“Oh, this is good.” Lily leans over my shoulder, giddy, looking at my phone. “Who’s Mr. Tall, Handsome, and Probably Amazing in Bed?”

“No one.”

Kat groans. “Ariana.”

“I’m serious! He’s just—a fellow crisis haver.”

“A fellow crisis haver?” Lily wheezes. “That’s your best excuse?”

Before I can scramble for a better one, my phone buzzes again.

SENATOR THOMPSON'S WIFE: Okay, now it looks my daughter STOLE the yacht to make the OnlyFans. Be back with more deets

“What is it with people and yachts today?” I croak.

Kat slams her laptop shut. “Enough. You’re spinning out. You have three crisis clients and a flight in six hours.”

Shit. I do.

I have six hours before I’m back in Seattle. Back to the PR firm where my ex-fiancé is flaunting our breakup. Back to a reality that still doesn’t feel real.

My lungs feel like they’re collapsing. The weight of it all crushes down at once.

Will’s betrayal. My career hanging by a thread. The goddamn poker chip still digging into my palm. I lurch to my feet, needing air. “I have to pack.”

I stumble toward my suitcase, but my vision tunnels. My fingers fumble uselessly with the zipper. My phone buzzes again. Another crisis. Another notification. The walls inch closer, the ceiling pressing down?—

Lily’s voice is muffled. “Ari?”

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My lungs are concrete.

Then, as if the universe isn’t done curb-stomping me, my phone pings one last time:

UNKNOWN: That post was bullshit. He didn’t deserve you.

My fingers tighten around the phone. My pulse stutters.

UNKNOWN: We’ll figure out the marriage situation. I’ll take care of everything when I get back to Seattle.

Seattle.

Of course he’s in Seattle. Because of course Alex Drake’s best man would live in my city.

My breath catches, panic momentarily edged out by something else entirely. Shock. Intrigue. A flicker of something warm and unsteady in my chest.

UNKNOWN: Also, you left your earring in my suite. Cinderella move or strategic PR ploy?

A strangled laugh escapes me before I can stop it. My fingers hover over the screen, heart hammering.

Connor. Has to be.

ME: You’re texting me. How did you even get my number?

UNKNOWN: I have my ways.

ME: That sounds ominous.

UNKNOWN: Relax, Mrs. High Roller. I asked Alex.