1. One

One

Nell McLean didn't believe in fate.

Kismet, karma, destiny—whatever you wanted to call it, Nell didn't subscribe to it. Not since she was twelve years old and her entire life had gone off course like a go-kart with a loose front wheel. Fairy tales were fine for children, but in the real world, there were no happy endings and there was no such thing as meant-to-be. She didn't believe in ever-afters or wishing on stars. She didn't even read her horoscope.

Which was, she reflected later, actually kind of a problem. Because if she had believed in fate, she would have turned on her heel and dashed right back out the door the second she'd spotted Whit O'Rourke seated at the bar.

But since Nell didn't believe there was any sort of arcane cosmic presence guiding her future, she didn't flee screaming into the night like the terror-crazed victim in a horror movie. Instead, she did what any totally sane and one-hundred-percent rational woman would do: she ran into the bathroom to hide.

What the hell is he doing here? was her first thought.

Followed quickly by: Crap.

She stopped herself there, because even she knew better than to start wondering—silently or otherwise—what else could possibly go wrong. Nell might not believe in fate, but she did believe in bad luck, and tonight she was having the worst of it. The three hours since she'd landed in Minneapolis had been one mishap after another.

Plane stuck on tarmac for over an hour? Check.

Flat tire on her rental car? Check.

Dead phone? Check.

Torrential rainstorm turning the streets and gutters outside into some kind of Biblical flood? Aaaaaaaaaaand check.

Add in the fact that she was broke, unemployed, and about to need a new place to live, and Nell was basically a misfortune magnet. At this point, she wasn't going to rule out the possibility that she'd angered a vengeful god or that a witch somewhere had cursed her.

And all of that was before she'd seen Whit.

She poked her head out of the bathroom, just to make sure she hadn't hallucinated him. Yep, there he was. She recognized him instantly, and not only from his artfully rumpled hair or his perfectly sculpted jawline. His presence filled the room. It always had. She could feel him there, physically, like that electric sizzle in the air that comes right before a lightning strike. If she hadn't been soaked through and dripping rain, all the hairs on the back of her neck would be standing on end.

Smothering a groan, Nell ducked back into the bathroom. Not that she thought he'd noticed her. Even if she hadn't hurtled her way into the bar looking like the proverbial drowned rat, Whit had other matters to occupy his attention—such as the curvy bleach-blonde who had sidled her way up to him and, at last check, appeared to be whispering in his ear. Or possibly licking it.

And wasn't that just completely unhygienic?

How—and with who—Whit O'Rourke spent his time wasn't something Nell wanted to think about. She generally preferred not to think about him at all. She had, in fact, spent the past four years trying to forget his very existence, which was why it had taken her sister calling upon their sacred oath to get Nell to agree to this ridiculous scheme in the first place. And while Nell could confidently say this wasn't the stupidest idea her sister had ever come up with, that was only because Paige had once tried to sell her on eBay when they were kids. Even then, Paige had been a budding entrepreneur. And also kind of an idiot.

But dwelling on what got her here wasn't going to solve her predicament, so Nell tried to put Whit out of her mind and focus on the more immediate crisis. Like the fact that she was now hiding in a bathroom in a bar that was decorated wall-to-wall with fish trophies and smelled like the unholy trinity of fried food, draft beer, and vomit.

She grabbed a handful of paper towels to dry her hair and gave herself a quick glance in the mirror. Then she grimaced. Her every emotion tended to show on her face, and right now she was somewhere between fire engine and fuchsia. Not to mention her makeup was smeared, there was mud on her jeans, and since the paper-thin jacket she'd chosen to wear wasn't waterproof, both it and her ancient University of Chicago T-shirt were plastered to her chest. She was the walking, talking definition of bedraggled .

All right, Nellie , she told herself. First things first.

She had to figure out where her hotel was and then get herself out of the bathroom, out of the bar, and out of Whit O'Rourke's general vicinity before another calamity happened, like someone spilled beer down her shirt, or a ceiling tile fell on her head.

What she really needed was a new phone, one with a battery life that lasted longer than she could hold her breath. She tried smacking it with the heel of her palm—which didn't work, but sort of made her feel better—and then worked up the courage to ask the woman washing her hands next to her for directions to the Marriott.

