Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
I’m obsessed with my best friend’s brother.
Not in a stalker way, but in a ‘he’s the first and only guy who’s caught my attention and held it’ kind of way. It’s been years—decades—and he’s still the only man who has the ability to make my heart beat faster than a race car at the Grand Prix by simply glancing in my direction.
I know how that sounds—pathetic, desperate, childish.
But if you saw him? You’d be saying the same thing.
I’ve been friends with Vinnie Paladino since we were teens, and throughout our friendship, I’ve had a front-row seat watching her older brother, Luciano, age like a fine wine.
That’s not the only thing that’s hooked me on the addiction that is Luciano, though. Aside from his physical attractiveness, there’s so much more to him. He gives off German Shepherd energy—mean and protective on the outside, but on the inside, he loves.
He loves so hard.
I’ve seen it in the way he speaks to his family and how he is with his friends. How he treats his mother and his sister, and women in general.
As one of the most prominent divorce attorneys in New York, Luciano could take any case he wants, but he chooses to defend women, making sure they get everything they need during one of their most difficult times.
As much as it churns my insides to think of him sleeping his way through his client list, which wouldn’t be shocking if he is, at least they’re getting a shark in the courtroom and sticking it to the men who wronged them.
Unfortunately, Luciano’s never seen me as anything more than his little sister's friend, despite my best attempts throughout the years. No matter what, he’s always kept a respectable distance between us and, as such, I’ve pushed my attraction to him to the back of my mind, only bringing it out when it’s appropriate to tease Vinnie about my insatiable desire to fuck her brother into next Tuesday.
The only time I’ve ever seen Luciano look at me like he might return some of the pent-up tension I’ve been feeling was a month ago when we both stood helpless in his brother-in-law’s kitchen after his sister went missing.
Maybe it was the fear, or maybe something else, but when I stood in front of him with tears streaming down my face, desperate to go help him find Vinnie, there was a softness in his eyes as he begged me to stay behind.
It felt like he was seeing me for the first time.
It felt like he cared.
And you know what? Maybe I’m delusional. Maybe I misread it. But since then, I haven’t been able to get him off my mind, even more so than normal.
“HEY! WATCH IT, LADY!” a cab driver leans out his window and screams at me, slamming on his blaring horn.
The norm in Manhattan, but getting hit by a car isn’t on my bingo card this year.
Startled, I step back onto the sidewalk, nearly catching my stiletto and falling backward in the process.
“God dammit,” I whisper to myself, placing my hand against my chest. My heart batters behind my rib cage as I blow out a shaky breath.
Looking across the street, the crosswalk indicator shines green, the words CROSS illuminated, proving it was my right of way. “Jackass,” I mutter, fear transforming into annoyance.
“That was a close one,” a woman says from behind me with a snarky attitude, and I throw a glare over my shoulder before I try my luck again. My heels click against the asphalt as I hurry across the street. This time, I’m not almost turned into a pancake.
“You’re late,” my boss, Shelby, chastises as I breeze through the doors to her office ten minutes later, not bothering to set my things down first. I’m late for our morning meeting, and she hates when people keep her waiting.
“Well, you’re lucky I’m alive,” I sass, dumping my purse onto the chair to my left as I take the one on the right. “Cab drivers are the worst.”
“It would have been very inconvenient if you died,” she says in a dry tone, looking up at me from scattered sketches all over her desk. “We have a lot to plan for fashion week and not a lot of time.”
“We still have a solid three months.”
She glares at me. “You’ve been doing this job long enough to know how much time is needed. Or have you learned nothing?”
Shelby makes Miranda Priestly from The Devil Wears Prada look like a saint.
But she’s right. I have been doing this job for long enough. I’ve been a junior design intern for Shelby Tomè for six years now, which is five years too many to be an intern. Especially at twenty-eight years old.
I only tolerate the bullcrap Shelby puts me through because I don’t actually need to work—I do it because I love fashion.
My family was blessed with generational wealth.
We have loads of money, and I have a trust fund big enough to get America out of debt, all thanks to my grandfather, who left a disgustingly large inheritance to my father when he kicked the bucket.
By investing early in a large majority of the brands we all know, love, and use today, he ensured the Lancasters would never have to work a day in their lives again.
Which is why I put up with a rude and entitled woman with a superiority complex who’s refused to promote me.
Because I love my job.
Although, perhaps it’s my near-death experience, or I’ve just finally had it with her attitude, but as I sit across from my boss as she goes back to ignoring me, her words ring like a church choir in my head.
