9. Kate
Kate
He’s out there.
I move to the window, Amber is beside herself—tail wagging, tongue lolling, proudly dragging him from one puddle to the next like she’s showing off her latest conquest. And he lets her.
Doesn’t even flinch when she stops short to sniff a mailbox or wades into the soggy patch near the end of the dock.
I stand in the window watching him. Studying him like he’s a vision I dreamed up. A fever dream.
He’s too tall, too controlled, too polished for this sleepy waterfront town. His aviators reflect back the rising morning sun, his dark shirt clinging to those ridiculous biceps as he keeps one hand casually in his pocket. I bite my lip when Amber jumps and splashes him with a spray of dirty water.
He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t curse. Just smirks, shakes his head, and keeps walking.
This isn’t real. It can’t be.
Last night I had him. All of him. We tore each other apart. Again. And again. And again.
Now he’s outside my condo, charming my dog, strolling like he belongs in this life I’ve carefully kept separate from everything he is.
“What the hell have I done?”
Because I let him in. Into my bed. My body. My world.
And liked it too much.
I pull the blinds shut and turn back toward my bedroom. The scent of him is still clinging to my skin, his cologne lingering in the air like temptation. I glance at the full-length mirror and see my flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, and bare thighs. I still haven’t gotten dressed.
He told me to put something on. “I’ll walk your dog,” he said, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t seen every inch of me and made me beg last night.
I can’t stop the smile that tugs at my mouth.
I called him insane.
And maybe he is. But not half as insane as I must be for letting him stay.
I dig through drawers for clothes that won’t scream I had wild sex with the mob boss all night and now he’s walking my golden retriever.
I can’t waste time.
I move straight to my office—stupidly left unlocked.
My real estate development plans, zoning agreements, investor files, and every bit of evidence tying me to the riverfront redevelopment project are sitting in plain view.
The same project that’s blocked Michael’s multi-million dollar upscale expansion.
I gather the files in a rush, my heartbeat in my throat. They smell like paper and ink and sabotage.
Stuffing them under a pile of clean laundry in the back of my closet, I slam the doors shut and flip the lock on my office with trembling hands. I pull a sundress over my own head, slip on a pair of sandals and grab my oversized sunglasses.
He can’t know anything about me. Not until I figure out if what’s happening between us is real or just another high-stakes gamble.
Then I head for the door.
He strolls like a model walking off a yacht—all confidence. His gaze flicks to me as I meet him on the sidewalk.
“Ready for that coffee?” he asks, offering Amber’s leash back.
I nod, trying to slow the hammering in my chest. “Thought I’d treat you this time.”
He arches a brow. “You buying me coffee?”
“Yeah. I mean—you walked my dog. Kind of a big deal.”
He snorts. “Women don’t buy me coffee.”
“Well, I’m not most women.”
His lips curl into a smirk that hits me like a punch. “No, you’re really not.”
We walk together toward the café, Amber happily trotting ahead. The morning is crisp, and the town is still sleepy, its charm hiding the war games playing underneath. I feel his hand brush mine, then catch. Holding. Just holding.
We don’t speak again until we reach the café counter and the barista asks for payment. I pull out my card.
Michael grabs my wrist gently. “Put that away.”
“I told you, this one’s on me.”
He leans in, voice low and amused. “Let me be clear—if we’re doing this? I take care of you. That includes coffee.”
I raise a brow, hand still extended. “Even billionaires get free lattes sometimes. And I never agreed to anything more than what I already gave you.” I smirk.
“I’m not just paying for the latte. I’m paying to watch you try to argue with me in public while dressed like a Saturday morning sex fantasy.” His eyes darken.
My cheeks flush. I take a step back.
He orders, pays, and we move to the side to wait. His fingers slide into mine again like it’s nothing or everything.
And I pretend it’s not the scariest part of my day.
But then the iPhones come out. Locals and tourists alike pretend they’re taking photos of their pastries and oat milk lattes, but their lenses are all pointed at us. At him.
At us together.
And he doesn’t even flinch or threaten to smash phones.
I glance down at my phone. My DMs are blowing up. Notifications popping like confetti. Text from Claire at the top:
Claire: You and HIM are all over Mystic Media’s socials. Last night at Pier 19… and OHMYGOD he's walking your dog?? Kate?!?
I groan.
Michael raises an eyebrow. “What’s up?”
I turn my phone to show him. Insta posts, gossip rags, blurry stories from last night, photos of us dancing, the kiss outside, and now… this morning’s walk of shame—or, apparently, dog walk of infamy.
He smirks like the devil with a plan. “Give me that.”
He opens the camera, angles it low so Amber’s tongue is hanging, me in the background still blushing, and snaps a selfie.
“You’re seriously making this worse,” I mutter.
He smirks, takes my phone, opens the camera app, crouches beside Amber, and wraps an arm around her like they’ve been besties for life. Then he snaps a selfie of them both and sends it directly into my group chat.
“Michael!” I gasp.
He shrugs unapologetically. “Let ‘em talk.”
“I thought yo hated being photographed?”
“Not with my two hot blondes.”
Huh. “Dangerous, scary mob guy packs a sense a humor?”
