgot!” Harper pulled a newspaper out from under the stack of proposals she was carrying and laid it on Allie’s desk. “Page six.”

Allie turned the pages until she came across an image that made her heart skip a beat. It was a photograph taken at the Field Museum.

Of her. In Hudson’s arms.

Event chair Alessandra Sinclair with Chicago’s newest eligible bachelor, business tycoon Hudson Chase.

Her mouth went dry as her eyes roamed from his satisfied grin to the hand curved possessively around her waist. This was more than just another publicity shot from just another charity event. This was the first photo ever taken of the two of them. She’d been heartbroken when their summer romance had ended so abruptly, and not having so much as a single photograph made the loss that much harder to bear. But now there they were in black and white. She stared at the photo, drinking in every detail until the sound of her ringing phone broke its spell.

“Well, aren’t you the popular one this morning,” Harper said.

Allie frowned at her as she snapped the phone off its cradle. “Alessandra Sinclair.”

“Miss Sinclair, attractive photo in the paper this morning. Very photogenic.”

Her breath hitched at the sound of his voice. “Mr. Chase.”

Harper’s eyebrows shot up. She leaned forward, the bangles clinking down her arm as she propped her elbows on the edge of Allie’s desk and rested her chin on her hands.

“I’m glad you called. I never did get the chance to thank you Saturday night.”

“For the money or the dance?”

Allie could almost see his smug smile through the phone. She paused, then chose to ignore his question. “Your donation was very generous.”

“Which brings me to the purpose of this phone call, along with my lack of trust in the noble United States Postal Service,” Hudson said. “I’m sure you’re eager to obtain my . . . generosity.” His voice had changed with the last line. It was darker, almost seductive.

Harper leaned closer. “What is he saying?” she whispered. Honest to God, she was acting like they were teenagers at a sleepover. Allie half expected her to activate the speakerphone, or worse, run around the desk and press her ear to the receiver.

“It’s very kind of you to follow up,” Allie said. “I’d be glad to send a courier over to pick up the check.”

“No, I insist on delivering the check into familiar hands.”

Allie nearly choked on her words. “You want me to pick it up personally?” She knew her voice sounded several octaves too high, but there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. She panicked, unsure of how to respond to his unusual request. On the one hand, she owed it to her employer to collect the donation. On the other hand, the last thing she wanted was to see Hudson again. Her eyes drifted down to the photo in the newspaper. Well, maybe not the last thing.

His deep voice interrupted her internal debate. “Yes or no, Miss Sinclair?”

Harper gaped at Allie, her mouth hanging open. “If you don’t go, I will,” she offered. How generous.

“Fine.” She reached for a paper and pen. “Where?”

“My office. This evening.”

Allie quickly scribbled down the address, trying to wrap her head around the fact that in a few hours she would once again be in the same room as Hudson Chase.

Chapter Four

On the south bank of the Chicago River, perched high above the others, Hudson leaned over his desk and slashed his John Hancock on the bottom of a million-dollar check.

The offices of Chase Industries occupied the top six floors of what was previously known as the Leo Burnett building. Made up of granite, glass, and steel, the postmodern structure exuded power and strength and was every bit as masculine as the man who sought it out as his command center.

Hudson set the Montblanc on the mahogany and hit the direct line to his assistant. “I’m expecting Miss Alessandra Sinclair. Show her in as soon as she arrives.”

Straightening, he turned to face the floor-to-ceiling windows that displayed one hell of a showstopping view. As the sun settled behind the skyline, turning the urban sprawl into a shimmering vista, he thought about how ten years ago he wouldn’t have been able to write a ten-dollar check; the crap apartments that offered nothing but a ground-level view, and the pathetic future he’d been segregated into.