Prologue #2
“I’m not normally like that,” I rushed on. “It was the heat. The drinks. The night… it went to my head.”
I gestured, awkward, searching for a way to move around him. Escape route. Reset button. Something.
But he didn’t move.
He stepped closer.
Close enough for his shadow to cover mine.
“Don’t apologize,” he said, soft but firm. “I felt it too.”
His eyes locked on mine, and there it was again—that pull. That damn pull.
“Let me take you out,” he said. “A real date.”
“I can’t,” I said, and my voice came out thinner than I wanted. Too soft. Too unsure.
Michael didn’t move. Not a flinch. Just that stare, deep and unwavering.
“Are you with someone?” he asked, voice low—dangerous, even though it didn’t rise above a whisper.
“No—I… it’s not that.”
He waited.
I looked away. “I just can’t, okay?”
I stepped past him before I lost my nerve, brushing against his arm, hoping he’d let me go.
He didn’t.
His hand caught my arm—lightly, but firmly enough to stop me.
“I’m not a man who gives up, Kate.”
My breath caught. Not because I was scared.
Because part of me wanted him not to.
I switched coffee shops. Again.
New routes. New habits. Morning runs became afternoon workouts. I parked on side streets, avoided anything that felt like a routine. I wasn’t hiding again.
I was staying smart.
Because Michael Waters wasn’t the kind of man you crossed once and forgot. He was the kind you crossed once, and then had to outmaneuver every damn day after.
And I was doing fine. For a while.
Until Thursday night.
Late dinner with Mindy. Just us girls catching up at some off-the-cuff Italian pop-up down on Harbor. Red-checked tablecloths. Wine in tumblers. Live violinist butchering “That’s Amore” with passion.
I was laughing at something Mindy said, halfway through a mouthful of tiramisu, when I felt it.
That pressure.
That pull.
I glanced across the narrow patio, and there he was.
Michael.
Seated at a corner table. Dark shirt. Open collar. Casual, but somehow still lethal.
He wasn’t alone.
Three men flanked him, all sharp suits and tighter smiles. One of them I recognized as a high-end fixer who got politicians out of very bad things. The other two? Mobbed-up finance bros or something close.
And then there was her.
The brunette.
Stunning. Legs for days. Body built for every kind of sin. She was leaned into him, fingers ghosting over his forearm as she laughed like he’d just told her the secret to life.
But he wasn’t looking at her.
He was looking at me.
Right over his wine glass. Unblinking.
Eye-fucking me in with a smug little smirk and murder in his stare.
I felt it straight down my spine.
“Earth to Kate,” Mindy said, snapping her fingers. “You okay?”
I smiled too fast. “Fine. Just… thought I saw someone I know.”
Not someone. The someone.
And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to slap him or crawl into his lap and kiss him stupid.
Mindy stopped mid-sentence. Her gaze locked across the patio like she’d just seen a ghost—one in a designer suit and danger.
She leaned in, eyes wide. “Who is that?”
I didn’t look again. I didn’t have to.
“My Fourth of July fireworks,” I muttered into my wine glass.
Her eyebrows shot up. “What the f—is that…?”
I sighed, then took the biggest sip of wine humanly possible without actually chugging it.
“Yep.”
One word. One mistake. One very big, very powerful Michael Waters.
Mindy’s mouth dropped open.
“Kate. What the hell did you do?”
I shook my head, already regretting life. “It was a moment. A really, really hot moment.”
Mindy glanced back again. “That man is not a moment. That man is a whole international incident.”
And there he was—still watching me like I was dessert and he had a sweet tooth.
“Time to get the check and get the hell out of here,” I muttered, dropping my napkin onto the table like it owed me money.
“Please,” Mindy retorted, rolling her eyes. “As if he doesn’t already have guys watching the exit, ready to tail us the second we leave.”
I smirked, grabbing my keys from my bag. “Let them.”
Mindy’s lips twitched. She knew that look.
“No one knows these streets like we do,” I said. “Every back alley. Every shortcut. Every dead end that’s not really a dead end.”
“Remember high school?” she laughed. “Your dad’s old Mustang? Midnight races through Old Town?”
