Fallon fell madly in love with Nathan the day she saw him onstage at his parents’ benefit concert for The Reversal of Fortune Foundation—a charity for underprivileged children started by Nathan’s aunt. For years, Fallon swore she would grow up to be Mrs. West until Nathan started showing up in the news again, still hot, but making decidedly questionable decisions.
Since then, it’s been her mission to remind him who he really is by publishing articles on her gossip and entertainment blog that point out every bad choice he’s made in the last several months. For example, the article Fallon’s publishing today will mention the house Benjamin and I are designing for Nathan. She says comparing Nathan West to an antihero will help him see what he’s become, and she’ll have him back to his old self in no time. I’ve never really gotten my head around how she thinks that will work, but who am I to judge good intentions?
So yes, I know Nathan West is the first-born child of singer-songwriter duo Collin and Harlow West. I know he was raised wealthy by his famous parents. I know that up until very recently he was a freaking unicorn of goodness. Kind. Caring. Humble. Giving. He’s dedicated his life to charity, using his privilege to help children who were dealt a difficult hand. And yes, thanks to Fallon, I also know he hasn’t been that man since he broke things off with his girlfriend.
There’s been a lot more drinking.
And sleeping around.
All the typical douchebaggery you’d expect from someone with unlimited time, money, and zero consequences for bad decisions.
Frankly, it’s disappointing, though not all that surprising. Money breeds greed and power. Nothing good comes from that combination.
“This is it,” I murmur to distract myself from focusing on the negatives. “This is the day everything turns around. You’ve got this. You know you’ve got this. You’re strong and confident and talented and capable. You belong here. This is your time to shine.”
Painting on my best smile, I glance Nathan’s way and find him staring. Hard. And not in a, “Wow, I sure can’t wait to meet my interior designer!” kind of way. He looks like he’s trying not to swallow his tongue. Or like he’s gotten a whiff of a stench so revolting he wants to be anywhere but here. I smooth back the wisps of ebony hair that have fallen free from my ponytail and do a quick BO check. Fresh as a daisy despite the Florida heat.
I take a step Nathan’s way and a wave of disbelief hits me. Is this really my life? Mina Blake, hobnobbing with the rich, famous, and uber talented. My phone buzzes and I take a quick glance, smiling when I see a response to my text in the group chat.
Benjamin Bancroft
Ms. Blake is correct. This site is overflowing with potential.
Nathan, however, scoffs and shakes his head as he stares at his phone.
Okay…not exactly the exuberance I hoped for.
But confidence fixes everything, and I’ll fake it ‘til I fix it, despite the nerves his grumpiness set loose in my belly.
After one more deep breath, I smooth the front of my pants, shooting an exuberant, “Good morning, Mr. West!” over the roof of my car.
“Morning,” he grumbles, glaring at his phone, his thumbs tapping the screen in a sharp staccato.
Unfazed, I cross in front of the hood, hand extended. “I’m Mina Blake and I?—”
“I know who you are,” Nathan barks, declines a call, then holds up a hand, looking contrite. “I’m sorry, I?—”
His phone buzzes again and tension tightens his jaw.
“I have to take this,” he says, then strides away, shoulders hunched, chin dropped as he whisper-yells at the poor soul on the other line, probably an assistant who got his coffee wrong or the woman he was out with last night getting dumped. From what I hear, he doesn’t keep them around very long.
I scowl as Nathan walks away, then shake my own hand, murmuring, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Blake. You came highly recommended. Oh! Why thank you, Mr. West! It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. My best friend’s a huge fan! Fallon Mae? Maybe you’ve heard of her…”
Nathan glances over his shoulder, and I drop my hands to my side before he can see, then hurry after the man with the power to make or break my future clenched between his teeth. When I catch up, his sunglasses are dangling from the neck of his shirt and he’s cordially shaking hands with Benjamin, his phone tucked into his back pocket.
“Benjamin Bancroft. It’s great to finally meet you in person.” Ben’s gaze jukes to me, and damn. That smile. How does he do it? “As I said in the group chat,” he continues, “this site is brimming with potential. I see great things here.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Bancroft,” Nathan replies, and would you look at that? He sounds downright cordial. “The body of your work speaks for itself. I can’t wait to hear what you and Ms. Blake have in mind for my new home.”
His voice reminds me of the ocean, soft and soothing, yet churning with the constant threat of turbulence, and hinting at unexplored depths.
I stop beside them, hand extended, smile in place, determined to make a good impression. “Mina Blake,” I say again. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. West. And yeah, this site is amazing.”
His eyes should be warm, like foliage in springtime or reeds in the breeze. Instead, they’re sharp and cutting like overgrown thorns. He has the gall to check his phone before he extends a hand like the thought of touching me repulses him.
“Miss Blake.”
Okay. Nice to Benjamin. Rude to me. Gotcha. I glance down at my high-waisted slacks and white blouse with the cute cap sleeves and Victorian style buttons. Compared to the jeans and T-shirts spackled on my companions, I’m overdressed for the occasion. Maybe he’s turned off by formality?