She was about to take another check of the restaurant and then sneak her way back out of the bathroom when a couple of college girls in Minnesota Blizzards shirts entered. And she could tell from the first few words they spoke—if not simply from their flushed faces and excited laughter, or the fact that one of them was actually wearing an O'Rourke 27 jersey—just who the subject of their discussion was.

"Better?" one of the women asked, adjusting her shirt to lower her neckline before checking her makeup in the mirror .

"Oh, please," her friend in the jersey answered. "He is not going to go home with you, no matter how you arrange your boobs. Isn't he dating some model?"

"Not anymore! They broke up last month."

Nell had known that already. Whit's breakup with social media darling Lilah Hart was the precise reason Paige had sensed an opportunity. He was newly single and just as in need of a fresh start—or rather, a flashy relationship to give the internet something else to gossip about.

According to Paige, it would be purely a PR relationship. She and Whit would pretend to rekindle their brief-but-popular romance, shifting the focus from past embarrassment to future conjecture… and deflecting the hurricane of scandal that was currently headed straight for her.

Nell had expected Whit would laugh himself silly at Paige's expense, but apparently his deranged sense of humor had prevailed, since he'd told her he'd consider it. With one condition.

And there it was. The one teeny, tiny, insignificant problem with Paige's plan.

Whit wanted an apology. From Nell. In person.

Nell could remember Paige's exact words. The conversation was permanently seared in her memory, like marking the date of a catastrophe. Fifty years from now, long after she'd forgotten being left at Lincoln Park Zoo as a kid or the name of her first grade crush, she'd be able to say exactly where she was and what she was doing when her sister had officially lost her mind.

The where had been Nell's apartment and the what had been cooking up comfort food. She'd been busy wallowing in her own misery when Paige had come hurtling in like a whirlwind, throwing the door open dramatically and collapsing into the sofa with her face buried in her hands. Nell had barely gotten a word in before Paige began detailing their grandmother's soon-to-be-public transgressions.

Nell had tried to be reassuring. "You are not the company, Paige. Weren't you wanting to distance yourself from the Forrester name anyway? Build your own brand? "

"My brand is based on the Forrester brand. I'm Paige Forrester . If they can't trust the Forrester name, they can't trust me."

That's what happened when your super secret skin cream formula touted as all natural, a hundred percent organic, gluten free, and vegan turned out to just be gluten free. Forrester Cosmetics would be lucky if they got off with a scandal and not a class-action lawsuit. As soon as the news broke, their stock was going to plummet—literally and figuratively.

Nell, who had cut herself loose from their grandmother's company the second she turned eighteen, would have laughed for a week straight if it hadn't been for Paige. "You could use your middle name," she'd suggested. She didn't know a lot about branding, but she figured removing all associations with the Forrester label could only be a good thing.

"Can you please take this seriously?" Paige had responded. "This is my entire life. I've built a career out of being the public face of the company. The second the story hits, I'm going to be ruined."

"You do remember you're speaking to a member of the recently unemployed, right?"

"It's not the same thing. You can just get another job. Being Paige Forrester is my job."

Nell bit back a sarcastic retort. She'd loved her job. Losing her position at Bellwater Academy might not be akin to actual ruin, but it had felt an awful lot like it. And it wasn't as though she would be swimming in job offers after she'd gotten into a heated confrontation with the father of a student. Nell hadn't thought the incident would be worth firing her over—even if she had used language she normally reserved for only the most extreme provocations—but the school's largest donor, who just happened to be the man's uncle, had disagreed. Given the choice between keeping Nell and keeping funding that helped pay tuition for children whose parents couldn't afford it themselves, and… well, Nell would have fired her, too. She wasn't going to be the reason underprivileged kids were denied opportunities. But that didn't make it hurt any less. And since Bellwater wasn't the only school Frank Grantham, entrepreneur and philanthropist, donated to, her job prospects were looking decidedly grim.

Still, Paige had a point. For someone who traded on the public's good will, image was everything. "Is there some way you can get out in front of it?" Nell asked. "Soften the blow?"

"And do what? Admit the company has been lying to consumers for decades?"

"Well, what does the PR team say?"

"They won't talk to me. Grandmother has them on lockdown."

"Can't you hire another firm, just for yourself?"

Paige sliced a hand through the air. "Stop, Nellie. I don't need you in fix-it mode, I need you to listen. I've already got a plan."

