Page 9 of One Billion Reasons

Jonah was friends with Lane in college. He knows a bit of our history.

“It’s perfect. She would never betray us.”

“She hates you.”

“That’s true. I’ll have to make it worth her while.”

“If she accepts.” Jonah sounds doubtful. He’s not wrong to be skeptical. Lane has never been motivated by money.

I nod my agreement, and Jonah sighs.

“Glad to know my business partner won’t look like he’s panting after his ex on her wedding day.”

“I don’t pant.” I glare at Jonah. I’m being childish and I know it, but damn, I need Montauk. The darkness I keep shoved down most days is snapping at my heels.

He rolls his eyes. “Christine will be happy with us, for once.”

I smile faintly. Christine is Jonah’s brilliant sister. She and her wife run our PR boutique and they are absolutely the best at what they do.

“Alright.” I sigh. “I’ll ask George to make the travel arrangements. And I’ll get a wire ready for the bribe I intend to offer Lane.”

“Romantic.” Jonah opens the door. “And make sure to look like you’re having fun.”

“With a directive like that, how could I not?” I grumble at his retreating back and head back to my office, which occupies one corner of the floor. The floor-to-ceiling windows in the hall showcase what has to be one of the best views of Manhattan, but the sunlight does nothing to improve my mood. Jonah is right. This plan might not work.

George is at what they call the “command station” outside my office. George is my chief of staff and eminently capable. Party planner, hiring manager, HR liaison, George does it all.

“Green today, George?” I greet them, and they hold a green-polished nail up while speed-typing. I grin and wait. George has absolutely no respect for me, and I love it. They’ve been with us since we opened our doors.

“Rhonda in HR is on my last fucking nerve. I told her to send us candidates for the opening with Jonah last week. Now she claims there’s no one suitable.” They punch the “Enter” key and turn around. Their green nails match bright green eyes under finely arched brows.

“Want to come with me to a week-long wedding in Montauk?”

George frowns. “Not really. I have tickets to a show. They were very hard to get.”

“There’s a spa.”

“Tempting.” They tap a finger against their chin and eye me appraisingly. “But no. Whose wedding is this, anyway?”

“Amanda’s,” I say shortly, and George lets out what can only be described as a cackle.

“You’re going to that?”

I grit my teeth. “Yeah. It’s the only way to convince Catherine Peterson that I’ve turned over a new leaf. But I need a date.”

George nods thoughtfully. They’re used to analyzing PR nightmares, and I can see the wheels turning. “Of course you need a date. You can’t look weak. Besides, you’re already in the gossip columns. Better nip that in the bud.”

I grimace. Weak is the kiss of death in our world. Ruthless, ambitious, Machiavellian — those are all compliments. But weak? You don’t get to have a soft underbelly. Mine was drilled out of me years ago.

“How did this even end up in the gossip column?”

George frowns and turns to their computer. “Look.” They hover over the byline under the title “Merciless Miles Breaks Society Darling’s Heart.”

“Merciless Miles,” I mutter as I look over George’s shoulder. “I hate that fucking nickname.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than what she says later in the article.”

“Don’t tell me. I avoided reading it for a reason.”

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