She looked at the cool, hard man standing in front of her. To him, this was business. Another way for him to climb to the top. She just had to see it the same way. She couldn’t afford to involve her heart.

“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” she asked.

“Not any that had a better outcome. And you’re a smart woman. You know that the end result is all that matters.”

She wanted to be that woman. She tried to be that woman. Because that was the woman that was going to pull Pickett out of the red.

“Pickett Industries is all that matters,” she said slowly, feeling as if virtual shackles were tightening on her wrists even as she spoke the words.

About the Author

MAISEY YATES was an avid Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance reader before she began to write them. She still can’t quite believe she’s lucky enough to get to create her very own sexy alpha heroes and feisty heroines. Seeing her name on one of those lovely covers is a dream come true.

Maisey lives with her handsome, wonderful, diaper-changing husband and three small children across the street from her extremely supportive parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of Southern Oregon, USA. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch and then heading into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic urban locales.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE HIGHEST PRICE TO PAY

MARRIAGE MADE ON PAPER

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Argentine’s Price

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my brother, Kyle.

My partner in crime from the beginning. Long may it continue. And for Lisa, fellow caffeine consumption queen and brain-stormer extraordinaire.

CHAPTER ONE

“YOU’RE buying up my company’s stock. Why?” Vanessa clutched her silver purse tightly in her hand and tried to ignore the heat and anger curling in her stomach as she addressed the tall man in black. Lazaro Marino. Her first love. Her first kiss. Her first heartbreak and, apparently, the man who was attempting a hostile takeover of her family’s company.

Lazaro’s dark eyes flicked over her and he handed his glass of champagne to the slender blonde standing on his left. It was clear from his dismissive manner that he saw the woman as little more than a cup-holder in a designer gown. Well, Vanessa imagined she was a little more than that to him, in his bed at least.

Her cheeks burned, the images in her head instant and graphic. How did he do that? Thirty seconds in his presence and he had her mind in the bedroom.

She stared just past Lazaro, at the painting on the wall behind him, in order to avoid those dark, all-too-knowing eyes of his. She could feel his gaze on her, warming her, turning her blood to fire in her veins. Instant. All-consuming. Still. After all this time. It threw her right back to the summer she was sixteen, when mornings had been all about the hope that he would be there, working on the grounds of the estate. So that she could sit and simply look at him, the boy she wasn’t even permitted to talk to.

The boy who ultimately inspired her to break the rules, rules that had been sacrosanct before that.

It was inconvenient that the boy had become a man who still had the power to make her pulse race. Even when he was only a picture in a magazine, looking at him was a full-on sensory experience. In person … in person he made her feel as if her skin was too tight for her body.

“Ms. Pickett.” He inclined his head, a lock of obsidian hair falling forward with the motion. Not an accident, she was sure of that. He had that look about him. That sort of hot, can’t-be-bothered-to-get-too-slick look. It gave the impression he’d gotten out of bed, combed his fingers through his thick black hair and thrown on a thousand-dollar suit.

And for some reason it was devilishly sexy. Probably because it was easy to imagine what he might have been doing in that bed, what activities might have prevented him from having adequate time to get ready …

She blinked furiously, redirecting her thoughts. She was not going down that rabbit trail again. She wasn’t some naive sixteen-year-old anymore, imagining that the fluttering in her stomach was anything more than the first stirrings of lust, imagining that a kiss meant love. No, she wasn’t that girl anymore, and Lazaro Marino didn’t have any power over her.

She had power. And she would remind him of that.

“Please,” she said, turning on her CEO voice. “Call me Vanessa. We are old friends after all.”

“Old friends?” He chuckled, a dark, rich sound that made her blood heat. “I had not thought of us as such. But if you insist, Vanessa it is then.” His accent had smoothed in the twelve years since she’d seen him, but he still said her name as he always had, his tongue caressing the syllables, drawing them out, making her own name sound impossibly sexy.

Age looked good on him. At thirty, he was even more attractive than he’d been at eighteen. His jaw a bit more square, his shoulders broader. His nose was different, slightly crooked, the imperfection adding to his mystique rather than detracting from his otherwise perfect face. She wondered if he’d broken it in a fight. It wasn’t impossible. The Lazaro she’d known had been hotheaded, passionate in every conceivable way. And there had been many times when she’d wondered what it might be like to have all that passion directed at her—and one wonderful occasion when it had been. When he’d made her feel that she was the only woman, the most important thing in his world. Lazaro could lie more effectively with a kiss than most men could with a thousand words.

Vanessa tightened her grip on her purse and took a step back, fighting the rising tide of heat and anger that burned in her stomach, trying to keep herself calm. Unaffected. At least in appearance. “Do you think we could talk?”

“Not here to socialize?” he asked, one black eyebrow quirked.

“I’m here to talk to you, and it’s not a social call.”

A small smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. “I’m certain you donated to the charity on your way in. Or was that not on your list of priorities tonight?”

Vanessa bit the inside of her cheek, fighting to maintain composure. Taking the glass of champagne out of Lazaro’s human cup-holder’s hand and throwing the contents of it onto his very expensive suit might be satisfying, but it wasn’t what she was here for.

Still, there was no way she was going to allow him to pretend that he was somehow a philanthropic marvel and she was a snobby rich bimbo who walked into a charity event for the company and the liquor and didn’t bother to leave a dime.

“I wrote a check as I walked in. You can ask up front if you like.”

“Generous of you.”

“We need to talk. Without an audience.” She flicked a glance at the group he was with. A lot of beautiful socialites, some of whom she recognized, not the sort of women she’d ever been permitted to associate with. Money did not mean class, as her father had always said, and that meant certain people had always been patently off limits to her.

Lazaro among them. Although, for one, heady week, she had defied that command.

“This way, querida.” He put his hand on her lower back and she cursed the low cut of the gown she was wearing as his palm made contact with her skin. His fingers were calloused, rough from labor still, even after years of white-collar work.

She remembered how those hands had caressed her face, her body. They had been rough then, strong and hot. So very hot. She shivered slightly, thankful that her body chose the moment they stepped out into the chill, Boston air before the reaction hit. At least this way she could blame it on the weather.

The art museum’s grand terrace was lit up by paper lanterns strung overhead. A few couples were secluded in dark corners, talking with their heads pressed together, or not talking, enjoying the feeling of seclusion.

Of course, there was no seclusion. There were reporters, there were other people. This was the sort of event her father wouldn’t want her to come within a mile of. Discretion was the cornerstone of her father’s value system. And of hers.

But she was here. She had to be. She had to talk to Lazaro. As far as Pickett Industries was concerned it was possibly a matter of life and death. She couldn’t imagine he had any kind of altruistic motive for purchasing Pickett’s shares. In fact, she was certain he didn’t.

