11. Miles
Miles
“No escape, Doughboy,” I told my cat.
I looked up at Serena’s condo. I was way later than I was supposed to be, but I found it hard to pack my stuff up and actually leave my home to come to…hell?
That was too dramatic.
Her place was too quiet. No protesters, no paparazzi, not even some angry old man with a picket sign and a bad comb-over.
I stood outside, suitcase in one hand, and the rest of my damn life in the other.
I’d hated her for six years. And now I’d have to hear her laughing in the next room? Smell her damn perfume down the hall? See her in pajamas at night and act like I don’t remember how she used to love me?
“Mrow,” Doughboy said, purring and rubbing against my face from his spot on my shoulder.
At least one of us wasn’t freaking out.
I finally exhaled deeply and knocked on her door. Seconds felt like centuries, and Doughboy shifted on my shoulder when I heard footsteps approaching and then they stopped.
“You gonna open the door?” I asked, staring at the peephole that I knew she was staring through.
Silence.
The door finally creaked open, and there she was, her face composed as ever, a mask I knew all too well. But then her gaze landed on Doughboy.
“What is that ?”
I glanced at him. “Doughboy.”
“It’s a cat . Why is it here?”
“I’m not leaving him in my place alone.” Like I didn’t know she was stalling. “Where should I put my things?”
“Wait—” Serena stopped me from entering. “We didn’t talk about pets. They’re dirty and have fur. When did you get a cat?”
“You know I like cats. Where I go, he goes. Would it make you happier for me to call your mama and tell her we can’t do this marriage thing?”
Serena narrowed her eyes on me and then Doughboy. Like she was really considering banning us from coming in.
“Mrow,” he said to her.
“It’s huge.”
“ He’s a Maine coon. Respect his breed.”
She stepped back, holding the door wide enough for me to slip through, and glared at Doughboy.
“Keep him away from me.”
The inside was all slick lines and sharp corners.
Muted tones dominated the space, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of the town down to the marina and the Pacific Ocean beyond.
The furniture was clean and angular, every piece looking like it belonged in some fancy design magazine.
“Doughboy is a free spirit. He goes where he pleases,” I said. “If he graces you with his company, be glad.”
“You will abide by my rules,” Serena snapped.
“Your rules, huh?” I said, slipping into the condo like I wasn’t seconds from combusting in annoyance. “Damn, déjà vu. Just missing the chore wheel and being grounded if I forgot to take out the trash.”
Serena sent me another glare, but I felt like it was losing its threat.
My rules. My rules. My rules.
I remembered how she used to say that when we were kids. Whenever Yvonne put Serena in charge of stuff, like cleaning the attic or garage, Serena bossed us around like a drill sergeant.
“Open blinds and dim the lights,” Serena commanded.
The condo sprang to life instantly. The blinds whooshed open, and a warm glow filled the room from the setting sun. Smooth jazz started playing from hidden speakers.
“Wow.” I whistled low. “So this is how the other half lives. Must’ve cost a fortune.”
“Noelle.” Serena’s tone was flat. “She wants me to test her new software. We’re thinking of partnering on a few smart houses.”
“Tell Noelle I’m impressed. I only have that basic shit that comes on the phone, and it judged me every time I ordered pizza at two a.m.”
Still nothing.
I finally noticed that Serena had changed out of the pantsuit from earlier.
Loose, comfortable jeans. I felt like I was twenty-seven again, peeling them off her body, listening to her breath hitch as my hands mapped skin I had no business touching.
I dragged my gaze up, past the wild strands of hair slipping free from her short ponytail, past the delicate line of her throat. Her bare feet tapped against the floor, an absent, restless habit.
She looked so fucking touchable. And I wanted to.
Which only pissed me off more.
“I have a pullout couch.” Serena crossed her arms. “It’s in my office. You can put everything there.”
“All I get is a pullout couch? Damn, no guest room with a little mint on the pillow?”
“I don’t like people in my space,” she said. “A guest room encourages…lingering. And I’ve worked very hard to ensure that Gigi and Walter never get the idea to sleep over unannounced again.”
