Chapter 1
Tessa
Thirty days.
That was how long my landlord had given me before he threw my things onto the sidewalk.
The number kept ringing in my head as I walked through the crowded street. The summer heat clung to my skin, and my feet burned inside my worn-out shoes.
I had spent the whole day knocking on doors. Three private schools, two daycare centers, and a tutoring office that had already filled its position.
The answer was always the same. A polite smile, then a polite no.
"We'll keep your résumé on file."
They never did.
I had a degree in Early Childhood Education, earned with honors while working nights. Yet it meant nothing, because I didn't have the right last name or the right neighborhood on my address.
So I had lowered my standards. Waitress, cashier, cleaner, anything. But every café had a line of desperate people out the door, and I was just one more face in the pile.
Three months of rent. That was how much I owed, and I had no savings to cover it.
My chest tightened.
'Don't cry. Not in the middle of the street.'
I was not lazy. I was just broke, and broke was a trap that got tighter the harder I pulled.
At least I had Jordan.
His name was like a warm blanket on a freezing night. He wasn't rich, but he had a steady job and paid his own rent. Three years together, two years of friendship before that. We had survived bad days side by side.
Maybe it was time to move in together. We could split the bills, and I could focus on finding real work instead of panicking about the next payment.
A tiny smile crept onto my face.
He had been so busy lately. Late meetings, extra projects, no time for dinner. I had never questioned it.
Why would I? He was Jordan.
My stomach let out a loud growl, and a man passing by glanced at me. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I hadn't eaten since a stale piece of toast that morning.
Warm smells drifted from the restaurants lining the street. Garlic, grilled meat, fresh bread. I couldn't afford even a bag of fries.
Still, my eyes slid across the street to a restaurant with golden lights and white tablecloths.
Something near the window caught my attention.
A man's profile. Short dark hair, a gray shirt I knew very well. I had bought him that shirt.
My steps stopped.
"Jordan?"
He was supposed to be at work. He had told me so himself.
Then the woman across from him leaned over the table, and Jordan cupped her cheek.
And he kissed her.
Not a quick peck. A slow, deep kiss, the kind he used to give me.
The noise of the street faded. The hunger vanished. All that was left was the painful pounding of my heart.
'No. No, no, no.'
I blinked hard, waiting for the picture to change. It didn't.
All those late nights, all those "I'm too busy" texts. Where had he really been?
Before I could stop myself, I crossed the street and stopped outside the window.
Up close, the woman looked like she had stepped out of a magazine. Tall and slim, with shiny blonde hair and an emerald silk dress. Her heels probably cost more than a year of my rent.
Then I caught my own reflection in the glass. Messy red hair stuck to my sweaty neck. Wrinkled shirt. Faded jeans. Dark circles under my eyes.
My throat burned.
Had Jordan been ashamed of me this whole time?
They hadn't even noticed me. They were too busy, locked together as if the world outside that glass didn't exist.
Something inside me snapped.
I slammed my palm against the window.
BANG.
Jordan jumped back so fast he nearly knocked over his chair. I watched the color drain from his face.
Good.
I marched inside and walked straight past the waiter, ignoring the stares crawling across my skin, until I reached their table.
"Three years, Jordan." My voice shook. "How could you do this to me?"
The restaurant went dead quiet.
The blonde woman looked from me to him. "Jordan, who is this?"
He didn't answer her. He didn't say sorry either. There was no guilt in his face at all, only anger.
He stood up and grabbed my arm hard enough to hurt.
"Let go of me!"
"Shut up, Tessa."
He dragged me out like a misbehaving child, around the corner of the building and away from the entrance.
"You made a fool of me in there!" he hissed.
I stared at him. "A fool of you? You were kissing another woman!"
He rolled his eyes.
Actually rolled them.
"Control yourself."
Then he pushed me against the brick wall, his face turning cold and disgusted.
"You should be grateful. I put up with you for three years."
Put up with me.
"Why her?" I whispered. "Why would you do this?"