“You had a question for me?” he asked, leaning against the stone railing.

She turned to him, her face schooled into a neutral expression. “Why are you buying up all of my stocks?”

The corner of his mouth curved upward. “I’m surprised that you realized it so soon.”

“Suddenly all of my shareholders are selling to three different corporations, all of whom have one name in common—Marino. I’m not stupid, Lazaro.”

“Perhaps I underestimated you.” He looked at her, as if waiting for her to be angry or indignant or something. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

She pushed down a surge of anger. “I don’t care whether you underestimated me. I don’t care what you think about me. I care about Pickett and it is in my best interest to try and understand why someone is trying to get to a point where they own equal shares with me and my family.”

He paused for a moment, his smile widening, a cruel smile, void of humor, but just as devastating as it had always been. “Do you not appreciate the irony?”

“What irony is that?”

“That I can own my share of Pickett Industries. That a storied icon of a company can be passed into the hands of new money with such ease. The American dream, isn’t it?”

She looked at his eyes, the glitter in them filled with emotion so dark and deep that she felt it reach into her and pull the air from her lungs. And that was when she realized that it was very likely she’d wandered into a trap. In that moment she wanted, more than anything, to turn and walk away. To leave Lazaro as nothing more than a vivid, unsatisfied memory.

But she couldn’t. This was her responsibility. Her mess to clean up. There was no one else.

It’s up to you now, Vanessa. Without you, everything crumbles.

Her father’s words echoed in her head, filled her, pushed her forward.

“So … this is for your own amusement, then? Something to satisfy your twisted sense of irony?” she asked.

He chuckled, a dark sound laced with bitter undertones. “I don’t have time to do things simply to amuse myself, Vanessa. I didn’t get where I am by operating that way. My business was not handed to me on a silver platter.”

And there was no doubt he found himself superior to her because of that. Fine, he could disdain her for having it easy if he wanted. Pickett wasn’t really a silver platter to her. More like silver handcuffs with keys she couldn’t access. But she’d willingly accepted the burden. Had done it for her family. For her father, and most of all for Thomas. Because her brother would have carried on Pickett’s legacy gladly. He would have made it a success. He would have done it with dignity and kindness, as he had done everything else.

“Then why?” she asked.

“Pickett is dying, Vanessa, I know you know that. Your profits have dropped off in the past three years, so much so that you’re now firmly in the red.”

Her standard response, the one she’d been placating the shareholders with, rolled off her tongue with ease. “These things happen. It goes in cycles. Production has slowed with the economy as it is, and a lot of our clients are now getting their auto parts manufactured out of the country.”

“The problem isn’t simply the economy. You are stuck in the past. Times have changed and Pickett Industries has not.”

“If Pickett really is dying some kind of slow, painful corporate death, why are you interested in investing your money in it?”

“The opportunity presented itself. I am a man who makes the most of all available opportunities.”

Vanessa’s stomach tightened as his eyes locked on hers, the meaning of his words seeming layered in the dim light, almost erotic.

She needed to get out more. She really did. As it was, the four walls of her office were so familiar, her situation was beginning to seem desperate. But that was how it was when one was at the helm of a dying corporation. Lucky, lucky her.

And Lazaro Marino saw it as an opportunity. Heaven help her.

“And what do you intend to do with this opportunity?”

“I could put pressure on the board to vote you out of your position.”

Vanessa felt as though a bucket of icy water had been thrown in her face. Shock froze her in place, keeping her expression unaltered despite the rolling wave of fear that was surging through her. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you are in over your head, Vanessa. The company has been in decline ever since you were appointed. It is in the best interest of the shareholders to have someone in charge who knows what they’re doing.”

“I’ve been working on my game plan.”

“For three years? I’m surprised your father hasn’t stepped back in and taken control again.”

She stiffened. “He can’t. When I was appointed CEO he signed an agreement, something the board wanted done to prevent … problems.” When her father was in a good mood, he was happy with what she was doing and when he wasn’t … well, she wouldn’t put it past him to try to oust her himself. No one on the board had wanted the employees, or the shareholders, living with that kind of instability.

Of course, if she didn’t turn things around soon that would be the least of anyone’s problems.

Vanessa had a degree in business, but a prodigy she was not. She knew it. But she stuck with Pickett out of duty, loyalty to her family, the driving need to make her father happy. How could she do anything else?

Thomas had lived and breathed Pickett, even in high school. Thomas, her handsome brother with the easy smile who had always had time for her, who had shown her warmth and affection, who had remembered her birthday. Who had been the only one able to make their father smile.

And with him gone, she was all her father had left to make sure the company, the family, continued. She couldn’t let Thomas’s dream die. She couldn’t force her father to lose the only thing in the world that truly mattered to him. She couldn’t stand to fail at the only thing that made her matter in his eyes.

She couldn’t be the one to see it all end, couldn’t be the cause of that. She’d let go of vague, half-imagined dreams in order to keep Pickett alive already. She couldn’t lose it now. She couldn’t see someone else in the position her father had always wanted reserved for someone in their family.

Her great-grandfather had built the business up using family money, and it had been passed down to Vanessa’s grandfather, and then to her father. It would have gone on to Thomas next.

The memory of that day was always there, sharp and vivid down to the way the rug in her father’s office had made her bare feet itch, to the way her stomach had ached, so intensely she’d been convinced she would die too. Just like her brother.

It’s up to you now, Vanessa. Without you, everything crumbles. Everything I’ve worked for, everything Thomas dreamed of.

She’d been thirteen. All of her brother’s responsibilities had been passed on to her that night, the weight of her family’s legacy. She’d be damned if she failed.

“It’s difficult to compete now that the market has changed. So many things are being done overseas now because there’s cheaper labor and lower taxes. It’s a hard position for us to be in, but we’re committed to keeping the factory here, to keeping the jobs here.”

“Idealistic. Not necessarily practical.”

He was right, and the worst thing was, she knew it. Had known it from the moment she’d taken her position in the big corporate office. She was fighting a losing battle, and she had been for three long years.

But she didn’t want to move the factory, didn’t want to eliminate all those jobs. Most of the employees had been with the company for more than twenty years and she couldn’t fathom taking that from them. They were her friends in some ways. Her responsibility.

Of course, if the company ceased to exist, the point was moot.

“Maybe not, but I don’t have any better ideas right now.” It galled to have to say that to him. To be put in the position of having to admit to deficiencies she was far too familiar with.

“As your principal shareholder, I’m not very pleased to hear that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want from me, Lazaro?”

“From you? Nothing. But I very much enjoy the fact that the fate of Pickett is now resting with me.”

“Maybe a better question for you is whether this is business or personal.”

“It is business. But it is also an interesting quirk of fate, isn’t it? Your father once held my future, my mother’s future, in his hands. He paid her miserable wages to do work that was so beneath any of you. To keep house and be treated very much as the help. And now I could buy your father ten times over. I have bought the portions of the business that were available.”