We leave the café with our drinks to-go and continue walking the docks. Tourists turn to gawk, phones not-so-subtly snapping shots as if we’re some kind of local celebrity couple. Amber’s tail wags like she’s living for the attention.
Michael sips his espresso. “What are you doing later?”
I glance sideways at him. “Not you.”
He stops short, eyes narrowing, and the next thing I know, I’m pinned gently but firmly against the dock railing. His hand rests just beside my head. His body a wall of heat.
“Wrong answer.”
His lips crash into mine before I can fire back a comeback. Hot, possessive. Tongue sweeping in, demanding, teasing. The kiss steals my breath, my balance, and every ounce of rational thought.
He breaks just enough to whisper against my mouth. “You’ve got a smart mouth. I’m going to spend the whole damn weekend shutting it with my tongue.”
My knees weaken. Coffee sloshes over my fingers.
And I’m not sure if it’s the caffeine or the man that has me completely, hopelessly addicted.
“I’ll pick you up at 6. Dinner. Then… you for desert.”
“Can’t. Sorry. I’m already booked.”
His brow lifted. “Un-book.”
“Can’t. Margarita night with the girls. It’s Mindy’s birthday.”
His left eyebrow twitched. I just knew he was ten seconds away from going all mafia caveman on me…. the smirk was already on my lips waiting for detonation.
“Fine. Tell her I said Happy Birthday. I’ll send her something expensive. But she can’t have you tonight. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“What? Wait? No—” But he was gone. The door shut and final.
It threw me off... I did say one night and now he just left? This is what I wanted, right? No fight? No sweeping me off my feet into his truck to carry me off into his casino castle?
“Just what are you up to, Michael Waters?” I wondered as from the window, I watched him and his entourage drive away.
Amber’s tail thumps once against the floor before she looks up at me like girl, what just happened?
I drop into a chair on my back patio, legs curled under me, hoodie sleeves pulled down over my fingers.
“This was supposed to be one night,” I mutter.
Amber yawns.
“That man just assigned me bodyguards. For coffee. And now he’s taking me to a high-roller party where the dress code is ‘black and elegant’ and the stakes are probably felonies.”
My dog tilts her head.
I sigh.
“He smells amazing, though. I mean I guess a second night wouldn’t hurt, right?”
I had just finished my coffee when my phone buzzed with a FACETIME GROUP CALL. I tapped the screen and within seconds I’ve got a full screen of chaos:
Sara, Mindy, Claire, and Jules—hair in towels, wine in hand, and ready for blood.
“WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GO LAST NIGHT?”
Mindy’s scream nearly blows out my speakers.
Claire's waving her phone in front of her camera. “You're all over MysticMedia, babe. Pier 19 blew UP. There’s grainy footage of you and Michael walking out, full-on Mr. & Mrs. Mafia. You kissed him. In public.”
Jules cackles. “We thought you got kidnapped! But then the footage loops and you’re the one pinning him to the wall!”
“And Krystal had to be DRAGGED out by the casino guys!” Sara adds. “That girl looked like she was ready to stab someone with a broken heel. What the actual fuck, Kate?”
I cover my face. “Okay. Chill. Deep breaths. Everyone. Please.”
Claire narrows her eyes. “Did you sleep with him?”
I stay silent. Sara gasps. Jules howls. Mindy chokes on her drink.
“YOU DID!”
“I didn’t say?—”
Mindy waves that off. “Girl, your silence is loud. So spill it. What’s going on?”
I chew my lip. Behind me, Amber growls at her reflection in the mirror like she knows she’s not the most dramatic blonde in the room anymore.
“It was supposed to be one night,” I mumble. “But now there’s bodyguards outside my door, and he’s insisting on seeing em tonight. I bailed—lied about Margarita night and Mindy’s birthday….”
“Wait, wait,” Claire leans into her screen. “He left Krystal for you and now he wants to parade you around the elite high-stakes circle like you’re his queen?”
I blink. “…I mean, when you put it like that?—”
“ICONIC,” Jules announces. “We’re obsessed.”
“Also terrified,” Sara mutters. “Because this is Michael we’re talking about. He doesn’t do soft. He does power plays and blood contracts.”
“I know,” I whisper.
And I do. That’s the problem.
“Does he know who you really are yet?” Mindy asks, suddenly serious.
I go still. My eyes flick to the locked office door where my development files sit hidden.
“No,” I say softly. “Not yet.”
They all look back at me.
Not judging.
Just knowing.
Jules breaks the silence. “Then get the dress on, Queen. Beat your face, wear the shoes that give you whiplash, and go out with him tonight.”
“No. I’m just a one night stand not his woman.”
“You’re a walking scandal now,” Mindy adds with a smirk. “Might as well do it in style. My vote is to go for night number two.”
“Hate to break it to you—but if he has guards camped outside…I think he thinks you’re his woman.” Sara shook her head.
Amber barks in agreement.
“Traitor just because he walked you… I need to go and clear my head maybe a run. I’ll text later.” I blow them kisses, hang up, and stare at myself in the mirror.
I needed space from Michael Waters not another hot night.