Nell hesitated. Paige's last plan had involved a photo shoot that led to a five-star restaurant catching fire. And Nell hadn't forgotten the eBay incident. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not, but I'm telling you anyway. I have an idea on how to shift the narrative," Paige said. Her eyes glinted dangerously. "I'm going to give people something else to talk about. And you're going to help me."

A prickle of foreboding crept its way up Nell's spine. "Help how?"

"I need you to talk to Whit."

The plastic bowl Nell had been pulling from an overhead cupboard clattered to the floor. "Whit? As in Whit O'Rourke? "

"Do I know someone else named Whit?"

"I'm just confused as to how he entered the conversation," said Nell. Confused and horrified. Even after four years, just the sound of his name was enough to make heat climb up her cheeks, something she hoped Paige was too distracted to notice. "What does Whit have to do with any of this?"

"He's a solution."

"So is hydrochloric acid. That doesn't mean you should mess with it."

"You know what I meant. He's going to solve my problem."

" How ? "

"By dating me." Nell opened her mouth to respond, but Paige was quicker. "Before you freak out, don't worry, it won't be legit. This is strictly a PR move. Whit is way too intense for me, anyway."

"Which is why the two of you never made any sense in the first place," Nell retorted. "Have you run this by Gabi? You can't tell me she signed off on it."

Paige looked away quickly. "We broke up."

That surprised Nell even more than the mention of Whit had. "When did this happen? Gabi didn't say anything to me." Which was likely because Nell had insisted they stop putting her in the middle of their disputes. Having your sister date one of your closest friends was great—until they broke up. Repeatedly.

This would be the fourth time they'd called it quits in the past two years, and Nell knew without asking what had caused the latest hiccup. Gabi and Paige were perfect for each other in every way… except that Paige was terrified of commitment and refused to go public with their relationship.

Paige had never kept her sexuality a secret, but being bisexual in theory was one thing, more of a quirky trait than an accepted reality. Their grandmother—who had chosen to add bigot to her list of charming qualities—would never allow the face of her company to openly date another woman, even if that other woman was every bit as beautiful and glamorous as Paige was. According to their grandmother, it was bad for the brand. And as long as she was in charge of that brand, her word was law.

"It doesn't matter when it happened," Paige said, waving a hand. "What matters is we're done. For good this time."

Nell would have been a lot more upset if she'd actually believed that. "You're thirty years old. You really need to stop letting Grandmother control your life."

"She doesn't control my life. She controls my bank account. Which is exactly what I'm trying to fix, and is exactly why I need Whit."

"I still don't see how he can possibly help."

"Because you spend all your time hanging out with eight-year-olds. In the world of adults, there are two things that sell: sex and scandal. If I want to erase the scandal, I need sex, or at least the illusion of it. Do you know how much attention I got when Whit and I were dating? My social media engagement skyrocketed."

"And do you remember how it ended?"

Nell remembered.

Media shitstorm was the polite way of putting it.

"That's sort of the problem," said Paige. "Here's the thing. I already talked to him. And he said he'd think about it, if…"

"If...?"

"If you apologize."

It had taken Nell a full minute to come up with a response that didn't include either of the phrases when I'm buying ice skates in hell or right after we colonize Mars .

"Seriously, that's it?" she'd finally asked. "He wants an apology? Give me his number, I'll text him right now. Dear Whit, I am so sorry I accidentally announced to the world what a tool you are. I should have waited a few weeks, since you would have undoubtedly revealed it all by yourself. That sound good?"

" Nell ."

She gritted her teeth. "Fine. What do you need me to do? You want me to call him?"

"Well… he gave me his address and said if you fell on your knees and begged his forgiveness, he might agree to my plan."

" I want to erase from the cosmos that time I walked in on Grandmother and her personal trainer, but that doesn't mean I'm getting it."

"Oh my god. You promised never to mention that to me again."

"If I have to suffer, you have to suffer."

"I'm already suffering!" Paige complained. "Come on, you owe me. You asked me to talk to that real estate guy for you. And if that's not enough to convince you, then I'm calling in the pact."

Nell bit her lip. Asking Paige to intercede with Frank Grantham had been a desperate move on her part, and she wasn't proud of it. She'd spent her entire adult life trying to dissociate herself from the Forrester name, and at the first sign of trouble, she'd gone running for help. But after all her own attempts to reach out had been rebuffed, her family's influence had seemed like her only chance. In the end, it hadn't mattered.