I smirked. “I’m being punished because your sister’s a bad houseguest?”
“Exactly,” Serena said, turning toward the hallway. “This is not the Motel 6. You’ll be on your way soon too.”
“This is a marriage,” I pushed. “Couples share beds. Isn’t that in our marriage clause?”
“Don’t play with me, Miles.”
I raised a brow. “I’m being serious.”
“You and your cat will be on the street if you keep pushing me.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, I’ll let it go for now.”
“You’ll let it go period .”
“You wouldn’t kick me out. I’m good company.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re exhausting.”
“Yeah, but you love it.”
Why the fuck did you say that?
Her lips curled, but she didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, she took another step, brushing past me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her body, the whisper of fabric against my arm.
“Follow me,” she said roughly. “The rules are Doughboy stays out of my room. And he better not scratch up my couch, which you will replace if he does. No touching my Italian imported coffee. Don’t touch my stereo?—”
I couldn’t help but let my gaze drop back to the roundness of her ass as she rattled off rules and pointed out closets and bathrooms.
When we finally reached the office door, she pushed it open and stepped aside, motioning for me to enter.
“Here you go,” she said, her tone brisk, professional. “It’s not much, but it should be comfortable enough.”
I was expecting the same cold, curated minimalism—but this space felt warmer.
Lived-in. Her . It was smaller, cozier, the faint scent of eucalyptus in the air.
A soft overstuffed chair sat by the large window, the couch on the left wall.
A deep blue rug covered most of the polished floor.
The desk was still precise—papers aligned, pens grouped by color in a matte ceramic mug—but it was less… defensive.
“Well, it’s better than the cellar I thought you’d put me in.”
Serena side-eyed me. “Don’t tempt me.”
I set my bags down and gently placed Doughboy on the floor. He sniffed around cautiously, his nose twitching as he explored.
“My room is right next door.”
Next door.
Just a thin wall separating us. Dough jumped onto the pullout bed that had already been made up, curling into the sheets like he owned the place. Why was I now imaging Serena in bed, in a T-shirt and panties only? Her hand trailing down her legs and into her?—
“Clean sheets?” I asked, though my chest felt tight. “Or did you get them out the trash?”
“I washed them this morning. On hot. Dried with lavender sheets.” She paused. “I don’t use trash linens even if I don’t want guests.”
If I piss her off enough, maybe we could get it down to a year.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked abruptly.
“Got something strong?”
Without another word, she spun on her heel and practically ran toward the kitchen.
I followed her, turning the corner into the kitchen. It was sleek and modern, but I saw the small stack of cookbooks lined up on the counter, and one was open.
Serena stood at the counter. Her movements were practiced, almost rehearsed. She reached for the bottle of whiskey, then paused. Her fingers flexed around its neck—once, twice, again—like she was remembering how much pressure to use. Then she poured.
She handed me my glass without looking up.
“Here,” she said, forcing the cup to me. “From Reese’s new Rebel Spirits line.”
I took a sip, letting the rich taste settle on my tongue.
“Cinnamon? Honey?” I finally said as the flavors sat on my tongue.
Serena nodded, but she didn’t look at me as she set her glass down. The jazz music drifted from the living room, soft and seductive, but it did little to ease the tightness in the room.
“Guess this is how dinner is gonna be every night, huh?” I joked.
“We’re two people fulfilling an obligation. Let’s not pretend it’s anything more than that.”
“But we don’t have to treat each other like you just picked me off a random curb outside. Damn, you can be chill, you know? It’s me.”
“ Precisely. It’s you.” She looked away, her fingers tightening around her glass. “I think it’s better if we set the ground rules and expectations.”
“Rules, expectations, order?—”
Serena raised her voice. “It’s better to go through this?—”
“For you or for me?” I asked.
She went silent, and a puzzled look crossed her face. Frustrated, I ran a hand over my face and muttered, “Lay them on me.”
“Rule number one: No bringing up…what happened. The past.”