“So you just intend to lord over us with all that newfound power?”

“As your father has done to others?”

Vanessa bit the inside of her cheek. She knew her father, knew he was difficult at best. But he was all she had, her only family. The most important things to him were their family name, the tradition of the company and their standing in the community. He needed to know that he would always have his place as a pillar of the city, his favorite chair and cigars in his country club.

She wouldn’t be the one to lose that for him. Not now.

“I won’t say he’s been perfect, but he’s an old man, he … Pickett means the world to him.” And he—they—had lost too much already: Thomas, Vanessa’s mother. They couldn’t lose any more. It was up to her to make sure that they didn’t.

Lazaro looked at Vanessa, her dark brown eyes cool and unreadable, her full lips settled into a slight frown, a berry gloss adding shine to her sexy mouth. She looked every bit what she was. Rich and upper-class, her silver gown hugging her curves without being over the top, the neckline high, the only skin on display the elegant line of her back. Restraint, dignity. That was how the Picketts were. In public at least.

He’d seen a different side to Vanessa Pickett twelve years ago. A side of her that was branded into him, under his skin.

He redirected his thoughts. “What’s more important, Vanessa? The bottom line or tradition?”

To Michael Pickett, it was probably tradition. The blood in his veins was as blue as it came. He’d married old money and his daughter was the perfect aristocratic specimen, designed to keep the family name in a position of honor, to keep the family legacy going strong. Likely meant to marry a man of equal stock. That was what mattered to men like him. Not hard work, certainly not any sort of integrity. Just the preservation of an image and a way of life that was as outdated as his business practices.

When the opportunity to buy the shares had come up, Lazaro hadn’t been able to turn it down. He hadn’t been seeking any kind of poetic justice, but passing the chance up had been impossible when it had landed in his lap.

“I … Of course profit is the most important thing but we—my family—is Pickett Industries. We’re the soul of the company, the reason it’s lasted as long as it has. Without us, it wouldn’t be the same.”

“Of course it wouldn’t be the same. It would be new, modern. Which your father is most definitely not. And you are running things based on systems put into place by him some thirty years ago. It’s outdated in the extreme.”

Her throat convulsed and a muscle ticked in her cheek. Her delicate hands clung tightly to her purse, the tendons standing out, the effort it took to maintain composure evident. “I don’t know what else to do,” she said, her voice flat.

He could see the admission cost her. He wasn’t surprised by it, though. Vanessa had never seemed the CEO type. At sixteen she’d been sweet—at least he had seen her that way at first. She’d liked to swim in the pool in her family home’s massive backyard. The image of her lying in a lounge chair in her electric-pink bikini was burned into his brain, a watermark that colored his view of things more often than he cared to admit.

She’d been intrigued by him from the start, the kid who mowed her daddy’s lawn. He’d sensed her attraction right away, her hungry looks open, obvious. He imagined it had been some form of rebellion for her. To be attracted to not just a poor boy, but an immigrant, one who was so far removed from the long, storied lineage of the Pickett family it was nearly laughable.

The fact that she’d managed to burrow beneath his skin, that the thought of her had made his heart race faster, that he’d looked forward to weeding the flower beds so that he could catch sight of the princess in her tower was even more laughable.

He’d been a fool. That air of sweetness and light had been the perfect way to capture his attention, the kindness she’d shown to him so rare he’d lapped it up like a man dying of thirst. But she’d only been toying with him. And she’d made that clear the evening she rejected him. Later that same night, as a bonus prize to go with the rejection, he’d woken up facedown in an alley, his nose broken along with any of his naive notions of a romance between him and Vanessa, as one of Pickett’s hired henchmen warned him to keep away from the precious heiress.

It had been the beginning of rock bottom, both for him and his mother. He at least had crawled his way to the top. His mother had never had the chance. He curled his hands into fists, fought against the blinding rage that always came when he thought of his mother. Of how needlessly she’d suffered.

He chose instead to focus on how far he’d come, how much power he held. Of course, even now, with all of his billions in the bank, he wouldn’t be considered good enough for the hallowed Vanessa Pickett. He could have any woman he desired, and had spent many years doing exactly that with women whose names and faces he could no longer remember. But Vanessa was burned into his consciousness. A face he couldn’t forget. Kisses he could still remember in explicit detail when far more recent, far more erotic events had faded from his memory.

All the events surrounding her were forever in his mind, etched so deeply, they would never fade. It had shown him that as long as he stayed where he was in life he could be made a victim—a victim of those with money and power, who could hire a group of men to beat up an eighteen-year-old boy, who could get a single mother evicted from her small apartment, get her thrown out onto the streets with no job and no hope of getting a job. He’d vowed never to be a victim again. Never allow anyone to have power over him.

The money he had earned—more than he had ever imagined when he’d started out. But the power, the absolute power that came with admittance into the highest echelons of society—that eluded him. He could not purchase it. It wasn’t that simple.

To most on the outside, it would seem he had reached the top, but that was an illusion. What escaped him still was what Vanessa had, what her father had and what they would continue to have even if Pickett Industries went completely bankrupt. A blue bloodline. Family connections that could be traced back to America’s first settlers. Not a lineage that began in a hovel in Argentina with an unwed mother and a father whose true identity was a mystery.

He clenched his teeth, fighting against the onslaught of memories brought on by Vanessa’s appearance. “Pickett is fixable. And I know exactly what to do to fix it.”

Her brown eyes narrowed into slits. “You do?”

“Of course I do. I’ve made my fortune by turning dying corporations around, you know that, I’m sure.”

“Given the constant profiles Forbes does on you I’d have to be blind to miss it.”

“I can fix the mess,” he said, a new idea turning over in his head now, one that made his adrenaline spike and his pulse race.

“By appointing someone new.”

“Or not.”

“Feeling charitable all of the sudden? I don’t buy that, not when you were just dangling the mythical sword over my head.”

His heart rate quickened. Right in front of him was the key, dressed in a deceptively sexy silver gown, her dark brown hair swept up into a respectable bun. She was the final step, the way for him to make his entrance into the last part of society that remained locked to him. The way for him to grasp the ultimate power that continued to elude him.

Money was power, but connections combined with money would make his status absolute. It ate at him that there was still a place in society he was barred from. That there were still things outside his control. This was his chance to rise above all that.

And as an added bonus, he would get to see the look on Michael Pickett’s face when he took possession of everything the man had always tried so hard to keep in his control. Pickett Industries and his only daughter. This was a way to exact revenge on the man who had made Lazaro and his mother unemployable within the circles they’d always worked, the man responsible for their nights on the street in the unforgiving Boston winter. The man responsible for his mother growing weaker and weaker until the strongest woman he had ever known had faded away.