Still… she did owe Paige. And even if she didn't, Paige had used the one argument she knew Nell wouldn't reject. In the fifteen years since its inception, Nell had never once gone against the Forrester-McLean Sisters Pact. The pact had been sealed with their pinkies and bound with a promise, and it didn't matter that they were technically only half-sisters. Breaking it was absolutely unthinkable. An offense against nature. Straight up sacrilege.

"If I do this," Nell told her, "you're putting me up in a nice hotel, you're paying my airfare, and you're telling Gabi the truth. I'm not letting you break her heart over something so stupid."

Paige just curled a sly little smile. "Already booked. Pack a bag, Nellie. You leave on Thursday."

So now here she was: hiding out in a bathroom, stuck listening to the college girls debate which part of Whit's anatomy was most worthy of admiration.

"He's a pitcher. It has to be his arms," said the woman who had been adjusting her boobs in the mirror.

The jersey girl wasn't convinced. "Counterpoint: his ass."

"His ass is usually hidden by the pants. He needs tighter pants."

"Um, have you somehow not seen that nude photo shoot he did?"

Nell was about three seconds away from committing a misdemeanor, like pulling the fire alarm and running shrieking from the bar—but thankfully, they decided to take their discussion on the road and exited the room before Nell was forced to take matters into her own hands.

She waited a couple of minutes, just to be safe, then gave herself another quick check in the mirror and eased toward the door to head back into the restaurant. Drawing in a slow, calming breath, she squared her shoulders and stepped out of the bathroom.

And right smack into Whit.

Literally. As in, that was the precise sound her forehead made as it impacted him in a sudden, dizzying collision. Her head connected with his chest so that she got a face full of soft cotton shirt and hard muscle and the scent of warm skin. Nell was too dazed to react, or she would have yelped out a quick apology and hurried on her way. Instead she just stood there flailing while Whit regained his balance.

"Whoa, careful there," he said, catching her shoulders with his hands to steady her.

She knew the second the realization hit him.

He glanced down at her, a soft half-smile curving his lips. The next instant, his grip tightened. His eyebrows slammed together. His teeth clenched. Then he released her, pulling his hands back lightning-fast—and freeing her so abruptly that she nearly lost her balance again.

"Motherfucker," he said. Only he laughed it. Like it was the most hilarious thing in the world that Nell, in all her drowned-rat glory, had pitched headfirst into his impossibly-broad, thickly-muscled, annoyingly-solid chest. " Nell ?"

"That's me," she said, then winced. Brilliant response there, McLean.

She had to resist the urge to retreat. Up close, Whit O'Rourke was the stuff of fantasies—or nightmares, depending on your perspective.

Paige wasn't wrong when she'd called Whit intense. It was those eyes of his. They were a rich, deep brown, fringed with thick lashes, but heavy-lidded, like he'd just rolled out of someone else's bed. He had a way of looking at her that always made Nell feel as though he could see through her clothing, right to bare skin. His gaze could drop panties. His voice was straight up sex. With his dark tousled hair, perpetual stubble, and those wide lips that were always half a second from sliding into a smirk, he was the living embodiment of smolder.

Though he definitely wasn't smoldering at her right now.

"What exactly are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Leaving," she said through her teeth, and made to brush past him.

"Oh, no, you're not." His arm shot out in front of her, barring her exit.

"I carry pepper spray," she warned.

She would have spun on her heel and marched back into the bathroom, except that she had the sneaking suspicion he would've followed her. Shoving him aside definitely wouldn't work, seeing as he was six-foot-three and two hundred pounds of prime-of-his-life athlete, and she was a five-foot-six lapsed vegetarian who struggled to carry thirty pounds of groceries up the stairs. And trying to duck under his arm would only lead to disaster. Instead she retreated down the corridor, out of sight of the main part of the bar, so at least they wouldn't have an audience.

He loped ahead, moving in front of her to cut off any attempt at escape.

"I'm actually a hallucination," she told him. "You're passed out drunk. In a couple of minutes, you're going to wake up in a puddle of drool with a coaster stuck to your chin."

His eyes narrowed. "If I were passed out drunk, I'd be dreaming up someone a lot more naked and a lot less you. Let's try this again. Why are you here?"