“What happened to the rules before? Aren’t we on fifteen by now?” I let out a short, humorless laugh, and she frowned. “The past, huh? That’s the first thing you want off the table?”
“Yes. It’s in the past for a reason, Miles. We don’t bring it up.” Her eyes flickered to mine, sharp, like a warning. “It’s not helping either of us, or our situation.”
Just forget one of the nights that changed my life? Okay. Simple.
“We can’t erase what happened, no matter what you do to sleep at night.”
Her jaw tightened. “I don’t?—”
“Don’t what?” I stepped closer still, until the heat between us was thick enough to choke on. “Don’t think about it? Don’t remember? Because I do, Serena. Our past is here. ”
She sucked in a breath.
I leaned in. “I remember how you felt that night. How you looked at me. Like you wanted me more than you wanted to be careful. Then the next night, it was like I didn’t matter.”
“We were kids,” she said, her voice softer now, but no less sharp. “It was a mistake. Grow up. Move on.”
“Hmm, how can we move on from something we never fully addressed?”
“I’m not changing my mind.”
I leaned back, crossing my arms. “And what’s rule number two?”
“Rule number two.” She frowned at me. “We keep things professional. We go to work. We come home. You live your life. I live mine. I’m not making you dinner, cleaning your clothes, vacuuming your room. Take care of yourself like the adult you have been.”
“Professional?” I echoed, the word like a stone dropping between us. “You are really focused on eliminating the past, huh? Fine,” I said, rolling my shoulders like none of it mattered. “We’ll keep it professional. Like strangers in an elevator.” I knocked back the rest of my whiskey.
She looked away, her grip on the glass tightening.
“And what’s the third rule, Serena?”
“Rule number three: No touching. No hugs or kissing. No pretending to fall in love in front of others. If it’s not for photos, we shouldn’t touch. That’ll make things easier.”
I took the bottle from her, pouring myself another glass. Whatever she needed to erase her guilty conscience, I’d let her. I didn’t regret our night. Only what happened after.
“What’s the first thing for us on the Harrington renovation? I can have Carlus inspect the property, get us some estimates. Maybe we can do some damage control there, and show people our companies are ethical and sustainable.”
She didn’t respond for so long I thought she somehow hadn’t heard me. “We…we need to figure something else out,” she said finally. “We don’t have it.”
“What do you mean, ‘we don’t have it’?” The disbelief sat heavy on my tongue. “You won the damn auction, Serena. It was yours.”
“The family decided to sell it privately. Another buyer came in with a better offer.”
Something about the way she said it made my jaw tighten. “Bullshit.”
Her brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t just lose deals like this.” My voice was steady, but I could feel the heat rising under my skin. “You’re telling me someone just swooped in last minute and took it from you?”
“We don’t have it,” she said flatly, her voice colder than I ever imagined it could be. “You’re getting upset and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“So, what now?” I asked, voice low. “We were banking on that property. There’s nothing else as good.”
“We’ll pivot,” she said, as if it were that simple. “Find another high-profile estate, something to solidify our standing.”
I turned back to her, arms crossing over my chest. “And who’s picking this time? Because if you’re the one negotiating, I’d like to make sure we don’t get blindsided again .”
Her nostrils flared slightly. “You think you could’ve done better?”
“Yeah,” I said without hesitation.
We were too close now, the energy between us shifting.
“I have a lead on a townhouse by the wharf, so you know we can sell it for ten times the price.” Serena pulled away from me, heading back to her side of the kitchen.
“It’s not on the market yet. I found out Mrs. Fontaine is gonna do a direct sell to Rhodes Realty.
We intercept that and get the property instead. We’ll meet with the owner tomorrow.”
“I need a game plan for how we’re moving forward on it.”
“I don’t need a game plan,” she said, her voice cool, almost dismissive. “You just come in and look pretty. Let me handle the strategy.”
“I’m not in the business of just showing up to look good. I’ve got more to offer than that, Serena. I did steal the yacht club from you.”
She glared at me.
“Be ready at eight in the morning.”
“Eight?” I raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m not a morning person.”
“You’ll survive.”