Chapter two.

Alex sat alone in the dim office long after the last employee had left. Rain still tapped against the windows like impatient fingers. The city lights below blurred into streaks of gold and red.

He couldn’t stop replaying it.

Her soaked blouse clinging to skin he had no business imagining. The way she’d lifted her chin and thrown his words back at him. “Only when they stare like that.”

He’d stared. He was still staring, in his head, at the memory of her mouth forming the challenge.

His fist came down on the desk. Not hard enough to crack anything. Just enough to feel the sting.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He shouldn’t have leaned in. Shouldn’t have brushed her hand. Shouldn’t have let the words slip out: “I could teach you a few things.”

Patrick’s voice echoed from last week’s call.

“She’s back in town, Alex. Struggling after that boy, and won’t talk about it. I’m worried she’ll spiral again. You’re moving to Evergreen Ridge anyway. Keep an eye on her for me? You’re the only one I trust with her.”

He’d said yes without hesitation.

Because he was a good friend.

Because he owed Patrick more than he could ever repay.

Because the thought of Bridget Callahan, twenty-one, sharp-tongued, being anywhere near trouble without him there to stop it had twisted something deep in his gut.

He opened his laptop. Typed *Jake Harlan* into the search bar before he could talk himself out of it.

Results flooded in. Social media profiles. A few articles from college papers. Photos of a good-looking kid with easy smiles and expensive hair. Arm around Bridget in half of them. Her eyes brighter then. Less guarded.

Alex’s jaw tightened. He scrolled. Saw the breakup announcement she’d never made public but the internet had anyway. Screenshots of Jake’s drunk texts, her blocked number, friends taking sides.

He closed the tab hard.

Guilt clawed up his throat. He was forty-five. Her father’s best friend since before she could walk. He had no right to the rage currently burning through his veins at the thought of some twenty-six-year-old asshole making her cry.

He picked up his phone. Dialed Patrick.

It rang twice.

“Alex.” Patrick’s voice was warm, tired. “How’d it go with Bridge?”

“She’s hired.” Alex kept his tone even. “Sharp. Quick. She’ll do fine.”

Patrick laughed. “That’s my girl. Thanks for doing this, man. Really. Means the world.”

Alex swallowed. “Yeah. Of course.”

A pause.

“You okay?” Patrick asked. “You sound… off.”

“Just a long day.” Lie. “I’ll watch out for her. Like we agreed.”

“You’re a good man, Alex.”

The words landed like a punch.

He ended the call and set the phone down carefully.

Marcus, his CFO and the only person who ever dared tease him, poked his head in on the way out.

“Still brooding, boss?”

Alex didn’t look up. “Go home, Marcus.”

Marcus lingered. “Saw the new hire leave earlier. Wet T-shirt contest vibes. Dangerous hire.”

Alex’s head snapped up. “Watch it.”

Marcus raised both hands. “Easy, just saying. She’s got fire. And you’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re about to do something stupid.”

Alex stared him down until Marcus backed off with a grin and left.

Alone again, Alex stood. Walked to the window. Pressed his forehead to the cool glass.

He shouldn’t want her.

He’d known her since she was in pigtails, asking him to push her on the swing while Patrick flipped burgers. He’d watched her grow into someone fierce and beautiful and completely off-limits.

But today, today she’d looked at him like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she wanted to see how far he’d let it go.

His phone buzzed and he glanced down.

Bridget.

No message. Just her name on the screen from when he’d added her number this afternoon.

He opened a new text.

Typed: *Monday. 8 a.m. Don’t test me.*

Sent it before he could delete the edge.

Her reply came in under thirty seconds.

*You’re the one testing boundaries.*

His cock twitched. He hated himself for it.

He typed a reply. Filthy, explicit, detailing exactly what he wanted to do to that smart mouth of hers, then deleted every word.

Instead he sent: *Be on time.*

No reply.

He grabbed his coat, killed the lights, and drove to the new house in Evergreen Ridge. The one he’d bought sight-unseen because it was twenty minutes from Patrick’s place. Because it put him closer.

Boxes still lined the foyer. He dropped his keys on the counter, poured two fingers of scotch, downed it. Poured another.

Upstairs, the master bedroom smelled of fresh paint and new wood. King bed. No sheets yet. He stripped to boxers, fell onto the mattress, and stared at the ceiling.

Sleep came in fragments.

In the dream she was in his office again. Rain louder. No Patrick to interrupt.

She walked around the desk.

Knelt between his knees.

Looked up at him with those dark eyes and whispered, *Teach me.*

He woke up hard and aching. Sheets twisted around his legs.

He didn’t think. Just wrapped his hand around himself, and stroke once, twice.

Her name slipped out on a groan. “Bridget.”

He pictured her mouth. Her tongue. The way she’d gasp if he pulled her hair just right. The sounds she’d make when he finally sank into her, young, tight, his.

He came fast. Too fast, and shame followed like a cold wave.

He lay there panting, chest heaving.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He reached for it, half expecting another taunt from her.

Patrick.

*Jake’s been calling the house again. Won’t take no for an answer. Bridget won’t talk about it, but I don’t like it. Keep him away from her if he shows up, yeah?*

Alex read the message twice.

His jaw locked so hard his teeth ached.

He typed back: *He won’t get near her.*

Sent it.

Then he stared at Bridget’s contact again.

The guilt was still there, but his want for her was greater.

He set the phone down and closed his eyes.

Monday couldn’t come soon enough.