Nell scowled. "Because someone has a voodoo doll of me somewhere and they're busy casting a hex."

"Right. Because I'm the pain in your ass."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Why do you think I'm here? You're the one who demanded I apologize. In person ."

For a second he just stared at her, like she'd suddenly started speaking another language. Then he started to laugh. Not a small, amused chuckle, either. Oh no. Full on belly laugh.

She was surprised he didn't actually clutch his sides and double over.

"Paige seriously sent you out here?" he asked when he'd finally paused to draw breath. "Damn. She must really be desperate."

Nell's sentiments exactly, though she wasn't about to share that with him. She went right on glaring.

"So let's have it," he said, lifting a hand to wipe at his eyes, which were looking suspiciously moist.

"Have what?"

"Your apology."

Nell bit her tongue to keep herself from making a snotty remark. " I'm sorry."

Whit stuck a hand behind his ear, cupping it. He tilted his head. "What was that?"

"I said"— deep breaths, Nellie, deep breaths —"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what, exactly?"

She had rehearsed this. She'd written it down and memorized it, every sentence, every syllable, so that she wouldn't be tempted to go off-script. "I'm sorry I revealed sensitive information about you to the public. It was wrong of me. It was never my intention to harm you or your career, and I sincerely apologize."

"Then why did you do it?"

Seriously? "I didn't mean to."

"Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing."

She hadn't, actually—but she knew he'd never believe that.

It had been a heat of the moment thing.

After his breakup with Paige had gone public, Whit had said a few unflattering things in the media. Paige had taken the high road and wouldn't retaliate—so Nell had done it for her. She'd stepped in front of the camera when a would-be influencer with an unfortunately large social media following happened to spot them and asked why Paige and Whit had broken up. Nell could still remember, word for word, exactly what she'd said.

Because all those performance-enhancing drugs he takes don't help him perform in bed.

Once the words had left her throat, Nell had known she'd messed up. But it wasn't as though she could just call them back. They were out there, in the air, and on the air. The clip had gone viral. It had been played on evening news segments and Good Morning America.

That would have been the end of it, if there hadn't been some truth to her statement. Whit really had taken PEDs. Nell knew it because Paige had told it to her—in confidence. Whit had been dealing with a forearm injury and wanted to speed up his recovery. It was nothing illegal. It was just against the rules of Major League Baseball.

Whit had never actually tested positive. He'd come to a compromise with the league, earning himself a sixty-game suspension instead of an eighty-game one. But his reputation had been in shreds .

Still, she failed to see how any of that was actually her fault. She hadn't caused his injury. She hadn't persuaded him to cheat or forced him to break the rules. She'd just unintentionally let it slip that he had.

"I said I was sorry," she bit out. "What more do you want here?"

"See, that's the thing about apologies. Just because you say it doesn't mean I have to accept it."

He was clearly enjoying this way too much. And he was entirely too close to her. She could feel the warmth of his body radiating out of him, like he was his own personal space heater. She fought down an anxious, fluttery sensation in her chest.

Enough was enough, Nell thought.

Paige had said he'd wanted her to get down on her knees and beg.

Well, if that was what he wanted? That was precisely what he was going to get.

Her pulse hammering, Nell let her bag drop to the floor, and then slowly, deliberately, sank to her knees.

Whit stared at her. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"Um…"

"I'm doing exactly what you demanded. Groveling. This was what you wanted, right? For me to humiliate myself the way you imagine I humiliated you? Fine. I'm sorry I accidentally revealed to the world that you purposely took banned substances. I'm sorry you were forced to face the consequences of your own actions. I'm sorry you were exposed to the world as the cheater you are. I'm sorry your fans learned you were a fraud unworthy of their worship. Should I keep going, or are you satisfied yet?"

Whit didn't answer. He was stone-faced, his jaw rigid and his mouth a thin line. His hands were clenched into fists. For a long moment, he simply stood there, his eyes locked on hers.

Neither of them spoke. Nell wasn't even certain if they breathed. She felt frozen. The space around them had grown quiet, all the noise and the music and the chatter fading into silence so that the only sound she heard was the frantic pounding of her own heart. An expression she couldn't name flickered across Whit's face. He lowered his gaze. His lips parted.

Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and left.