But Noah was so reassuring, and everyone welcomed me with open arms. Some of Noah’s charisma must have rubbed off on me. Although I could have done without Rosita’s little congratulatory winks.

Once again, I was reminded of a mother doting proudly on her son. Noah was definitely part of her family. He made a point of catching up with everyone at the party, not just the general “how’s work?” kind of icebreaker, but specific questions like “Is your cousin out of his leg cast yet?” or “Did you get that promotion you were planning to ask for?” He obviously tries hard to remember the details of their lives.

But maybe that isn’t so surprising. Even though Noah can be self-absorbed sometimes, he’s a real people person. That gift of gab sometimes makes me jealous . . . when it doesn’t sweep me off my feet like everyone else he interacts with. He’s always so comfortable in his own skin, so at home in any situation. He looked just as natural in shorts and a silly paper hat, roughhousing with kids in a muddy backyard, as he does in a three-piece bespoke suit at an executive luncheon.

Watching him laugh that day . . . it’s definitely persuaded me to let him get closer.

Okay, so Noah is a decent man. A pretty great one, even. But does that mean I have to let go of my dream of falling madly in love someday?

What I need is a sign.

I let my gaze drift across the reception area as I drink my water. The front door swings open, and for a second, I think Noah must have made it back in record time.

Then I recognize the man and I almost choke. Oh no. No, no, no . . .

My stomach clenches as every nerve lights up with a fight-or-flight impulse. I can’t even tell if I’m terrified or furious—this feeling is just raw, undifferentiated adrenaline.

It’s Bradford Daniels, my ex-boyfriend from hell, standing just a few yards away. What the fuck is he doing here? I thought I was done with him forever. I thought I’d escaped. But now he’s in my building, my sanctuary, and I had no warning at all and I’m not ready.

Stunned, my heart hammering in my chest, I watch him like a deer in the headlights as he checks in at the front desk. He leans close to the receptionist. I can’t hear what he says, but I can guess by his flirtatious smile and her answering giggle.

It’s not her fault. Brad’s handsome face and country-club manners once tricked me too. She can’t know any better. Can’t see the slimy soul hiding underneath.

I started dating Brad in college because he was hot, he came from a prestigious family, and he was the first guy I’ve ever met who shared my hard-driving ambition. But I discovered too late that his competitive spirit was untempered by any sense of fair play. All the privilege he was born into, as staggering as it was, still didn’t satisfy him. He felt entitled to more—by any means necessary.

His father was the only person he felt true loyalty to. Everyone else in the world existed to use for his own benefit. And what made him really dangerous was his ability to disguise his predatory selfishness. He blatantly used his inferiors because he knew he could get away with it, but he sucked up to his superiors and manipulated his peers so skillfully that nobody with any power to stop him ever caught on to his games.

I still hate to admit just how long I let Brad use me. He had me convinced that he was trying his best to love me and I was the one being “difficult.” I clung to the scraps of affection he rationed out when and only when he wanted something from me.

It took me over two years to realize that Brad—not my “difficult” personality, not the stress from my classes and internships and club duties—was the reason I was so miserable all the time. It took another six months for me to do something about that revelation. I broke up with him at our graduation ceremony so I’d never have to see him again.

Or so I thought.

Brad turns and spots me. Noticing my appalled stare, he gives me a sarcastic little wave.

Rage wins out over panic. My paralysis shatters. After spiking my paper cup into the trash can, I charge over to him like a mother wolf defending my den.

“Get out,” I growl.

The receptionist blinks, startled by my unbridled hatred.

Brad, of course, doesn’t look at all surprised. He knows exactly how I feel about him—and why. But he’ll never pass up an opportunity to make me look like a crazy bitch.

“What, not even a hello?” he asks, feigning hurt.

Too bad I don’t care how I look. Everyone in this building is loyal to my family; I can afford to deal with Brad first and explain myself later.

“You don’t deserve one. Leave now.”

He looks down his nose with a condescending smile. “Oversensitive as always . . . how unprofessional. I have a right to be here. My father’s in the market to acquire a new subsidiary, so I’m here to pay your board a visit.”

“This company still belongs to the Tate and Cane families. You can’t buy a single brick in our building yet, and until that day comes, you’re just snooping around. Wait your turn like everybody else.” It’s bad enough that WBB was allowed in . . . and I don’t have a gory personal history with them.

His sneer deepens into overt disdain. “You can’t treat me like this. I was invited here.”

“And I have the power to un-invite you. So you can slink right back to your corner office and crawl into Daddy’s lap like you always do.”

Brad’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits. He snarls, “You dried-up bitch—!”

I scoff audibly. If I ever was dried up, whose fault does Brad think that was? He should have looked up foreplay in a dictionary sometime.