CHAPTER 3
Caroline
“Con, stop fucking Celina with your eyes and pay attention,” I growl loudly. “Do you have someone sharp, with retail background?”
Connor lifts one eyebrow at me then spoons another bite of soup into his mouth, the gesture slow, deliberate. He’s listening.
I lay out my suspicions to him that the head of my Europe region has been skimming money. Nothing dramatic on the surface and no obvious explosions in the numbers. The jerk knows how to hide things in the weeds.
But I live in my financials and something feels off. I need someone with the right instincts, to catch what spreadsheets try to hide and help me uproot the entire thing.
Of course, I have my own team. But I want to avoid the whisper network, the type that pretends to be discreet and somehow still sets the whole building on fire before you’ve even struck the match.
Connor thinks for a moment, then nods. “We’ve got a few analysts with retail experience. Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll have Ethan send a couple over.”
“And why aren’t you offering to help, Love?” Gigi cuts in smoothly, eyes sharp as knives as she turns to Celina. “You’re a retail analyst.”
Celina smiles, unbothered. “Used to be.”
Connor smirks. “Because Kitty here threatened to punch Celina and me if she ever saw us kissing?”
I did. And I still want to punch him for being so obsessed with Celina and leaving me behind like the odd man out. He laces his fingers with Celina’s and pulls her in, planting a smug kiss on her cheek.
“You’re disgusting,” I mutter.
“Well,” Celina says innocently, “haven’t you seen Gigi and Stefano?”
Gigi jabs her in the arm and suddenly they’re both laughing like maniacs, shoulders shaking, completely unrepentant.
I watch them and feel that familiar warmth settle in my chest. I love this group - my best friend, his little sister, and his girlfriend. Gigi is practically my little sister, too.
“Alright,” I say, dragging them back on track. “Are you two going to help me or not? Celina? Con?”
“Of course,” Connor says easily. One hand still tangled with Celina’s, the other holding his spoon. “Just say when.”
“Buy me a coffee and a canelé and I’m yours,” Celina adds with a grin.
“Deal,” I say. “I’ll send details. But I really need help, not just to skim the surface. I want to rip the entire system out by the roots. That Europe office needs a full cleanse.”
“Anything you need,” Connor says, eyes steady on mine. “Just say the word, Kitty.”
“Thanks, Con,” I say, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek. “That’s why I love you. But leave that fucking nickname out please.”
Celina just smiles. She knows exactly who Connor and I are to each other and she never minds.
My life is so great like this. I don’t need anyone extra.
***
The next week, Celina, Gigi, and I all end up in London together. Gigi feels bad for Stefano. The poor guy has basically been living on airplanes since they started dating, so she decides to meet here. Naturally, we drag Celina along with us.
I haven’t pulled the trigger on Connor’s help. Instead, I brought home detailed performance reports, along with board materials from the region, and handed them to Celina yesterday.
“Don’t take advantage of Celina,” Connor says over the phone, a grin obvious even without seeing him.
“Such a protective asshole you are, Con,” I smirk.
“So,” he asks, “what have you girls been up to?”
He must be arriving at his office - he calls just as I step out of a lunch meeting. My head is pounding, my shoulders ache. All I want is a massage and silence.
“Not much on my end,” I say. “I’ve been working nonstop. Your Celina’s been a very cheerful third wheel to Gigi and Stefano. We’re having dinner tonight.”
“I miss her,” he says without hesitation. “Return my girlfriend to me.”
I laugh. “I never thought I’d hear the day Connor fucking O’Hara would say something like that. And who was the one swearing that he hated her for lying through her teeth?”
“Don’t remind me, Kitty,” he groans. “And please don’t remind her. Otherwise, you’re banned from training with me.”
I hear movement – Connor steps into his office, Ethan’s voice humming faintly in the background.
“No worries,” I say. “I’ll return Celina in one piece. Say hi to Ethan for me. Dinner with the whole crew next week?”
“Sure. Love you, Cara.”
“Love you, Con.”
The call ends. I stare at my screen longer than necessary. My mind drifts back to this morning when Celina and I caught up over a cup of coffee before I headed out.
