CHAPTER 1: Champagne and Strangers

If anyone ever tells you that tequila makes good decisions, they are lying.

Khloe slid a third shot glass across the table and the neon lights of the rooftop bar blurred at the edges of my vision. The Manhattan skyline sparkled behind her like a wall of diamonds, and the warm night air wrapped around us like a blanket we didn't ask for.

"Drink up, Lara. Tonight we are celebrating the fact that you are no longer unemployed and I no longer have to watch you cry into your cereal at two in the morning." Khloe grinned and clinked her glass against mine before tipping her head back and swallowing the shot like water.

Maya shook her head from the other side of the table. "Slow down, both of you. We just got here."

"Maya, my love, the girl got the job. THE job. At one of the biggest companies in the world. If that doesn't call for shots, I don't know what does." Khloe waved the waitress over and ordered another round before I could protest.

I laughed and pressed my hand against my chest. The knot that had been sitting in my stomach for months was finally gone. Five months of interviews, rejections, and doors slammed in my face, and today... today, everything changed.

"Tell us again," Maya said, leaning forward with her chin resting in her hands. "Tell us what he said."

"I already told you three times."

"Tell us again!" they both said together, and I groaned but smiled.

"Fine. So I walked in, right? And Mr Williams, the father, he was sitting behind this huge glass desk looking like someone's very handsome grandfather. Silver hair, green eyes, the whole thing. And he asked me what my greatest quality was."

"And you said?" Khloe raised an eyebrow.

"I told him I was stubborn."

Maya choked on her drink. "You told the CEO of Williams Group that you're stubborn?"

"I said it nicer than that. I said I'm the kind of person who doesn't stop until the job is done, no matter how hard it gets. And he looked at me for a long moment, like he was reading my soul or something, and then he smiled. He said, 'I like you, Miss Emmanuel. Can you start Monday?'"

Khloe slapped the table so hard our glasses jumped. "My girl! My girl got the bag!"

I pressed my lips together to stop the grin from splitting my face wide open. "It's just an assistant position, Khloe."

"An assistant position at Williams Group. Do you know how many people would kill for that? You're going to be working in one of the most beautiful buildings in Manhattan, surrounded by powerful people, learning from the best in the business. This is your way in, Lara. This is how you get back to doing what you love." Khloe reached across the table and squeezed my hand, and for a second, her wild energy softened into something gentle.

She was right. I had dreamed of being an interior designer since I was fourteen years old, sketching room layouts in the back of my school notebooks while my teachers droned on about math. I won a full scholarship to the design program at Parsons when I was eighteen, and for one beautiful year, my life had a direction.

Then my parents died.

A drunk driver, a rainy Tuesday night, one phone call that split my life into before and after. I was nineteen. My brother Samuel was twelve. My grandmother Evelyn, who could barely walk to the kitchen without losing her breath, became our only family. So I did what needed to be done. I dropped out of Parsons, picked up three jobs, and put my dreams in a box on the top shelf of my closet where I wouldn't have to look at them every day.

Seven years later, here I was, twenty-six years old, finally sitting at a table that felt like the beginning of something good.

"You deserve this," Maya said quietly, and when our eyes met, I could see she meant every word. Maya was the calm in our little storm. Khloe was the fire, I was the stubborn wind, and Maya was the steady ground that kept us both from flying off the edge. We had been living together in our tiny Brooklyn apartment for three years now, and without them, I'm not sure I would have survived.

"Now," Khloe announced, standing up and pulling me out of my chair, "enough with the feelings. We are going downstairs to the main floor, we are going to dance until our feet bleed, and you, Lara Emmanuel, are going to have fun tonight if it kills me."

The main floor of the rooftop bar was packed. Music pumped through the speakers, something with heavy bass and a melody that made your hips move on their own. Khloe was already in the middle of the dance floor, pulling moves that made people stop and stare. Maya and I joined her, and for a while, it was just us three. Laughing, dancing, drinking whatever Khloe kept handing us from the bar.

I was mid-spin, my head thrown back, my long braids whipping behind me, when I felt it. That strange, prickling feeling you get when someone is watching you. I slowed down and let my eyes scan the crowd until they landed on a pair of green eyes staring at me from across the room.

My breath caught.

He was sitting in a booth near the back, surrounded by people, but somehow completely separate from all of them. A glass of dark liquor rested in his hand. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, and his light brown hair was styled clean; shorter on the sides, longer on top. He wore a black shirt with the top two buttons undone, and even from this distance, I could see the outline of broad shoulders and a chest that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover.

He caught me staring and raised his glass slightly in my direction, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile that made my stomach flip.

I turned away fast.

"Who was that?" Khloe was suddenly right behind me, her mouth close to my ear.

"Nobody."

"Girl, that is not nobody. That is somebody's very fine son. Go talk to him."

"I'm not going to go talk to a random man at a bar."

"You're right. You don't have to." Khloe grinned and nodded toward something behind me. "Because he's coming to you."

I turned and there he was, cutting through the crowd like the music parted for him. People moved out of his way without even realizing it. He was taller than I expected. Well over six feet, and up close, those green eyes were even more striking; vivid and sharp, like polished glass catching the light.

He stopped in front of me and looked down, and for a second, neither of us said anything.

"Can I buy you a drink?" His voice was low, smooth, and it vibrated in my chest.

