Chapter 1
One
T ori believed in three truths about Miami: the heat could melt your will to live, the traffic could break your soul, and everything ran more smoothly if you planned for disaster. That’s why she built in an hour buffer wherever she went; no amount of preparation could account for the sheer lawlessness of I-95. And yet, her hope of getting to the office early enough to get actual work done before her nine o’clock interview was dying a slow, agonizing death.
Instead of giving in to her baser instincts and speeding down the highway’s shoulder, Tori looked away from the wall of red brake lights and down at her phone. A dozen new emails had come in since she’d left her Midtown loft and started for her suburban Coral Gables office. When every email was urgent, it was surprisingly easy to check her texts instead.
Larissa: Hope you’ve had your cafecito this morning…
Knowingly taking the vague bait, Tori called her best friend and fellow broker. The moment Larissa’s voice crackled through the speakers of her matte black Jeep, Tori knew there was a fire waiting for her at the office. Probably more than one. She sipped her latte, relaxed into her seat, and listened.
She breezed through the archway of the Mediterranean mid-rise and hit the button for the tenth floor with fifteen minutes to spare. While finishing the dregs of her coffee, she texted her client off a ledge and stopped him from pulling out of his factory’s multi-million-dollar lease over a parking lot dispute with the flooring company next door.
In the elevator’s reflection, Tori fixed her freshly cut choppy bob. A few highlights in her natural dark brown waves brought out the gold in her olive skin. After a lifetime of long hair, she’d rebelled when she turned thirty. Tori was more comfortable in her own skin at thirty-two than ever before. The hard work she’d put into her foundation had paid off and the skyscraper was going up exactly as designed.
Dressed in high-waisted, wide-legged trousers and a silky tank that made the July humidity somewhat bearable, she stepped off the elevator and into Diaz and Newport Commercial Realty. The modern office was better suited to downtown or the beach, but the two principal brokers were old-school and liked the prestige of the affluent Gables neighborhood. Tori could make her commute easier and move, but her mixed-use Midtown building had been her first major project. She’d always been a sucker for firsts.
“Your nine A.M. is stuck on the causeway,” the receptionist behind the poured concrete desk said as soon as Tori walked in. “He said an accident has the bridge blocked.”
Few things were as reliable in Miami as unhinged drivers causing accidents. He should have known that.
Tori’s reply was unwavering. “Tell Mr. Aster, as nicely as you can, that if he’s late, he’s out.”
It’s not that she didn’t understand traffic, but errors in judgement were unacceptable. If she couldn’t trust an agent to get to a job interview on time, how could she trust them with any of their clients? People handing over their reputations—and astronomical amounts of money—had to have total confidence in their agents. Mistakes as avoidable as getting in the car on time spoke of incompetence.
Tori had only gotten beyond the first glass-encased conference room when Larissa darted out from the kitchen. In a fitted blue suit and swag for days, Larissa was a striking combination of masc and femme. A Brazilian iteration of Emma D’Arcy, her dark bedroom eyes and slicked-back short hair attracted everyone with a pulse.
Even Tori had been momentarily smitten when they met at a queer professionals group years earlier. Unfortunately, it had been immediately apparent that their connection was purely platonic. Dating her best friend would’ve made Tori’s life infinitely easier.
“The new CRM system didn’t import any clients with last names A through D,” Larissa said by way of greeting and took Tori’s empty coffee to replace it with a shot of Cuban espresso. “We lost hundreds of contacts in the migration and IT can’t find the backups.”
Knocking back jet fuel, Tori tried not to make a face at the acidic, unsweetened punch. “I told you not to let Nilda make the coladas anymore,” she half-joked and threw the empty plastic cup in the trash.
“Yeah, well.” Larissa smirked. “No one quite fears me as they do the woman who hires and fires.”
At Larissa’s feigned envy, Tori rolled her eyes. “Like you have any interest in management.”
“You’re right. I’m much more of the from behind type.” She wiggled her brows.
Tori laughed. “Pretty sure you mean behind the scenes .”
With a devilish grin, Larissa tipped her head to the side. “Do I?”
Tori led the way to her office while they talked. Intentionally minimalist, the curated space had its own small seating area and a partial view of the Biltmore Golf Course. As the managing broker, she had the fourth most coveted office. Only Larissa knew she had her sights set on the huge corner suite.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I made my own backups despite reassurances that data couldn’t be lost when we switched.” Tori dropped her bag on her uncluttered glass desk and went for a locked cabinet under a series of floating shelves across from a round table and four chairs.