Or have you learned nothing?
Staring down at the hem of my skirt, I focus on the black stitching, my eyes blurring slightly as I replay the words, getting angrier and angrier by the second.
“I want a promotion,” I finally say, my voice steadier than I imagined it would be. My gaze flicks up to her. She’s still looking at the designs scattered across her glass desk, but even with her eyes averted, I see her roll them.
“You’re not ready,” she tells me simply, not bothering to give me the respect of eye contact as she rifles through the papers.
“It’s been six years,” I argue. “I’m more than ready. I practically run Tomè’s section of fashion week.”
Shelby laughs her fake, dismissive laugh. “You’re adorable, Raina. But you’re much better suited as my junior design intern. Plus, there are no open positions available in the company. Perhaps later this year.”
“Then I quit.” My own voice sounds foreign to me as I say the two words that are long overdue, but they feel right.
Immediately, Shelby looks up with a hint of shock across her face as she takes me in. I keep my chin held high, not backing down and not wavering from my decision.
I can see the argument on the tip of her tongue, so before she has the satisfaction of speaking again, I stand and smooth my skirt, then grab my bag off the chair beside me. I don’t owe her anything—not after six years and her still not thinking I’m capable of being more than an intern.
If I wanted to, I could have my own fashion empire at the touch of a metaphorical button, and now maybe I’ll do just that and prove how not ready I really am.
The door to her office slams closed behind me as I stride to my desk. Grabbing my office tote from under it, I start tossing in all of my personal belongings, huffing in irritation as I do.
“What happened?” Katia, another intern, asks, walking up to my desk. She pops her bubble gum obnoxiously, placing her manicured hand down on top of a pile of notebooks stacked on my desk.
“I quit.” I shrug. Katia doesn’t need to know more than that. She’s the office gossip, and the more information I give her, the faster the news will spread. Not that I really care—I’m literally on my way out the door, but I also don’t feel the need to give everyone something more to talk about.
“Oh-em-gee,” she squeals. “Tell me everything.”
Nope.
Ignoring her, I pull open the bottom drawer to my desk and pull out my bag of emergency essentials, tossing it into the tote.
My phone begins to vibrate from where I sat it next to my closed laptop, displaying an out-of-country phone number.
I rarely answer calls from numbers I don’t recognize, so I silence the call and return my attention back to placing my things in my bag before picking it up and hoisting it over my shoulder.
Looking at my co-worker, I shrug. “I’ve got to run,” I close the door on the conversation, air kissing both of her cheeks. As I breeze past her, I toss a quick, “Don’t be a stranger,” over my shoulder.
Not once during my departure does Shelby exit her office. The not-so-subtle reminder of how little she values me lingers in the air as I ride the elevator down, leaving the building.
A crisp Manhattan breeze bites the apples of my cheeks, and I tighten the cashmere scarf around my neck, regretting not wearing a trench coat. As I walk, I pull out my phone and call my best friend.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Vinnie asks in place of a greeting after just two rings. I hear the soft clicks of her keyboard through the phone speaker and what I can only assume is her adjusting the phone to rest between her shoulder and her cheek.
“I just quit.”
“No, you didn’t! Did you really?”
“Yes.” The beep of an incoming call comes through again, and I see the same out-of-country number from before. Ignoring it and making a mental note to block it later, I continue my rant to Vinnie. “Shelby’s a royal bitch, and I’ve finally had enough of it.”
“Good for you,” she praises with a small giggle. She’s disliked Shelby for years now. “Dinner to celebrate?”
“Only if we can go dancing after.” I don’t mask the hopefulness in my voice.
My best friend is newly pregnant and still battling the ‘everything makes her nauseous’ phase, but I still hope she’ll agree.
She’s never been much of a party girl like I am, but every once in a while, I can talk her into coming out with me.
“Sly can come too,” I singsong, trying to sweeten the deal.
Vinnie and her husband Sly have been inseparable since they tied the knot, and honestly, I can’t blame them.
Their love is so scorching, it rivals the sun.
She sighs. “He’ll hate it.”
“But you’ll love it! Please come. Please, please, please, please, please.”
“You’re evil.” She laughs, but I can hear the agreement in her voice, which only widens my already growing smile.
“You love me.”
“I do. Text me the details. Dinner plans, what time Sly should meet us at the club, and which one.”
Before she finishes her sentence, the message with all the details pings through to her phone.
Already one step ahead of you, babe.