Chapter 2

Cassie Cooper POV:

At seven the next morning Kellan came to my apartment in his workout clothes, a takeaway coffee in his hand.

He didn't kiss my cheek. He didn't ask how I had slept.

His eyes went straight to the phone on the kitchen island.

"Did you make the transfer to Bryson?" he asked, setting the coffee down.

"Not yet," I said, draping my blazer over the back of a stool. "I need to check my savings account first."

Kellan frowned and crossed his arms.

"The family is in trouble, Cassie. What is there to check?"

"Kellan, Bryson is twenty-two."

"He's a college student who lost his sister!" Kellan's voice jumped, carrying that moral superiority he had rehearsed so often it came out smooth. "He needs support. Your stepmother is under enough pressure as it is."

He took a small pastry box out of the paper bag and slid it across the granite.

"Here. I went out of my way to the patisserie on the other side of town. Mango mousse. For you."

I looked down at the pale blue box.

The gold foil on the lid said SUGAR & CRUMB.

That was Kinsley's place. He had picked this up after rolling around in her bed the night before.

Three years ago, after a bad bout of pneumonia, I developed a severe mango allergy.

Kellan was standing beside me in the emergency room when the nurse gave me the epinephrine.

He knew perfectly well that one bite of mango would swell my throat shut in fifteen minutes.

"Thank you," I said, and didn't open the box.

"Also, Bryson needs two thousand for a deposit on a summer sublet," Kellan said, watching me. "You know your stepmother's back has been bad. She can't work full time."

"No problem," I said, and there wasn't a trace of sarcasm in it. "I'll have it all transferred before the bank closes today."

Kellan let out a breath, relieved at how easily I had given in.

He stepped closer and patted my shoulder from above, the way you would praise a dog.

"That's my good girl. Once Bryson finishes school, we can finally set a date."

He touched the thin platinum band on my finger — the one he had bought to replace my engagement ring.

"You've done a lot to make up for what happened, Cassie. Everyone sees it."

"You're very patient," I said, and held his eyes until he looked away.

He checked his watch and grabbed his keys off the counter.

"I have a meeting with a commercial real estate broker in the north district tonight. Don't wait up."

"I won't."

He picked up his coffee, humming something under his breath, and walked out.

I took the blue box from Sugar & Crumb and dropped it in the bin under the sink without opening it.

Then I picked up my bag, locked the door, and drove downtown.

At nine sharp I knocked on the door of Marcus Vance's office on the forty-second floor.

Marcus looked up from his desk and gestured to the leather chair across from him.

"You look like you could move a mountain, Cassie."

"A mountain's nothing, Marcus. I'm ready to cross an ocean." I sat down.

He slid a thick document across the rosewood.

"Three-year director's contract for our London operation."

"Full executive package, housing allowance in Kensington, and full authority over regional logistics restructuring."

I turned straight to the signature page.

The pen moved through the dark blue ink. My hand did not shake when I signed my legal name.

"One condition," Marcus said, watching me sign. "The London board wants you at your desk Monday morning. Which means your flight leaves this Friday at eight in the evening."

"Perfect timing." I pushed the folder back to him.

"What about your fiancé? Will he be joining you later?"

"No," I said. "I'm going alone."

Marcus nodded. He was a smart man and never asked about his people's private lives.

"HR will wire seventy-five thousand dollars in relocation to your overseas account by tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you, Marcus."

My phone rang the moment I stepped out of the executive suite.

My father.

I walked toward the elevators and answered.

"Cassie, where the hell are you?" Julian didn't bother with a greeting. "Effie and Bryson are at the dealership right now."

"What are they doing at a dealership?" I stepped into an empty car.

"The one out on Route 9!" he said, voice sharp. "Bryson's old car broke down on the highway again yesterday. He needs something reliable for his last semester. Effie has picked out a certified pre-owned. They need eight thousand down, and they need you to co-sign as the primary guarantor."

"Co-sign as guarantor."

"He's a student! Where is he going to get credit?" my father said, as if it were obvious. "You work at a big company. Your credit is excellent. If you don't help him, how is he supposed to get to class? If Kinsley were still here, she wouldn't have blinked. She would have handled it. But she's gone, and you're the only sister Bryson has left!"

There it was again. He had used that line on me dozens of times in six years.

"I'll meet you at the dealership on my lunch break," I said, calm.

"That's more like it. Don't be late. Bryson has lunch plans with friends at one."

I hung up, walked back to my desk, and filed for the rest of the day off.

Then I called a broker who specialized in fast all-cash sales of high-end apartments.