Tori slapped a bandage on the CRM issue and was walking with Larissa back to the kitchen when she heard the front door chime. She glanced down at her smartwatch.
Three minutes late is still late, Mr. Aster.
She might’ve been impressed that the prospective agent was tenacious enough to show up anyway, probably to plead his case. But defiance of a clear directive was too close to insubordination. There was a lot she could teach new hires about the job, but she couldn’t change their character. She’d learned that the hard way.
Tori started toward reception, intending to give the young man a few minutes of her time and impart some valuable lessons, when a voice she hadn’t heard in nearly fifteen years flash froze her in place. Standing behind the ornamental wall separating the office from the reception area, Tori couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
“Hi, um, I’m looking for Victoria Cruz.”
Mia . Her heart thumped the syllable like a sledgehammer smashing through bone.
Her voice was still silk and sandpaper. Honey-sweet and whisky-warm. It made the air too thin, like Tori was standing on Everest without supplemental oxygen.
The sound reminded her of a thousand secrets whispered in the dark. Of laughter and hope and more talking than Tori had ever done. It transported her to another life against her will. To a time when she had been riddled with insecurity and self-doubt. When she had no control over anything. When she’d let a stupid and hopeless and forever-unrequited crush control everything she did. When she’d been embarrassing and pathetic.
“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked politely, despite having a copy of Tori’s calendar and knowing the answer.
“No. I’m her…”
Mia’s chuckle was a nervous rattle in her throat. It made Tori’s mouth go dry and her heart kick into a terrifying flutter. She curled her hands into fists like that might stop the cold sweat. Like it might conceal the tremble.
“You okay?” Larissa’s usually carefree tone bore a concerned edge.
Tori couldn’t respond. Couldn’t look up from the slate flooring. She didn’t want to know what Mia looked like now. Didn’t want to know what it would feel like to see her again. In all these years, she’d never once given in to a late-night urge to look her up. To see what she was doing. She couldn’t stand to know.
A million questions rushed through Tori’s mind at once. The most urgent centered on what the hell Mia was doing in her office. The most pitiful focused on how Mia was going to describe their relationship. They were nothing to each other now. A fact that turned Tori’s racing heart to stone and sent it plunging into her clenched stomach.
“We’re old friends,” Mia explained after a beat. “My name is Maria Falcon.”
Friends? It was an interesting way to describe people who hadn’t spoken to each other in fourteen years.
Larissa breathed a curse in Portuguese that conveyed the same shock turning Tori’s skin to ice. “Is that her?” she whispered.
Tongue glued to the roof of her dry mouth, all Tori could manage was a nod. Despite the ligature tightening around her lungs and muscles that had turned to jelly, Tori made herself move. The old Tori might have frozen in place—hiding and cowering—but she wasn’t that person. She hadn’t been her in a long time.
Tori straightened and put every ounce of her infamous resolve into killing the whirlpool of feelings swirling in her chest. She wasn’t some stupid teenager with a misguided crush anymore. She was a grown woman, successful and secure.
Striding out to the reception area, head held high, Tori slipped a hand into her trouser pocket to project a confidence she didn’t yet feel. She kept her legs moving, even if it was like trying to sprint through chest-deep mud. Fear of what it would be like to see Mia again wrestled with excitement for a moment she’d thought would never come. The conflicting emotions warred within her until she stepped into the lobby and exhaled.
There she was. Mia standing in her office like it was the most normal thing in the world. Curvier than she’d been in high school, Mia was unfairly attractive in jeans and a simple T-shirt. Her straight auburn hair was in a low pony, loose strands framing her heartbreaking face. Beneath the veneer of adulthood, Mia still wore the mischievous glint that could convince Tori to do anything. Though Tori couldn’t help but notice that she’d penciled in the scar in her eyebrow.
Tori tried to look past her, but her attention snagged on Mia’s hazel eyes, green and gold and forcing Tori back through time and space. She was back on the roof. Back in her bed. Back to a heart tired of pounding at the smallest provocation.
“Tori?” Mia’s eyes widened before they swept over Tori from top to bottom and back again. “I don’t know that I would’ve recognized you on the street.”
Mia’s smile, broad and familiar, was the last gasp of a dying star. A celestial body burning all the helium at its core to erupt into a blinding display. It melted the first layer of Tori’s carefully constructed defenses, easy as wax, while it blazed.
“It’s me,” Tori replied, without adding that she’d recognize Mia anywhere. Instead of admitting that she’d never forgotten Mia. Not even when she tried.