God, I disliked him.
My entire family loathed his entire family.
As far back as I could remember, we’d been the Hatfields and McCoys. Our families’ feud dated back to our grandfathers. Though, for most of my childhood, we’d also traveled in the same social circles. Weston and I attended the same private schools, often saw each other at fundraisers and social events, and even had mutual friends. Our family’s homes on the Upper West Side were only a few blocks from each other. But just like our fathers and grandfathers, we kept as much distance as possible.
Well, except for that one time.
That one terrible, ginormous mistake of a night.
For the most part, I pretended it had never happened.
For the most part…
Except for every once in a while…
Every once in a blue moon…
When I thought about it.
It wasn’t often.
But when I did…
Forget it. I took a deep, cleansing breath, pushing those memories out of my head.
That was the absolute last thing I should be thinking of right now.
But why the hell was he sitting next to me, anyway?
Last I’d heard, Weston lived out in Vegas. He ran his family’s southwest-area hotels—not that I’d been keeping tabs on him or anything.
So what were the chances I’d run into him on my way to New York? I hadn’t been to the east coast in at least six years now. Yet we wound up sitting next to each other, on the same flight, at the same time.
Oh!
Shit.
My eyes flashed open.
He couldn’t be.
Please, Lord. Please don’t let it be that.
I turned to Weston. “Wait a minute. Why are you going to New York?”
He grinned. “Take a guess.”
Still not wanting to believe it, I held on to hope.
“To…visit family?”
He shook his head, maintaining his arrogant smirk.
“Sightseeing?”
“Nope.”
I closed my eyes, and my shoulders slumped. “Your family sent you to manage The Countess, didn’t they?”
Weston waited until I opened my eyes before delivering the blow. “Seems like we’re going to be seeing more of each other than just this short flight.”
Chapter 2
* * *
Sophia
“Going the wrong way, Fifi.”
I stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor, only to be greeted by Mr. Wonderful himself.
“Go away, Lockwood.”
He stepped into the elevator I’d just exited, but reached forward and stopped the door from closing. Shrugging, he said, “Suit yourself. But there’s no one in conference room four twenty.”
I turned back. “Why not?”
“They moved the meetings to the hotel’s attorney’s office—downtown, in the Flatiron Building.”
I huffed. “Are you kidding me? No one contacted me. Why did they move it?”
“Don’t know. Guess we’ll find out when we get there.” Weston let go of the button on the panel and stepped back. “I’m leaving. You coming or what? They’re not delaying the start time, and traffic’s gonna be a bitch.”
I looked back over my shoulder in the direction of the conference room. No one else was around. Sighing, I stepped into the elevator. Weston was behind me at the rear of the car, but the minute the door closed, he took a step forward.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, move back. Don’t stand so close.”
Weston snickered, but didn’t budge one bit. I hated that I noticed how good he smelled—a combination of a freshly chopped oak tree and something clean, maybe with a little leather thrown into the mix. The damn doors couldn’t open fast enough. The moment they did, I darted out. I took off into the lobby and ran for the front door without looking back.
Forty minutes later, after an attempted cab ride that didn’t make it more than half a block in ten minutes, followed by two hot-as-hell subway rides, the second of which smelled delightfully of freshly baked urine, I rushed into the lobby of the Flatiron Building.
“Can you tell me what floor Barton and Fields is on, please?” I asked the reception desk.
“Fifth floor.” He pointed to a long line. “But one of the elevators is out today.”
I was already late and didn’t have time to wait. Sighing, I asked the security guard, “Where are the stairs?”
After climbing five very long flights of stairs in four-inch heels while carrying a leather bag full of files and my purse, I approached the double glass doors to The Countess hotel’s law firm. The receptionist was helping someone, and two other people were ahead of me in line, so I checked the time on my phone. I really hoped they didn’t start the meeting on time after moving it without notice. Then again, how could they? It had probably taken Weston just as long to get down here. When it was finally my turn, I approached the receptionist.
“Hi. My name is Sophia Sterling. I have a meeting with Elizabeth Barton.”
The receptionist shook her head. “Ms. Barton is uptown for a meeting this morning. What time is your appointment?”
“Actually, our meeting was originally scheduled uptown at The Countess, but it was moved here.”
The woman’s brows drew down. “I saw her leaving as I walked in this morning. But let me double-check. Maybe she came back while I was getting coffee.” She punched a few keys on her keyboard and listened through her headset for a minute before removing it. “She’s not answering. Let me run back and check her office and the conference room.”
A few minutes later, a woman in a suit walked out from the back with the receptionist. “Hi. I’m Serena, Ms. Barton’s paralegal. Your meeting is uptown at The Countess today. In room four twenty.”
“No. I was just there. That’s where it was originally scheduled, but it was moved here.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Whoever told you that gave you the wrong information. I just called Elizabeth on her cell and confirmed. The 9AM meeting started almost an hour ago.”
I felt heat rise from the bottom of my feet up to the top of my hair. I’m going to fucking kill Weston.
***
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I announced as I entered.
The woman sitting at the head of the conference table—who I assumed was Elizabeth Barton, The Countess’s chief counsel—looked at her watch. Her face was stern. “Perhaps someone who was on time would be kind enough to fill you in on what you’ve missed.” She stood. “Why don’t we take a ten-minute break, and I’ll answer whatever questions you have when we reconvene.”
Weston smiled. “I’ll be happy to fill Ms. Sterling in.”
The attorney thanked him. She and two other men I’d never seen before walked out, leaving me alone with Weston. It took everything in my power not to blow my top—at least until she was out the door. Weston got up like he, too, was going to take a break and walk out of here unscathed.
Not a chance in hell.
I stood in front of the door so he couldn’t get out.
“You asshole!”