Page 3 of Sin Bin

The door swings open as I turn around, and a woman with voluminous red hair waltzes in with a spring to her step. “Walter, I’ve got our newclienthere.”

Her wide-eyed gaze lands on me. Oh crap, I know that look. It’s the one I get when people recognize me. And by that, I mean, they’ve seen the banana-shaped birthmark on my ass, as well as a quick glimpse of my face from the security cameravideo.

Kill me now,please.

“Miss Mackenzie,” she says, coming over to shake my hand. “My name is Gwen. It’s great to have you. Walter already let me know that you’re on board. I . . . well, let me introduce you to our newestclient.”

I try not to let my hopes lift. Golden Lights Media is the top public relations company in Boston. From actresses to sports heroes to politicians, Golden Lights has backed anyone who’s anyone in the BayState.

My gaze flicks from Gwen to the empty doorway. Who have they paired me with? I’m hoping for someone awesome like Mark Wahlberg. Maybe Matt Damon. Hey, a girl can dream,right?

When a shadow fills the doorway, an acute sense of dread settles in my stomach. That shadow is familiar and that body even more so. I tilt my head, squinting against the afternoon glare from the sun for abetterlook.

Leather shoes slip against the marble flooring as the shadow enters Mr. Collins’s office. Inch by inch, the body emerges as my sight readjusts. Dark jeans cling to muscular thighs, and a white T-shirt is halfheartedly tucked into thepants.

Something about this isn’tright.

I shift in my chair, wishing that I could see his face. I so want to reach into my purse for my sunglasses. Unlike Gwen, who pranced right into the light like a beam of sunshine, this person hugs thedarkness.

“Miss Mackenzie,” Mr. Collins says, interrupting my thoughts, “might I introduce to you our newestclient?”

And that’s when The Day from Hell isreplaced.

Because out from the shadows emerges Disastrous Mistake Numbers One throughInfinity.

“Hello,Zoe.”

Andre Beaumont, the Devilhimself.

Oh,hellno.

ChapterTwo

He looks exactlythesame.

For all of his faults (and there are many, trust me), Andre Beaumont is certainly not lacking in the looks department. Perfectly disheveled dark hair is swept back from his face. Dark eyes the color of Italian espresso travel up the length of my body, starting at my no-nonsense black pumps and working all the way up to my equally no-nonsense black dress. That hard gaze pauses at my breasts—not that there’s much to speak of, considering that I’m “willowy” at best—before landing onmyface.

He doesn’t even have the good grace to look ashamed for his thoroughonce-over.

My hand itches to leave my side and flash him the bird, and I sit on my fingers to keep from giving in totemptation.

Speaking of temptation—it’s overrated.Officially.

The sound of Mr. Collins clearing his throat breaks my death glare. “Miss Mackenzie,” he says, coming around his desk to greet Andre with a handshake, “I trust that you recall Mr.Beaumont?”

Sarcasm. It’s like music tomyears.

Swallowing a hot retort, I smile blandly at my new boss, as well as at the man responsible for my downfall. “Yes, of course.” Brushing invisible lint from my dress, I stand and walk over to thetwomen.

The two couldn’t be more opposite. While a gray suit encases Walter’s thin frame, “casual” is the name of Andre’s ensemble. He’s completed the look with a black leather jacket—the same buttery-soft jacket that I remember pooled on the floor as I slipped my fingers over hisribbedabs.

Do not gothere,Zoe.

I hold my hand out stiffly, still faking a welcoming smile that might crack my cheeks. “Mr. Beaumont, it’s nice to see youagain.”

Andre takes my hand. Instead of shaking it like a normal person, he gives a sharp tug and pulls me close: so close that I can’t help but remember firsthand that his irises and pupils are one synonymous black hue; so close that the fading bruise on his cheek, no doubt from a fight on the ice, catches the light and glimmers purple and yellow; so close that when he drops a brief kiss to each of my cheeks, I catch the scent of sandalwood off his skin. “It’s been toolong,Zoe.”

“Or, not long enough,” I mutter under mybreath.

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