"That depends," I replied, crossing my arms. "Are you going to stand there looking at me like that the whole time?"

His eyebrows went up, and then he laughed. A real laugh, not a polite one. It was deep and warm and it crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Like what?"

"Like you've already decided how this night is going to end."

He tilted his head, his green eyes sweeping over my face with something that looked like surprise and curiosity mixed together. "I haven't decided anything. I just saw you dancing and figured anyone who moves like that probably has a good taste in drinks too."

I fought the smile tugging at my lips and lost. "Vodka cranberry."

"Boring choice for someone who dances like that." He signaled to the bartender without taking his eyes off me. "I'm Vincent."

"Lara."

"Lara." He repeated my name slowly, like he was tasting it. "That's beautiful."

"My mother picked it." The words came out before I could stop them, and a quick flash of pain shot through my chest. I pushed it down the way I always did and took a sip of the drink the bartender had just set in front of me. "So, Vincent, what brings you to a rooftop bar on a Friday night?"

"Celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

He smiled, and two deep dimples carved into his cheeks that nearly made my knees give out. "That's classified."

"Classified?" I snorted. "What are you, a spy?"

"Something like that." He stepped closer, and I caught a scent of cologne; something woody and warm that made me want to lean in. "What about you?"

"I got a new job today."

"Must be a good one to bring out that smile."

We talked for an hour. Then two. Khloe came by at some point, looked at Vincent, then at me, gave me two thumbs up and a grin wide enough to see from space, and disappeared back into the crowd with Maya. The drinks kept coming. We moved from the bar to the dance floor, where his hands found my waist and my back found his chest, and we swayed together to a song I couldn't name but would never forget.

His lips brushed my ear. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," I admitted, and he grinned.

"I know a place."

Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in the back of a black car that looked like it cost more than my apartment building. A driver in a crisp suit held the door open for us. I slid across the leather seat and let out a small laugh.

"You have a driver?"

"He makes sure I don't do anything stupid when I've been drinking." Vincent poured us champagne from a bottle that was already chilled and waiting. "Where to?"

I looked at him. He was watching me with those green eyes, his lips slightly parted, waiting. I don't know what came over me in that moment. Maybe it was the tequila, or the champagne, or the feeling of finally, finally having something go right in my life. Maybe it was the way this stranger looked at me like I was the most interesting thing in the room.

"There's a pizza place in Brooklyn that will change your life," I said, and he laughed.

"Pizza?"

"You thought I was going to say some fancy restaurant, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"I'm not that kind of girl, Vincent." I took a sip of the champagne and pointed at his driver. "Brooklyn, please. Corner of Fifth and Atlantic."

We ate pizza on the curb at one in the morning, sitting on the hood of his very expensive car, our shoulders touching. He told me he worked in real estate, which I thought was funny because so did my new boss. I told him about my grandmother and my brother, about my dream to design spaces that made people feel at home. He listened in a way that most men don't; not just waiting for his turn to talk, but actually hearing me.

"You should go back and finish your degree," he said, wiping sauce off his chin.

"I will. One day. When I can afford it."

He looked at me with something soft in his eyes, and for a moment, the loud sounds of the city faded away. "I believe you."

The rest of the night blurred. More drinks at a late-night cocktail bar. Dancing in the street because a busker was playing guitar at three in the morning and Vincent grabbed my hand and spun me. Laughing so hard my stomach hurt. And then, somehow, standing on a private airstrip in New Jersey, staring at a sleek white jet with my mouth hanging open.

"Vincent. What is that?"

"My plane."

"Your plane. You have a plane."

He tugged my hand gently. "Let's go somewhere."

"Where?" I laughed, the world spinning around me in the most wonderful way.

"Miami. Have you ever been?"

"I've never been anywhere." The words left my mouth and they were true, painfully and honestly true. I had never left New York. I had never had the time, the money, or the reason.

Vincent squeezed my fingers and smiled. "Then let's fix that tonight."

I should have said no. Any sensible person would have said no. But I had been sensible for seven years. I had been responsible and careful and practical every single day of my life since I was nineteen years old, and just for one night, I wanted to be someone who said yes.

So I walked up those steps and onto that jet, and when the door closed behind us and Vincent handed me another glass of champagne, I looked into those green eyes and felt something I hadn't felt in a very long time.

Like anything was possible.

We played a drinking game somewhere over Virginia. By the time the plane touched down in Miami, I could barely see straight. The warm ocean air hit my face as we stumbled down the steps, and I threw my arms out wide and spun.

"I can't believe I'm in Miami!" I shouted, and Vincent caught me before I fell.

His arms wrapped around my waist from behind, his lips pressed against my temple, and he murmured, "What do you want to do, Lara? Tonight is yours."

The city sparkled ahead of us, and I was drunk and brave and completely out of my mind when I turned in his arms, looked up at his face, and said, "I dare you to do something crazy."

His eyes darkened. He dragged his thumb across my jaw. "Name it."

I don't know why I said it. I don't know what part of my brain decided that this was a reasonable sentence to put into the universe. But the word left my mouth before I could catch it.

"Marry me."

Vincent went still. His green eyes searched mine for a long, long moment. And then he smiled, slow and dangerous, and the look on his face made my heart stop beating.

"Okay."