Juliet

I slam my MacBook shut, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms.

It's already nine. I missed dinner and didn't even realize when the lights turned on outside my office window on the fiftieth floor. Staring at the lit skyscrapers, I massage the back of my neck. My strained muscles ache, reminding me physical therapy is long overdue.

So is some rest. After the last few days from hell, I deserve it more than anyone. Just when I thought I'd put the ridiculous situation with Romeo behind me, he came up with another way to piss me off.

I need to get my ladybug back, but I've got nothing concrete on him, and I don't like it one bit.

A vacuum cleaner hums in the hallway. The cleaners are here. It's my cue to leave, so I rise from the chair, collect my stuff, and shove my arms in the sleeves of my red coat.

Everyone but the cleaning crew has left like I suspected. Doing overtime is common at Milton's headquarters, but my grandfather doesn't encourage it. He always says if anyone needs to miss dinner, it's him, not the rest of the employees.

I walk down the hallway, and as I near his door, I spot light filtering from under it. I didn't expect him to still be here. After hesitating for a beat, I knock.

"Come in," he says.

As I cross the threshold, the smoke from his Cuban cigar wafts over to me. I cover my nose with my forearm, coughing because of the pungent smell.

Grandpa swivels in his leather chair and booms with laughter, raising a glass of whiskey. "I'm in trouble, right?"

I bite my bottom lip, failing to stop myself from grinning. "You would be if Mom was the one to open the door. You're lucky it's just me. Why are you still here?"

"I needed to catch up on paperwork." He rests his glass on a coaster and takes a drag of the cigar. "You, on the other hand, shouldn't be here so late."

"Noted." I press the folder I'm holding to my chest. "I'll make sure to go to a sleazy club instead next time."

Grandpa wags his finger in warning. I'm lucky he doesn't realize I'm only half-kidding.

"Since you're here," I say, coming up to his desk, "I need to talk to you about something work-related."

My palms turn clammy as he waves his hand to get rid of the curtain of silver smoke in front of him and leaves the cigar in the ashtray. "Talk about what?"

"A project," I say, injecting the confidence I don't feel into my voice. "Something I've been working on. It's in this folder."

I carefully rest it on Grandpa's mahogany desk and clasp my sweaty palms in front of me. I don't think I've ever been so nervous.

Grandpa flips the folder open and retrieves the pages. While skimming the first one, he raises his brows. "An on-site daycare, huh?"

"Yes," I say. "I overheard a woman in an elevator a few months back. The nanny let her down, and she had nobody to stay with the baby. She was talking about quitting her job, and I thought it was sad. Not only sad; unacceptable. A parent shouldn't choose between their child and their career, but often they're forced to because daycare is a luxury when it should be—"

"Affordable."

"Yes." I breathe. "I know it's an investment, but I also know we have lots of employees with small kids. By providing on-site daycare, we'd reduce absenteeism and increase employee satisfaction with the company. People hardly ever leave a company that treats them well. Similar projects gave excellent results in other companies, and..."

I inhale, readying myself to use the most convincing argument. "The Carrington Group doesn't have one. We'll be first."

Being first doesn't matter to me, but it's the language Grandpa understands, and I'll use every weapon in the arsenal to achieve my goal. I've been working on this for months, neglecting my social life and sacrificing sleep. I owe this to myself.

He continues reading. Every other minute, he nods, and hope fills my chest. Finally, he tucks the pages in the folder and slides it across the desk.

"I think it's an excellent idea, darling. Get the board to agree, and it's yours."

My heart plummets.

The board. Right.

I should've known Grandpa would put me to the test.

But like a true Milton, I love a good challenge. Even if I throw up from the nerves before standing in front of the room full of powerful decision-makers.

***

I spent the night tossing and turning in bed.

Romeo's face starred in my nightmares, where I somehow let him blackmail me not once, but several times. His smug smirk is burned into my brain.

When I woke up, I dressed in black yoga pants and a black tank, grabbed a towel and a thermos with the strongest coffee known to mankind, and met Ezra on the sidewalk in front of my apartment building to go to the new private gym he's been gushing about.

Ezra smells divine and looks like a runway model.

I look like someone whose most precious possession was stolen by a heartless enemy.