I grinned. “I used to kill the headlights and make those tight turns behind the train station like I was in a heist movie.”
“You were in a heist movie,” she said. “Except instead of cash, we were stealing slushies and running from your curfew.”
I dropped a few bills on the table, heartbeat already shifting into game mode. “Come on. Let’s make it fun.”
“You want to make it fun?” Mindy asked, eyes sparkling as she stood. “Let’s see if they can keep up.”
We were halfway to the door before I looked back.
Michael was still watching me.
And I smiled—just for a second.
Let the games begin.
Of course we valet parked.
Mindy’s heels were too high for anything else, and my sundress didn’t exactly scream back-alley getaway.
We stepped out onto the sidewalk, the night air thick with heat and tension. Bayview buzzed around us—late dinners, clinking glasses, street musicians playing something slow and romantic.
And then I saw him.
Not Michael.
One of his guys.
Ear piece. Suit. Fake “I’m-just-here-for-a-stroll” posture.
He was standing right beside the valet stand, too casual, too planted.
“Tell your boss,” I said sweetly, stepping up to him with a smile that never touched my eyes, “nice try.”
Then the old Mustang pulled up.
It wasn’t my dad’s anymore—it was mine now. Restored. Reinvented. Still pure muscle under the hood. Still had a gear shift no one born past 1980 would know how to drive.
I slid behind the wheel like I was born there, Mindy already laughing as she jumped into the passenger seat.
The valet didn’t even blink. He knew what kind of girl I was.
I peeled out of that parking space like the damn Fourth of July finale.
And sure enough—one dark SUV followed.
Headlights steady. Close, but not too close.
Mindy looked over her shoulder, then grinned. “Looks like they took the bait.”
“Let’s see how good their GPS is,” I muttered, shifting gears.
Because they might’ve had numbers.
But I had the streets.
And no one runs Bayview better than me.
I dusted them in less than five. They could trace my name and plates..
and come up empty. Everything I owned was buried under three different LLC’s belonging to a dozen different shell companies based out of the Cayman Islands.
I wasn’t paranoid or smart like this—until the first sleazy land developer from New York was angry he lost a bid to me.
The lawsuit he filed was all bullshit but scare me enough to act like I was paranoid and smart…
I hired the best version of a sleazy lawyer I could find.
Fight back in kind—and now I had all my holdings locked up nice and tight.
It was early enough that the dew still clung to the grass, slicking the toes of my sneakers as I walked through the orchard with a steaming cup of coffee in hand.
The apple trees lined the bluff like old bones—quiet, twisted, waiting for fall. I liked them best like this. Still wild. Still mine.
I’d closed on the land less than a week ago, outbidding a long list of developers, hedge fund creeps, and one very powerful man who didn’t like to lose.
Michael.
But he didn’t know it was me.
And I planned to keep it that way.
So I wore my oldest hoodie, kept my hair tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail, and made sure my presence here looked like nothing more than a curious jogger passing through.
The ocean wind came in slow, heavy with salt and heat. I took a sip of coffee just as his voice cut through the trees behind me.
“You again.”
My pulse ticked up.
I turned.
There he was, walking up through the orchard like he owned it. Still in a damn suit—who wears a suit before 8 a.m.?—his dark coat open, shirt undone just enough to be irritating.
“Out for another jog?” he asked, eyes skating down my figure with too much interest for this hour of the morning.
“Morning walk,” I said. “Nice spot.”
“It was supposed to be mine,” he said casually. “I was bidding on this place.”
I sipped my coffee, giving nothing away. “Guess someone else wanted it more.”
His jaw ticked. “Apparently.”
He stepped closer. “You live around here?”
“Sort of.”
“You ever go out to breakfast with strangers who show up during your morning walk ?”
I gave a small, breathy laugh. “No.”
His jaw shifted. Not quite a smile. Not quite irritation.
“Dinner, then.”
“No.”
“A drink.”
“Michael.”
“Coffee,” he said, glancing at the cup in my hand. “You’re already drinking one. I’ll stand six feet away and try not to offend you with my existence.”
The laugh escaped before I could stop it.
His eyes sharpened on my face. “There she is.”
That wiped the smile from my mouth.
I turned to leave.
“Kate.”