Page 1 of Guilty as Sin

CHAPTER 1

ZOE

Iwon’t lie—I’ve always had a soft spot for older men. My last therapist urged me to reexamine my childhood trauma in order to fix mistakes that are way out of my hands. My dad left my mom while I was in diapers, and since then, he’s only ever played a tiny role in my life. As much as I try to deny it, his absence has left me wrestling with the past, hunting for nods of approval from fatherly figures.

Enter Alden Banks, a big shot on Madison Avenue. I kept our little escapade under wraps—even from Harper, for fear she’d rain judgment on my parade. I was the ultimate protégé—top of my class, racing up the career ladder, the kind of go-getter who didn’t let mushy feelings mess with ambition.

Outside, the headlights turn into a trippy blend of red and white while my past pokes at my determination. Harper’s always been my cheerleader, mentor, and voice of reason. I can already envision her disappointed face and that classic eyebrow of disapproval. She’d chalk it up to a blip in judgment, the infamous “daddy issues” she jokes about. But Harper doesn’t get the thrill of being drawn to someone older, someone who’s got the reins and is ready to take me along for the ride.

Someone like Alden.

He was a character straight out of a steamy novel, all charm and a grin that could both melt hearts and send shivers down spines. Alden was my guru in this wild world, teaching me to hustle, shine, and brandish my ambition like it was Excalibur. Under his wing, I became a maestro in wooing—clients, partners, even ideas—and danced on the razor's edge without a wobble. It wasn’t just the sparks, the chemistry, the electric feel of his presence. Somehow, he spotted the hidden gem within me, polishing and igniting it until I felt invincible.

My face heats from the memory, and I suspect I’m blushing like a ripe tomato.

What we shared was our little secret, tucked away from prying eyes. That’s one of the many reasons we fizzled. Maybe that’s why I’m here, alone in this cab, marinating in the doubt that I might not hack it solo. The fling left me craving more—triumph, clout, liberation—and wondering if I'll ever find my happy ending without trading away my thirst for adventure.

And now, I'm running late for the first major job I’ve snagged since waving goodbye to Alden and his Madison Avenue kingdom.

The thought blinks like a neon sign in my mind. I'm still in control. Totally am. My grip tightens on my bag's strap as I let out a shaky breath, ready to face down my own doubts. This isn't about Alden, Harper, or anyone else's thoughts. It's about showing that everything I picked up during that wild, rule-breaking year has made me tougher. It's about using my past to secure my future, to wow the Becker brothers, and to prove just how much skill I've got. Because I've got game, no doubt about it.

The strategies Alden murmured like sweet nothings are now my playbook: Learn everything. Find their weak spot. Exploit it, no holding back, and then leave them wanting more. He molded my mind to think like his, and his tactics are now part of mywork ethic, his philosophy the blueprint of my career. He said I was a quick study. He said I was a force to be reckoned with. And I totally believed him.

As the taxi screeches to a halt for yet another seemingly eternal red light, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window—it feels like I'm staring at a stranger. A young, eager face is looking back at me, a jumbled cocktail of everything I'm still trying to untangle.

The Beckers are undoubtedly waiting at the Oak Room, poised to pounce like hawks on a wayward pigeon. Two formidable men, as sharp as razors and twice as cutting if they sniff out any hint of weakness. Perhaps they're speculating whether I've chickened out, just a naive girl who's all flair and no substance. I won't let them think that. I won't let them see that. I can picture their disappointment, the pitying glances exchanged when I don't appear. But I'll be there. Oh, I'll show them everything I've got up my sleeve.

Breathe, Zoe.I murmur a strange mantra to myself—innovative marketing solutions, consumer-driven branding, and synergy. These words feel like empty shells bouncing around in the chaos of my mind, but they've got to stick. My breath paints the glass with fog, and I hit replay, my mouth parched with urgency. The cab lurches at another stoplight, and my heart drums a wild solo as the universe seems to hit slo-mo.

As challenging as it is, I force myself to focus on the upcoming meeting, not my increasing lateness. This is my moment to dazzle, and I refuse to let pesky doubts take root.The Beckers?They're just guys. Intelligent, seasoned, sexy-as-all-get-out guys, but still just guys. Older, younger, the overly self-assured ones who think they've mastered the universe—until I come along. At least, that's what I envision.

My breath comes in frantic little jabs, like a hyperactive woodpecker, and I swipe the foggy window with a dramaticflourish, clear my throat like a stage performer, and dive back in. Key demographics. Target markets. Creative strategies. They simply can't overlook me—not when I've got my determination dialed up to eleven. Not when I want it with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.

Harper is my best friend, and this deal is a game-changer for her. Defeat? Not on my watch. The building pops into view, and my panic quickly transforms into pure adrenaline. I spring out, barely registering the driver's words or hearing anything over my mental jazz band. It's all going down now, ready or not, and I know I'm the whole package: ready, steady, go.

I burst through the revolving doors like a glitter bomb at a formal dinner. The Oak Room appears in mahogany splendor—a place that whispers "old money" and "no counting change here." My heels click against the marble floor, a steady beat of competence.

Then I see the Becker brothers, Rolf and Karl, standing by the bar like a pair of Nordic gods. My rehearsed pitch scatters like leaves in the wind.

“Ms. Mitchum, I’m happy you could make it,” Rolf rumbles as they stride gracefully across the room.

“Please forgive my tardiness. Traffic into midtown was unbelievably slow.” I brush a strand of loose hair away from my face and try to hide my mortification with a smile.

My heart races as they approach. Karl extends his hand, his cool touch unexpectedly warming me. “Ten minutes isn’t so bad,” he says. “You were worth the wait.”

They exchange a knowing look, and though my insides perform a nervous dance, I channel Harper’s unflappable poise. This is for the deal, not for how Rolf’s mouth curves in amusement or how Karl’s attention feels like a spotlight.

“Shall we?” I gesture toward the hostess, clutching my portfolio, and then lead the way.

CHAPTER 2

ROLF

Iwatch her glide into the booth across from Karl and me, her movements fluid and graceful, exuding a confidence that is both disarming and intensely arousing. The Oak Room's warm amber lighting reflects off her cascading brown waves, creating a shimmering halo effect that makes her look like an angel—a very sexy one.

Karl shoots me a quick glance, a fleeting yet telling exchange—the silent communication we've honed since childhood—confirming that he also feels the magnetic pull.

"Gentlemen," Zoe says, placing her leather portfolio on the table. "I hope you don't mind the substitution. Harper thought I might bring a fresh perspective to the negotiations."

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