“I need to look more closely,” she’d said, fingers curled around her mug. “But if you can get me store-level performance data, renovation and expansion spend, that’ll help. Also advertising and promotion versus trade spends. I can read those patterns for you.”
I text Jill, my assistant, reminding her to compile the reports I requested after my conversation with Celina.
The following hours blur. Meetings bleed into meetings. Voices, decisions, notes. When I finally look up at the knock on my office door, it’s already 6:30 p.m.
Jill steps in with the performance and expense reports. Trailing right behind her is George Rubin.
“Good evening, Caroline,” he says, smiling. “You work too hard.”
The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Interesting.
“Hi, George.” I return with an easy, pleasant smile of my own. “You work harder than I do. Aren’t you supposed to be at dinner with your girlfriend tonight?”
“No,” he says quickly. “I canceled.”
He glances at the reports in my assistant’s hands, just once, and that’s more than enough for me.
“I was hoping to take you and the senior team out for dinner,” he adds. “If that’s alright.”
“I’d love to,” I say smoothly. Inside, I want to cut the head off the snake. “But already have plans tonight. Let’s do it another time.”
“Of course,” he says. “Any evening this week you’re free?”
He’s on edge. I can feel it. He is trying to read me. He doesn’t have full access to my calendar this week. With employee roundtables and one-on-ones, I’m booked solid.
“Let me check and get back to you,” I reply.
“That would be great.” He nods. “Have a lovely evening, Caroline.”
The second the door shuts behind him, my thoughts sprint.
The way he looked at the reports. The tension in his smile. The way his posture shifted the moment he saw what I was reviewing.
I don’t know exactly what I’m uncovering yet but I’m onto something. That stack of reports rattled him. Celina pointed me in the right direction before I even knew where to look.
I’m on the right track.
And George Rubin knows it.
***
“Italians really can’t stay away from pasta, huh?” I laugh as our car pulls up in front of a specialty pasta restaurant.
“Stefano worked out like a man possessed today, with all the ribbons, tissues, and gift bags,” Celina says with a wink. “He needs his carbs.”
“Try their food first,” Stefano shoots back over his shoulder, unimpressed by our jabs, “and then don’t come begging me to bring you ladies back here.”
“Celina and I have arrived, ready to be boss ladies and waiting to be fed,” I say simply.
“Principessa,” Stefano asks softly, turning toward Gigi, “what are you in the mood for?”
Celina sends me another wink. I lean in and murmur, “You do realize you and Connor are even cheesier than that, right?”
She elbows me - hard.
“Ouch,” I yelp.
Gigi laughs, her head still resting on Stefano’s shoulder. He’s holding the menu in one hand, the other wrapped securely around her waist, lovingly, tenderly.
Oh God, why am I surrounded by couples? At least Celina is alone tonight. But the second we’re back in New York or San Francisco, everyone suddenly has their person.
But I’m free. Free to do whatever I want. That’s what I like.
Which reminds me - I still haven’t replied to those texts from Perry, the model that Connor teased me about.
The man has been borderline frantic lately, blowing up my phone, trying to get a hold of me.
I’ve barely even been in New York the past few weeks and have been running nonstop and six hours ahead; of course I don’t have time for him.
I’ll need to end it once I’m back in New York next week. Cleanly. Let him find someone who can actually give him what he’s asking for: time, attention, emotional availability. He’s a decent guy. He deserves that.
A bottle of Verdicchio arrives, followed by salads, small plates, cheese platters, grilled fish, and an almost absurd spread of seafood.
“Don’t fill up too quickly,” Stefano warns as he carefully places pieces of grilled fish onto Gigi’s plate. “This place has the best linguine alle vongole. Save room.”
Gigi hums after one bite. “This is amazing. Thank you, mi amor.”
Stefano leans in and kisses her softly.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe it.”
The unfamiliar voice cuts cleanly through the moment. We all look up. A man I don’t recognize stands there, eyes wide with surprise.
“Clive!” Stefano pushes his chair back, breaking into a grin. “God, I haven’t seen you in months.”
They hug hard. The kind of hug men give when they’ve survived something together. As Clive turns to greet Gigi, I notice another man just behind him.
Edoardo.
Of course. Edoardo and Stefano are inseparable. Which means Clive must be from boarding school. Or college. Or both.