He had watched his mother die in a homeless shelter, without possessions, without dignity.

He bit down hard, his teeth grinding together, the pressure satisfying, helping him keep control over the anger and adrenaline building inside him. He hadn’t got where he was by letting opportunities pass him by. He took chances. He made snap decisions with a cool head. It was the secret to his success.

And Vanessa would be the key to his ultimate achievement.

A high-society bride would give him admittance into American aristocracy. He had considered it before, had already considered the advantage of marrying an old-money name to add weight to his own fortune, to improve his status. But every time he thought of marriage, every time he thought of finding a society princess, he couldn’t stop himself from picturing Vanessa in her pink bikini. Couldn’t erase the memory of stolen kisses in a guesthouse late at night.

Because of that, he’d never entertained the idea of marriage for very long at a time. But now … the idea of Vanessa as his high-society bride seemed too golden to let pass by. It was a chance to have all his needs fulfilled: his need to reach the top, his need for her.

Vanessa, soft and bare beneath him, over him. Touching him, kissing him. Satisfying him.

Desire, hot and destructive, rushed through him at the thought of the chance to have her, to be able finally to satisfy the lust he’d carried with him through every affair, that had plagued him every sleepless night. In that instant, the flood of lust drove out every other thought. Everything was reduced to its most basic principle.

See. Want. Have.

He wanted Vanessa. He had spent the past twelve years with a gnawing sense of unfulfilled desire for justice and for the woman who haunted his dreams.

And he would have her now.

“I’ll help you, Vanessa,” he said, keeping his eyes locked on hers, “on one condition.”

She tilted her chin up, revealing the long, elegant line of her neck. Tender skin he could easily imagine kissing, tasting. “Name your price.”

He took a step toward her, cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and was shocked by the bolt of electricity that arced between them. She still had power over his body. But judging by the faint color in her cheeks, the tremble in her lips, he had power too.

“Marriage.”

CHAPTER TWO

“ARE you insane?” she hissed, looking over her shoulder, checking to see if they were drawing stares. If her father ever heard about her meeting tonight with Lazaro Marino he would very likely explode, just before taking back control of the company, tearing the contract to shreds and dismissing her as a complete and utter failure, both as CEO and his daughter.

“Not in the least,” Lazaro said.

Vanessa took a step away from him, her heart thundering in her ears. “I’m serious, Lazaro. Did you by any chance suffer a head injury in the past twelve years? Because while you were never the most sophisticated man I’ve ever met, you seemed lucid then, at least.”

“I’m perfectly lucid,” he said dryly. “Don’t pretend that you’re a stranger to the concept of a marriage of convenience.”

Of course she wasn’t. There was a reason that every boyfriend she’d ever had had been introduced to her by her father. That there was usually a folder with the man’s name stamped on it somewhere in her father’s office. The man she ended up with had to be from the right family, with the right reputation. The right credentials.

But she’d never wanted that. A part of her, a part that she kept guarded, locked away so that no one else would ever see, was still that romantic sixteen-year-old girl who believed in love. Who wanted to be loved for who she was, not for her bank balance or for the shape of her body.

Of course, as far as her father was concerned, none of that mattered. Craig Freeman loomed in her future, the man her father had found worthy, the man with the right connections. That part of her life had been selected for her, as her job had been. As so many things in her life were.

Craig had been pinpointed as proper husband material before she’d been old enough to drive.

She’d managed to avoid marriage thanks to college and the demands of running Pickett. Before that, she had worked in most of the positions at Pickett so she could learn the ins and outs of everything, so she hadn’t had time to get married. Or even to have a date.

Recently she hadn’t had much time to do anything short of commuting to and from her office while taking antacids in hopes of easing the constant burn of stress in her chest.

“Of course I’m familiar with the concept, but that doesn’t mean I have a desire to take part in one,” she said crisply. That much was true. Marriage of any sort had never seemed like a real problem; it had always been safe in the gauzy future, not something she’d directly addressed. “And I really don’t want to marry you.” That part she added for good measure, and then wished she hadn’t.

“Since when is any of this about want? Do you think I want to get married? To tie myself to one woman forever? Necessity. I’ve known for a long time that I needed to make a good marriage in order to move freely in all social circles. I hadn’t considered you before, but now I see that you’ll be perfect. Consider yourself a walking, talking invitation into high society.”

Vanessa bit her tongue. “You’re sure you didn’t sustain a head injury, Lazaro?”

“Quite.”

“Because I don’t remember you being this much of a bastard either.”

“Time changes people, Vanessa. As I’m sure you know. You aren’t who you used to be either, are you?”

“No,” she said.

Except maybe she was. Being so near Lazaro now made her feel things she’d thought she’d left behind long ago, things she only let herself dwell on when she was alone, in the privacy of her room, in a painfully large and empty bed. Then she let herself dream—about a man who could share not just her bed, but her life. Her love.

But as soon as dawn broke through the curtains, reality returned, and it only hit harder the minute she walked into her office each morning to confront a failing company and her family’s heritage slipping through her fingertips because she couldn’t figure out how to fix the mess Pickett Industries was in.

And then there was the marriage her father already had planned for her. A marriage to a man she hardly knew, a man she hadn’t bothered to get to know, because she’d never been able to face the idea.

When she’d seen Lazaro for the first time, at sixteen, she’d discovered how badly she wanted love, and she’d let herself dream. A mistake. She’d fallen for him on sight, had thought he was special. Unique. But she knew the truth now. Lazaro wasn’t unique. He wanted everything he could get. Money. Power. And if he had to use her to get it, he would.

His dark eyes were intent on hers, eyes that used to have a glimmer of humor in them. It was easy to imagine it there. Easy to imagine the boy he’d been. The inky black sky and the outline of the city faded and she was back there, in the summer, twelve years earlier.

“You aren’t really supposed to talk to me.” Vanessa looked over her shoulder to make sure her father wasn’t watching. Just an instinctive check, because he was at the office, where he always was.

Lazaro smiled, teeth bright white against his bronze skin. Her heart started to beat faster. “Why is that?”

“Because I … Aren’t you on the clock or something?”

He looked around the immaculate yard, then back at her, dark eyes locked on hers. It made her stomach tighten. Having him so close … she felt jittery, nervous. But she’d been watching him all summer, had been nurturing her crush on him until it had grown into something more. She lived for him to glance her way, for him to watch her while she lounged by the pool. She longed to see the interest in those beautiful eyes of his.

“I don’t get paid hourly,” he said, flashing her a grin that made her stomach do somersaults. “I’m done anyway.”

“Oh …” she trailed off, all the words in her head jumbled.

“I’ll stay until my mother’s ready to leave for the day.”