As I pant, struggling to keep up with him, Ezra gives me a look but thankfully says nothing. He must think I'll spill everything, anyway.

Only I can't, and that angers me.

"Two more minutes, honey," he teases. "You can do this."

I wipe the sweat off my forehead. "You could've gone to this super-duper mega gym alone, you know? What if there's a hot guy interested in you?"

"Excuses, excuses." Ezra turns right and heads to the business center's entrance. The glass door slides open, and soft lounge music greets us as we cross the shiny lobby and stop by the bank of elevators.

"I talked to my grandfather last night," I say while we wait. "I think he liked the idea of an on-site daycare, but he wants me to convince the board. I slept like crap."

Ezra lifts a brow. "The board? Couldn't he just say, 'Yes, baby, go ahead and change people's lives for the better?'"

I link my arm through Ezra's as an elevator arrives. "I'd rather he'd done that, but it's not how it works. He never makes concessions. Guess he's preparing me for when I run the company. People will need to respect me, and respect is earned."

We step into the mirror-walled cubicle, and Ezra hugs me as we begin the ascent. "Poor thing. But it's okay. I'm sure you can convince anyone."

Anyone but Romeo, who just won't let the ridiculous situation go. I would keep quiet if he did the same, but he clearly doesn't believe I would.

"I wish," I mutter.

Ezra winks. "You never back down from a challenge, honey. Okay, change of topic before you get upset. You never told me what Romeo wanted from you."

And I'd rather not tell. We exit on the top floor, and while Ezra chats with the gym receptionist, I think of a convincing lie. A project we've been assigned? An event we're both attending? Damn it. I need to come up with something believable, fast.

Ezra hands me a visitor's card. "So? What was that with Romeo?"

"Um...he asked to borrow notes for class."

Jesus, Juliet, so much thinking, and this is what you came up with?

Warmth engulfs my cheeks as I clumsily press the card to the card reader on the turnstile. Ezra narrows his eyes, and I dart forward when the green light appears.

I'm screwed. So screwed.

After leaving my things in the locker room, I feel more collected and allow myself to scour my surroundings. Ezra didn't lie—the gym is fantastic. The city is sprawled behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, and only a muffled thumping sound breaks the quiet as we take our time wandering around the vast space, examining the brand-new, shiny equipment.

"I think I'll start with rowing," I say, pointing toward the far corner of the gym with my chin.

Most people hate it, but it's one of my favorite forms of cardio.

"You do you." Ezra pats my back. "I'll punch something."

He leads the way to the rowing machines, which happen to be near the sandbags hanging from the ceiling.

A guy is turned away from us, pummeling one of those bags. Long legs. Sculpted torso. Dark, messy hair. Beads of sweat sliding down his nape.

I watch him, transfixed. His gloved hands connect with the leather, and he delivers blow after powerful blow, his muscles rippling under smooth skin. My breaths quicken, and my core clenches.

I bet those arms would feel amazing around me. So would his legs tangled with mine. I clutch my hot pink towel and the thermos, unable to tear my eyes away from the man punishing the sandbag in front of me.

He's hot. Too hot, and every inch of his perfectly toned body screams sex.

Ezra clears his throat, and I jump, yelping.

"Sorry," he mutters as the man catches the swaying bag and looks our way.

One glimpse at his face is all it takes for the air to leave my lungs.

No. No, no, no. How could I have been shamelessly lusting after him?

Romeo stares at me, confusion stamped across his features. He's not the only one who's confused. I pinch my forearm to snap out of it.

What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn't be lusting after him.

He's the heir to a rival empire.

He's the enemy.

He's the shameless, immature blackmailer.

The comforting weight of Ezra's arm settles around my waist.

"Juliet, honey, it's suddenly too hot in here," he says in my ear. "Was it just as hot at the warehouse last Sunday?"

Well, damn. Looks like the secret isn't a secret anymore, but Grandma Eveline used to tell me there was a silver lining to everything.

I didn't want Ezra to know, but now that he does, he can help me get the proof of Romeo's fights I need to get my ladybug back.

"I'll tell you everything later," I whisper, making sure not to look Romeo's way. "And I'll need you to go to the next fight with me."