“Hi, Celina. Hi, Caroline,” Edoardo says warmly, before moving seamlessly into introductions.
“Sit, sit,” Stefano insists. “Join us.”
Edoardo hesitates, but Clive is already flagging down a server, rearranging tables like he owns the place.
The three of us, girls, fall into our conversation while Stefano animatedly catches up with Clive, genuinely thrilled. Tonight, Edoardo looks… different from the couple of times I’ve met him before. He’s always handsome, undeniably so, but there’s something darker and sharper at the edges.
Maybe it’s the art. Or the construction. Maybe building things and breaking walls toughens a man.
Celina and I laugh as Gigi describes the sheer number of coffee shops she’s raided and the impressive quantity of scones and chocolate bars she’s demolished. Gigi, despite her tiny frame, could terrify an elephant in a dessert eating contest. She’s hit nearly every famous pastry spot in London.
“So,” Stefano asks Edoardo, “everything good with the gallery? Location working out?”
Edoardo shrugs. “It’s solid. Everything looks fine, but you never really know until opening night. Fingers crossed construction and interiors behave.”
He’s quieter tonight. More reserved. His gaze drifts more than it used to. Clive, meanwhile, is fully engaged. His attention is… intense.
“Since when did you turn into such an old man?” Clive teases Edoardo. “Worrying nonstop, tracking every detail.”
“I heard about your gallery from Elena,” Gigi says brightly. “That’s so exciting.”
“Thanks,” Edoardo replies dryly. “Elena conveniently disappeared the moment I suggested she could help.”
We laugh.
Then Clive turns to me. “So, are you into art, Caroline?”
I’ve just popped a honey roasted carrot into my mouth, so I shake my head instead.
“What are you into, then?” He presses.
“Caroline is into punching people,” Gigi says sweetly.
“That’s true,” I confirm once I swallow. “I appreciate art. I just don’t have the eye for it.”
“Punching people?” Clive clarifies.
“Boxing,” I correct.
“Impressive,” he says, clearly intrigued.
Before he can dig further, Edoardo turns to Stefano. “Are you coming to my opening night?”
“When?” Stefano asks. “Of course, if I can make it work.”
“Gigi, Celina, Caroline - I’d love to see you there too, if you’re free,” Edoardo adds. “I’ll send details soon.”
Questions about the gallery, the space, the exhibits, and the artists start flying. I already knew Edoardo owned galleries. I hadn’t realized just how many.
“Caroline,” Edoardo asks, “how often are you here these days?”
Right. He ran into me and my parents two weeks ago.
“More often than I’d like,” I shrug. “Business needs attention.”
“Something wrong?” Clive cuts in.
“Nothing dramatic,” I say, but my face betrays me. So, I offer a sliver of truth. “I’m based in New York. I just need to make sure the regional office knows we care. Tighten a few operations.”
“I hear you,” Edoardo says thoughtfully. “I run a few galleries and my staff already drive me off the cliff daily. Can’t imagine having thousands of employees.”
“It’s not that bad,” I smile. “Corporate teams are more about processes. I only manage a small number directly.”
“Anything I can help with?” Clive asks.
“Clive is practically a guidebook for London hotspots. He understands the workings of London better than anyone I know.” Stefano adds.
“Thanks for the offer,” I say, smiling politely. “I may take you up on that.”
I won’t. I only talk real problems, personal or professional, with Connor, Ethan, Adam, and the people they trust.
I lean back, wine in hand, watching the table buzz around me.
I’ll need a glass of whiskey after this.
I can’t go to a fight tonight, not if I want to show up at work tomorrow without bruises or battered knuckles.
So, a boxing session at home with my private trainer, and that whiskey, will have to suffice.
I sip my wine, my gaze drifting briefly and involuntarily back to Edoardo. To how his sleeves are rolled just enough to show his corded forearms. To how quiet confidence settles on him now, heavier than before.
Then my thoughts pull away, sliding back to the stack of reports waiting in my car.
Later tonight, I’ll go through them, jot down the key points in my notebook so I can track progress when I circle back. I’ll form my own conclusions before handing everything to Celina. We’ll compare notes. She’ll catch the things I miss - she always does.
I’ve made more progress in a week than I did in months.
That’s all I need.