Vanessa suddenly felt too exposed in her bikini. She’d picked it partly to draw his attention, but now, with him standing so close, she felt acutely aware of how much skin was on display. She’d never really tried to draw attention to herself using her body, because she hadn’t been ready for a man to take her up on the offer.

But Lazaro was different. He made her feel different.

They talked for the rest of the afternoon. About school, how different his inner-city public school was compared to her private all-girls school. But it turned out they liked the same foods, the same music, even though she had to hide hers from her father. She loved hearing how he talked about his mother, how proud he was of her. Vanessa told him how much she missed her mother.

They talked every day that week, sneaking around the property, evading watchful eyes, and by the end of it, Vanessa was certain she was in love. She also knew that if her father ever found out, Lazaro and his mother wouldn’t have jobs anymore and she would be grounded for the rest of her life.

Because while most of the world had modernized, Michael Pickett had not. He very much believed in a class system and in socializing only with those who shared your designated position. She wasn’t naive enough to think that her father’s heart would soften if she explained that she was really, truly in love with Lazaro.

She was already giving up so much in order to take on the responsibilities of Pickett Industries, already sacrificing so many dreams to major in business when she went to college and spend her life behind a desk, just as her father had done.

Surely that should count for something.

Yes, she and Lazaro had a gulf between them as far as money went. As far as prominence in society went, the gulf was even wider, impossible to bridge. But Vanessa didn’t care. She couldn’t care. When he looked at her, designer fashions, upscale parties and any feeling of being part of the elite faded completely. The world was reduced to her and Lazaro. There was nothing more.

And that was why risking serious consequences to see him was more than worth it.

It made her wonder what it would be like if it were only the two of them. If she had to leave it all behind for him … she would.

“Meet me tonight. Where no one can see,” Lazaro said.

They were hidden in an alcove behind the guesthouse and it was doubtful that they could be seen, but there was always a risk. A bigger risk for him than for her, she knew.

“Okay.” She didn’t hesitate because she wanted more time with him, craved more time. She wanted to have him hold her hand. To kiss her. To tell her he loved her as she loved him. “Meet me here, at the guesthouse. I can get a key.”

She spent the rest of the afternoon trying to decide what to wear, changing her clothes a hundred times. It felt like a first date. She was. Sort of. She’d never been on a date, had never kissed anyone. At her age, she felt like an oddity. Most of her friends at school had done a lot more than that.

But her father kept her on a tight leash, and boys were not something that was supposed to concern her at this stage of her life. Too bad for her father, since he couldn’t control her thoughts, and boys had been among her biggest concerns for the past four years.

None of her crushes or interests mattered though, not really. There was a boy, a man really, six years her senior, that her father had his eye on for her—Craig Freeman. His family had all the right connections, the proper bloodline. And the thought of being married off to him someday made her feel like one of her father’s broodmares.

She pushed the thought to one side. Craig was far in the future. He was on the West Coast building his name, and as far as she was concerned, having the entire expanse of the country between them was perfect.

And tonight, maybe she would just pretend he didn’t exist. Maybe … maybe after tonight she would find the courage to tell her father that she didn’t want Craig. At all. Ever.

She looked at the clock and then back at the full-length mirror. Her skirt was too short and her shirt was too tight. That’s what her father would say. But she wasn’t dressing for her father’s approval.

Tonight, only Lazaro’s approval mattered.

She left her bedroom light on and closed the door. Her father was at his country club and the odds of him coming home before midnight were slim. Still, she wasn’t taking chances.

She slipped quietly through the house and out the door, across the lawn.

When she got down to the guesthouse, Lazaro was there, waiting for her. Relief and happiness flooded through her. “You came.”

He smiled that wonderful, knee-weakening smile. “Of course.”

She unlocked the door and led him inside. “We can’t turn on any lights,” she whispered. “Someone might see.”

“That’s fine.” Lazaro took her hand, the shock of his skin against hers making her body jolt. “We don’t need lights.”

He tugged her gently to him and wrapped his arm around her waist, placed his other hand on the back of her head and tangled his fingers in her hair. She was glad she’d left it down.

He leaned in, his lips feather-light on hers. Everything around her stopped for a moment, time, her heart, everything, as he increased the pressure of his mouth on hers. She closed her eyes, just standing there, letting the sensation of being kissed by Lazaro wash over her.

When the tip of his tongue slid over her lower lip, her mouth parted in shock and he took advantage, stroking his tongue over hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, boldness surging through her, a desire to make him feel the way she did, hold him captive to sensation, just as she was.

It was nothing like her friends had said. They said it was awkward. Bumping noses and teeth. She’d always heard that a lot of guys were sloppy kissers. But Lazaro was perfect. And there was nothing awkward about it.

And she was so glad she wasn’t experiencing this moment with insipid, pale Craig Freeman. He looked as though he would probably be a sloppy kisser. She shoved the thought to one side, firmly planting her mind in the moment.

Lazaro took her hand in his, tugged it lightly as he took a step toward the hallway.

“What?” she asked, feeling dizzy, dazed, her body and soul focused on when he would kiss her again, caress her again.

“Looking for some place more comfortable.”

She nodded and followed, her heart pounding in her throat; the only rooms back here were bedrooms, and she really didn’t think she was ready for anything that might happen in a bedroom. But Lazaro was … He was different from anyone she’d ever known. She trusted him to go slow. To be what she needed.

He opened a door and looked inside, pushed it open and laced his fingers through hers again, drawing her in with him. She paused in the doorway, looking at the big bed. Her heart thundered hard—nerves, emotion, hormones threatening to wash her away in a powerful tide. He couldn’t want to … they’d barely kissed.

He pulled her to him, his hand caressing her cheek. “Just kiss me,” he whispered.

Yes. When she kissed him, everything else faded away. Just kissing.

He led her to the bed, his dark eyes serious on hers. She leaned in and kissed him again. He smelled clean. Not fussy and coated in cologne like the guys that went to the country club, but like soap and skin. Like Lazaro.

She’d never wanted anything, anyone, more in her life. She just wanted to stay with him forever, in the guesthouse, away from rules and propriety and all the things she was supposed to want. None of them mattered now. Only Lazaro mattered.

He sat on the bed and she sat with him, accepting a hungry kiss, his hands sliding over her back, down her waist, gripping her hips as he kissed her. Deeply. Passionately. Every thought fled her mind. Everything but how good it felt to have him touch her, kiss her, almost devour her as though she was the most decadent dessert he’d ever had.

She didn’t even realize she was falling until she felt the soft mattress beneath her back, and Lazaro’s hard frame over her. She tangled her fingers in his thick dark hair, her thighs parting slightly to make room for him.

Her heart felt as though it was overflowing with emotion, with love. She had to tell him. Had to tell him how much she loved him. How she wanted him forever. No matter what her father thought, or what anyone said. The words hovered on her lips, but she couldn’t find the courage to say them.