I wanted him to say he'd made a mistake. Instead, Jordan laughed.
"Her father owns a huge part of the board at Sinclair Global. I start there next week."
The pieces fell into place so slowly that it hurt. The long hours. The new suits. It had never been about work.
He wasn't cheating because he fell in love. He was cheating because he had found a ladder.
"And me?" I asked.
His eyes ran over my worn shoes and messy hair, and his mouth curled.
"Look at yourself. You can't even get a job. She's polished and connected. What can you possibly give me now?"
Nothing.
That was what he meant.
I searched his face for the boy I used to know, the one who cried in my arms. He wasn't there. Maybe he never had been.
There was no point in begging.
I shoved him back, and he stumbled. He probably expected tears.
Instead, I slapped him across the face.
The crack echoed down the street.
"Go to hell, Jordan."
I turned and walked away without looking back, even as the tears finally broke loose.
Somewhere near the end of the block, the memories crept in.
When we were kids, Jordan was the shy, skinny boy in secondhand clothes who sat alone at lunch. Everyone bullied him. I was the one who sat down next to him. I shared my lunch and helped him study. I told him he would be somebody someday.
And now he was somebody who looked down on me for being poor.
I wiped my face, hardly noticing where I was going. The lights and the crowd blurred together.
I stepped off the curb.
A horn blasted.
Headlights filled my vision, a black luxury car tearing straight toward me.
"Ah!"
I threw myself backward and crashed into a puddle. Tires screamed. The bumper stopped inches from my knees.
Dirty water soaked me from head to toe. I was alive. That was all my brain could say.
Then the relief turned into shaking anger. The driver would at least get out, right?
The rear window slowly slid down.
A man sat in the back seat in a dark tailored suit. I knew that face. Everyone in the city did.
Julian Sinclair. The youngest CEO in Sinclair Global's history, and the heir to a fortune so large that people stopped counting.
The company Jordan was about to join.
Even soaked in muddy water, I noticed the sharp jaw, the broad shoulders, the cold dark eyes. Handsome. Unfairly so.
"You almost—"
He looked me up and down once. He didn't ask if I was hurt.
He pulled out a thick bundle of cash and tossed it out the window.
It landed in the puddle beside me.
The window rolled up, and the car pulled away.
I sat there, staring at the money floating in dirty water. He had treated me like a beggar. No. Worse. A beggar would have gotten a glance.
I snatched up the bundle and flung it into the road.
"Keep your money, you arrogant jerk!"
Nobody answered, of course.
I dragged myself to my feet. My shirt was brown with mud, my jeans ruined.
Jordan had thrown me away like trash. Julian had thrown cash at me like I was trash. And I was still jobless, still behind on rent, still without a plan.
Rich men. They treated everyone else like furniture.
I just wanted one hour of nothing. One drink, to make everything go quiet.
I walked several blocks until I found a bar tucked between two glass buildings. Dim lights, soft music. Calm. I smoothed my stained shirt and took a deep breath.
A huge bouncer stepped into my path before I reached the door. His eyes dropped to my muddy jeans, then back up to my tangled hair.
"Members and their guests only."
"I just want one drink. I can pay."
"Ma'am, you need to leave."
"Because I don't look rich enough?" I snapped. "My money is worth the same as everyone else's in there!"
He planted a heavy hand on my shoulder and pushed me back. People on the sidewalk started staring.
First Jordan. Then Julian. Now this.
"Get your hands off me!"
Then a voice cut across the entrance.
"She's with me."
Calm. Deep. Smooth as polished stone.
The bouncer's hand dropped away at once, and his back straightened like a soldier's.
Slowly, I turned around.
A man stood on the stairs behind us, one hand in his pocket, shadows dancing across his sharp jaw.
My breath caught.
I knew those eyes.
Julian Sinclair.
The man who had nearly run me over. The man who had thrown money at me like I was a stray dog.
Why had he just claimed me as his guest?
He stood perfectly still, his gaze locked on me, as if he had been waiting for me to turn around.