He knew though. He had to know. She wouldn’t be here with him if she didn’t love him.

He pushed her shirt up just enough to expose her stomach, the calloused skin of his fingertips pleasantly rough against her tender flesh. She arched into his touch and he took advantage, kissing her exposed neck.

The longing that overtook her was so big, beyond the physical, a deep emotional well that opened up inside her, desperate to be filled, so desperate for all of the attention that was being directed at her.

She was always lonely. Since Thomas had died the void in her life had been vast, her isolation in her own home devastating.

At least it had been until Lazaro. He brought the light back. He held the possibility of a future that wasn’t filled with Pickett Industries.

When his hands moved higher, cupping her, she simply enjoyed his touch, tried to push all of the worries out of her mind and simply live in the moment.

He pulled away from her and stood. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Condom,” he said, his chest rising and falling with hard, labored breaths as he reached into his pocket.

A wave of shock rolled over her, making her ears buzz, her throat tight. “I … No,” she said, scrambling to sit up. She’d just had her first kiss, anything more was impossible to fathom. “No.”

She was torn then, torn because in so many ways she wanted him. Wanted to take advantage of being alone with him, of having all of his intensity focused on her. Part of her wanted to make love with him. To take every step possible to make him hers.

But she wasn’t ready. She wanted love before there were condoms involved. She needed the words. She just did.

And if anyone found out she’d had her first kiss and her first time on the same night, in her father’s guesthouse? She cringed at the thought.

“What would people think?” The words tumbled out before she had a chance to turn them over.

His eyes darkened, his mouth pressing into a tight line. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “I don’t know, querida.” The Spanish endearment sounded like a curse. “They might not think anything of it. I assumed you had arrangements with all of the gardeners.”

His words were like gunfire, shocking and devastating. Harsh in the small, quiet space. “I …”

“You certainly aren’t the only one of my clients’ daughters I’ve gotten into bed.”

Insults, angry words, curses she’d never spoken out loud before, all swirled in her head, but her throat was too tight for her to speak. And in his eyes, she could see her pain mirrored, raw and achingly sad.

He just looked at her for a moment, and she wished she had the courage to say something. But she just wanted to curl in on herself and hold the hurt to her heart.

“I think we’re done here then.” He turned and walked out, and she just sat and watched him go.

She wanted to go after him. To explain what she’d meant, because she was certain her words had hurt him in some way. To scream at him for making her hurt.

You’ll see him again tomorrow. You can fix it then.

Except she’d been wrong about that. He’d walked out and he’d never come back. All he’d wanted from her was sex. That had been her introduction to relationships. Not exactly sterling. It was a memory, an experience she couldn’t free herself from.

And more often than not her mind chose to focus not on the fight, but on the way his mouth had felt moving over hers. The slide of his tongue, his hands on her skin.

Worse than that were the times when she thought about what she’d been willing to do for him. She’d been ready to leave everything behind—her father, Pickett Industries—for him. That had been a moment in time when her future had seemed fluid rather than set in stone, and sometimes she dreamed of what it would be like to have options. To have the unknown stretching before her in a good way, and not in a failing-company, heartburn-causing kind of way.

Her mind was wicked. And treacherous.

Tonight was the first time she’d seen Lazaro in person since he’d left her sitting on the bed in her father’s guesthouse, although she’d revisited that night a thousand times every time she saw a picture of him, heard him discussed at cocktail parties. The bad boy made good. She’d never been able to truly escape him. Though she’d tried.

She’d only tracked him down now because the ghost of make-out sessions past was trying to stage a hostile takeover of her business—her life. Otherwise, she never would have sought him out again. Ever.

“The way I see it, Vanessa, you have very little choice in the matter if you want Pickett to survive.”

“No,” she said, “I don’t see marriage as a formal business transaction.”

“Now, I find that hard to believe.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Are you saying your father has nothing to do with the man you’ll marry?” He watched as the light in her dark eyes dimmed. “Are you saying you get to choose?”

She shook her head. “Not … It’s complicated.”

“Not really.”

“I can’t,” Vanessa said, keeping her voice hard, commanding. The voice she used during board meetings and to men who assumed she couldn’t handle being in charge.

“You’re already promised to someone, aren’t you? Someone with the appropriate bloodlines?” His lip curled into a sneer. “Waiting for one of those golden boys to bail you out?”

“You know my father, he doesn’t leave loose ends. Of course there’s someone in his plans.” The admittance was strange because no one, herself included, had ever voiced it. But no one had ever had to say anything. It was understood. It was as ingrained in her as which fork to use for the salad.

“Do you love him?”

“No.” She didn’t love Craig Freeman, or even know him, by her own design. She’d taken pains to avoid him, in fact. That hadn’t been too hard since he’d been across the country for the majority of their tentative arrangement. He seemed about as interested in the whole thing as she was.

And that was another reason she’d never broached the subject with her father.

“Then why do you have an issue with a business-oriented marriage where I’m concerned?”

Because Craig Freeman could be put off. He was unchallenging. He was a nonentity. In some ways, it had been easier knowing that he was in the not-too-distant future. It took the pressure off her finding Mr. Right when she hardly had enough time to put on lipstick in the morning. Craig didn’t make her heart race or her body burn. Lazaro Marino did. And he would not be put off by anyone.

Vanessa sucked in a sharp breath. “Before this goes any further, I need to know what this is about.”

“Why is it that I can’t get business deals with your father’s cronies? Why is it that their businesses languish, and yet they sit in their clubs sipping brandy and smoking cigars, ignoring the downfall, rather than pursuing help?”

“Because they’re a bunch of stubborn old men who are set in their ways,” she said. “Their business models are outdated, just as you’ve accused Pickett’s of being.”

“Perhaps. And also because I am not worthy in their eyes. They would rather watch their companies crumble than ask someone like me, with my dirty blood, for help.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, even though she knew it was true. Those men would never stoop to taking a consultation from someone so far beneath them in station. That exclusivity was the source of their power, and they weren’t about to let it go, no matter how modernized the rest of the world had become.

“It’s not. We both know that.”

“And you think marrying me will fix that for you?”

He chuckled. “I’m sure the son-in-law of Michael Pickett would be due some respect.”

“If my father didn’t disown me for marrying you instead of the golden boy he’s selected for me,” she said.

“Would he?”

She paused for a moment, honestly wondering if he would. She’d been ready to take the chance twelve years ago. More than ready to carve a new life for herself and Lazaro, to leave it all behind.

That dream had ended quickly. Maddeningly, it tantalized her sometimes when she was in bed, on the edge between sleep and wakefulness. Stupid subconscious.

Finally, she shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t. He has too much invested in me. And I own more stock than he does at this point. He can’t vote me out of my position, which would mean that if he did disown me he would be separating himself from the company, and he won’t do that.”

“But if there is no company?” he asked.

If there was no company, her father would never speak to her again. Her life, everything she had worked for for so long, would be meaningless. She would have nothing but her big, empty town house—if she could even afford to keep it—with her big, empty bedroom and her big, empty bed. The thought made her sick, made her stomach physically cramp.

“It’s not an option,” she said. She refused to think about it. Refused to entertain the idea.

Her relationship with her father was complicated. It wasn’t a happy, hugging sort of relationship, but he was all that she had, her only family. He was the one constant in her world. He had always cared for her, he had set her path in front of her and he had paid for her schooling to make sure his goals were met.

And she’d done all she could to earn his approval, done what she could to help fill the void Thomas had left behind. The Pickett heir—the real Pickett heir—hadn’t lived to graduate from high school.

It was up to her now. It wasn’t a responsibility she could simply shake off or ignore.

“And can you risk that, Vanessa?”

“No.” She choked on the word.

“Then marry me.”

“It’s crazy, you know that, right?”

“More so than the arrangement you already have?”

“Yes,” she fired back, brown eyes blazing. Lazaro’s gut tightened. Of course she would feel that way. He was beneath her. He had been a toy to her twelve years ago. Good enough to flirt with, to tease, but nothing more.

What would people think? The look of horror on her face, the incredulity in her voice, was crystal clear in his mind, as though she had spoken it only a moment ago, instead of what amounted to a lifetime ago.

He was the housekeeper’s son, and she was the princess of the castle. Years later, now that he had billions to his name and a reputation as one of the world’s savviest business minds, she still believed herself above him.

Even as the anger coursed through him, he wanted her. Wanted her with the same burning desire he’d had for her when they were teenagers. Yes, he wanted the vital connections marrying her would provide. But at the moment, more than anything, he wanted her body. He wanted to finish what he had started twelve years ago. He wanted Vanessa, naked, willing, in his bed, crying out his name. His and no other man’s. He wanted to brand her as she had done to him with those kisses years ago.

Vanessa’s lips on his, her delicate hands skimming over his skin—everything narrowed down to that. The broader goal was lost. There was nothing beyond lust. Simple, pure lust that had been with him since the first moment he’d seen her. A lust that had never released its hold on him. The need to satisfy it was suddenly driving, imperative.

He closed his hands into fists, took in a deep breath.

As much as he wanted that, he had to remember what his real goal was. There would be plenty of time to seduce Vanessa once they were married. It was about business now, and the rest would come later. Business, and dealing with Michael Pickett.

What sweet justice it would be, marrying Vanessa. Having her replace her hallowed last name with his.

How wonderful it would be to see Michael Pickett’s face when he discovered his only daughter would be marrying the man he had had beaten in a back alley for daring to touch his beloved princess. For daring to sully her with his hands. A laborer’s hands. An immigrant’s hands.

Lazaro curled his fingers, forming fists.

The other man’s fate—the fate of his much-loved business and that of his only child—was now Lazaro’s to decide.

Just as his fate and his mother’s fate, had once been Michael Pickett’s to decide. And what a decision he’d made. He’d had them evicted. Had made sure they couldn’t find work in Boston and that what little they’d had was lost to them.

Now the older man would know what it was like to feel desperate, to have to depend on the whims of someone else. What it was like to have his power stripped from him.

Men like him didn’t deserve such absolute power.

“I’m offering you a very simple solution, Vanessa.”

“Oh, yes, simple. In what world is marriage the simple solution?”

“In this world. Alliances are made by advantageous marriages, it happens every single day. You admitted it is already in your future.”

“Nothing was finalized. I believe marriage should be about love.”

She looked so sincere when she said it, brown eyes liquid in the dim light. What would Vanessa Pickett know about love? No more than he did.

“Romanticizing an institution has always seemed pointless to me.”

Vanessa swallowed hard, her heart thundering, the pulse in her neck fluttering. “You don’t seem the type to romanticize anything.”

She knew that about him. Had known it the moment kissing had turned into more and he’d produced a condom rather than words of love. Ironic that her very first marriage proposal was from him, twelve years after she’d been hoping to hear it. Of course, there was still no mention of love.

She’d been a romantic then, with all of her heart and not just a piece of it. And she’d learned, at Lazaro’s hands, that blind naïveté didn’t protect you from cold reality.

And what she had now was cold reality at its finest. A dying business, one that was under her control, the very real danger of losing that control. Worse, of losing the entire company to bankruptcy along with any respect she’d managed to gain from her father. She would be the one to destroy a family legacy that had stood for one hundred years. She was so close to losing absolutely everything, having nothing but a cold, arranged marriage waiting for her when the dust settled.

She also had an out in the form of Lazaro Marino. A deal with the devil, and it would only cost her soul. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. But from where she was standing, it must look a lot that way. A dark, handsome devil, sure, but the devil nonetheless. And it was truly an exchange of one marriage of convenience for another.

Of course, for better or for worse, the arrangement with Lazaro would never be cold.

No. Impossible. She looked at him, broad shoulders, thickly muscled chest, trim waist and hips. He had a body most women would pay money to get their hands on, and the face of a fallen angel. Perfectly handsome, but with that hint of danger provided by his slightly bent nose and dark stubble. Stubble that would feel rough against her hands, her cheek …

“It isn’t as though we would marry immediately,” he said, his deep voice breaking through her fantasy.

“We wouldn’t?” A stupid response, as though she’d agreed to something when she hadn’t done any such thing.

“No. It takes time to plan a wedding. Especially of the calibre I have in mind.”

“Oh, you’ve thought about this?” For some reason that made her stomach tighten.

“Not in a specific sense. But there are certain things expected from a society wedding.” His lips curved up into a smile. A smile that lacked humor and warmth. It made her shiver.

She’d never wanted a huge wedding. She’d seen that circus one too many times. Had been a part of it for family friends. Those weddings were impersonal, affairs for the guests and not for the couple, and she’d always found them disingenuous. Although, she was certain, the choice would have been taken from her when the time came with Craig. A big, three ring circus of a wedding, befitting the alliance between the Picketts and the Freemans. The thought made her slightly dizzy. She hadn’t given a lot of thought to that eventual union, but all this wedding talk was forcing it to the forefront, making her face something she’d been dutifully ignoring for years.

It had been a foolish thing, keeping that corner of her heart reserved for romantic fantasy. There had never been a hope for that in her future. Never. Lazaro’s appearance didn’t alter that, it just altered the groom. Craig, with his pale, angelic looks, was after her for the connections she would provide, and Lazaro, dark and dangerous, wanted the same. Neither man offered her love. Lazaro, at least, would help her hold on to Pickett Industries.

“And what do you intend to do with me until the wedding?”

He smiled again, and this time it touched his eyes, lighting a spark in their depths. Heat. She knew the look. She’d been on the receiving end of it before. And it was no less devastating to her at twenty-eight than it had been to her at sixteen.

He extended his hand, his open palm cupping her cheek, and heat spread through her, making her knees feel shaky, her breasts heavy. How long had it been since she’d been so close to a man? And how long had it been since one had made her feel like this? The very few times she’d come into contact with Craig she hadn’t felt even the slightest twinge of electricity.

“I’ll spend that time seducing my future wife,” he said, his voice husky, the remnants of his accent clinging to the syllables, making each word sound like a sensual caress.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight and dry as though it had been lined with sandpaper. He was talking about seduction. Sex. It took her right back to that moment, the moment when he’d made it clear that sex was on his agenda for the night, his hand in his pocket, reaching for a condom. She’d been tempted then too, but … she’d loved him then. Or something. She’d been sixteen and sixteen-year-old girls were given to the dramatic when it came to matters of the heart.

That romantic part of herself had always hoped against hope that the man she gave her body to would be a man who loved her desperately, a man she felt the same way about.

It wasn’t that that made her want to hold back from Lazaro though. It was the fact that he seemed to command some sort of power over her body, that he could get her hot just by looking at her. He robbed her of all the steely control no other man had ever been able to crack.

That was scarier than anything. That was something she had to master because she was not allowing him to have that kind of hold over her. Not when he already had so much power.

“I’m not just going to jump into bed with you. I don’t even know you.”

“Sometimes that adds to the fun, Vanessa.”

The way he said it, his rich, accented voice caressing the words, made her almost believe it. Made her wonder if love was overrated. “That’s not how I see things, Lazaro,” she said, her throat so constricted she could hardly force the words out.

“Relax. The courtship will be for the benefit of the media and my future clients. What better than a grand love story to keep everyone fascinated?”

“I don’t know if any of my father’s friends are old romantics.”

“Perhaps not. But the more genuine it looks, the better. It’s essential that it look real.”

“I don’t know …”

“What is it you don’t know, Vanessa? Whether you want to embrace success or failure?”

“Why does it have to be marriage?” she asked. “Why can’t …”

“Why can’t I simply hand you the solution? Why can’t I give you the knowledge and help that Pickett Industries cannot afford? Because that’s what your father, your family would do for others?”

“That isn’t …”

“Nothing in life is free, Vanessa. Nothing.”

“I know that,” she said, her voice fading. She did know it. She knew the cost of duty over desire better than he realized. Pickett Industries wasn’t her dream; Craig Freeman had never been her dream. But running the company, marrying Craig, were what she was supposed to do. This was her duty to her father, to Thomas’s memory. And duty was something she’d embraced rather than turning away from. It had taken strength to do that, to deny whatever else she might want in order to preserve her father’s respect for her. In order to preserve the Pickett family legacy.

“These are my terms, you can take them or leave them.”

Vanessa felt as though the world had just rocked beneath her feet. But it hadn’t; the paper lanterns above her head were still steady, the people around them were still talking, unaware that her life was crumbling around her, that everything she had always believed about herself lay in ashes before her.

She’d never thought she would stoop so low. Had never thought she would be the one willing to do whatever it took for the sake of money and power. And maybe if it were only money and power she wouldn’t. Regardless of what Lazaro said, this did seem different from the friendly, family-made arrangement she had with Craig. This seemed mercenary. It seemed … It felt in some ways that she was selling herself. Her body.

But this was her reputation. It was all she had worked for. It was her relationship with the only family she had. If she didn’t have that, she would have nothing. Breaking the unofficial engagement with Craig was one thing, losing Pickett, letting it fall into someone else’s hands … that her father would never forgive her for. And she would never forgive herself.

She couldn’t face that. And it was time to step up. To do what she’d been doing all her life—make the choice that would best benefit her family legacy and all of the employees who depended on her family for their paychecks.

“I’ll take them.” Her words sounded flat and harsh in the silent night air.

“A very wise choice, Vanessa.” Lazaro’s expression didn’t change, his eyes remained flat and dark, latent heat smoldering there, his square jaw still set firmly. But she could feel a change in him, a subtle shift in the energy radiating from him. It resonated in her, caused a response she couldn’t ignore or deny.

She looked at the cool, hard man standing in front of her. To him, this was business. Another way for him to climb to the top. She just had to see it the same way. She couldn’t afford to involve her heart.

“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” she asked.

“Not one that had a better outcome. And you’re a smart woman. You know that the end result is all that matters.”

She wanted to be that woman. She tried to be that woman. Because that was the woman who was going to pull Pickett out of the red.

“Pickett Industries is all that matters,” she said slowly, feeling the virtual shackles tightening on her wrists even as she spoke the words.

CHAPTER THREE

SURREAL didn’t even begin to describe it. Waking up and realizing she had consented to marry Lazaro Marino the night before was surreal on an epic scale worthy of Salvador Dali. Given the state of things, she wouldn’t have been shocked to see her clock melt off the wall.

But, as surreal as it was, it was her new reality. Nonetheless she couldn’t make it feel real. She felt as if she was in a fog that not even driving to work through Boston’s harrowing traffic could shake her out of. And when she sat down at her desk it didn’t get any better.

It was early, the sun rising pink against the skyline of the city. Vanessa picked up her smartphone and snapped a picture. It was muted, nothing like it would have been if it had been done with an actual camera, something she’d never bothered to buy for herself. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford one, but she didn’t have time to indulge in any hobby that didn’t directly benefit her company.

She would have even less time as CEO of Pickett Industries and fiancée to Lazaro Marino. She looked at her left hand. It was bare, no engagement ring. But there would be one, she had no doubt about that. Lazaro was a man of details and a detail like that wouldn’t be overlooked.

She leaned forward and rested her forehead on the cool wood of her desk. How had she gotten so deep into a life that she didn’t want? She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to halt the tears that were starting to form.

She’d made her choice. Long before Lazaro had walked back into her life, she’d made her choice to do what she had to do to keep Pickett Industries in the family. She’d gone to college and majored in business so she could see that that happened, and that she did the best job she could. She’d chosen to put everything personal on hold in order to keep the business afloat.

It was just a part of her duty to Pickett. It felt like more though.

A strange bubble of exhilaration filled her chest because suddenly her future was different. The man standing at the altar in her mind was no longer Craig Freeman; it was the one man who had inspired a kind of reckless abandon in her. The one man who’d made her want to break the rules.

By marrying him, she was both toeing the line and rebelling against it.

That was liberating in some ways, terrifying in others. And what she really wanted to do—hide under her desk until the storm blew over—was impossible because she had to keep it together. She was the CEO of Pickett. She couldn’t question her decisions, and she couldn’t hide from the hard stuff.

The choice was made. There was no going back. She was committed.