Chapter 1

My online boyfriend cheated on me, and I sent a tearful message to my best friend Rachel Stone, begging her to let me crash at her place.

But my fingers slipped, and I sent it to her older brother, Christopher Stone, instead. The typo turned my desperate plea into what looked like an invitation to share my bed.

I figured it was funny enough to ignore, but half an hour later, Christopher stood at my front door. He was everything the rumors claimed—cold, untouchable, and impossibly out of reach for someone like me.

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and unreadable. He spoke in a low voice that made my stomach flip. "Didn't you ask me to come?"

That was when I realized the truth. I wasn't the one who'd made a mistake. I was the one he'd been hunting all along.

*****

I stared at the text message on my phone screen. [We're not right for each other. Let's break up.]

I felt numb.

Lucas Grant and I had been dating online for a year, and yesterday we made plans to meet in person next week.

But now he sent me this message and blocked me on everything.

I didn't even get a chance to ask him why.

My chest tightened, and I couldn't breathe. I buried my face in the couch pillow because I didn't want anyone to hear me cry.

My phone screen was still lit up, and I saw his new post. It was a photo of him with another girl, and the caption said: [Meet my girl, Bella White.]

The girl in the photo wore flawless makeup and designer clothes, looking gorgeous and smug.

I looked down and saw I was wearing cartoon-bear pajamas, with messy hair and flour all over my face, because I had just burned a batch of brownies in the oven.

We were worlds apart.

He didn't suddenly fall out of love with me. He had already found someone better.

I let out a bitter laugh, but tears started streaming down my face anyway.

I couldn't sit here alone and fall apart. I needed someone with me.

I couldn't sit here alone and fall apart. I needed someone with me.

I forced myself to get up from the couch and grab my phone. I opened my best friend, Rachel's chat.

My fingers trembled on the keyboard and tears blurred my vision, so I typed by feel.

[I just got dumped. Can I crash at your place tonight?]

I thought about it and decided that sounded too pathetic. I deleted it.

[Babe, let's party! I'm buying!]

That wasn't right either. All I wanted to do was lie down and wallow.

Finally, I gave up and typed out a message without thinking. [Tell your brother I'm sleeping with you tonight. I'll buy the snacks.]

I tossed my phone aside after hitting send.

My plan was to get Rachel to keep me company and drag along that elusive brother of hers so I could get a free meal out of it.

In my mind, Rachel's brother Christopher was even more unreliable than she was.

Rachel constantly complained about him, telling me he was a workaholic with no personality and that his only redeeming quality was his good looks.

So my message was basically me venting and joking around.

Rachel replied almost instantly. She texted back: [Okay!]

The message was followed with a thumbs-up emoji.

I didn't think much of it and assumed she meant she was coming over to keep me company.

I forced myself to focus and opened the food delivery app. I added everything I'd been craving to my cart, like buffalo wings, barbeque, fried chicken, and a six-pack of beer.

A breakup deserved a proper ritual, after all.

About twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

I felt a wave of relief wash over me because I was certain Rachel had arrived. That girl talked a lot of trash, but she really did look out for me.

I shuffled to the door in my wrinkled pajamas and messy hair.

I opened the door and said, "Babe, you're here! Quick, help me with the—"

My words died in my throat.

The person standing outside wasn't Rachel.

It was a tall man.

He wore a perfectly tailored black coat that emphasized his broad shoulders and long legs.

The dim motion-sensor lights in the hallway barely illuminated his sharp jawline and straight nose, but even in the poor lighting, his features stood out.

The cold air of early winter clung to him, mingled with a faint scent of cedar, crisp and clean.

He looked down at me with those penetrating eyes, his gaze fixed on my flour-dusted face. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

My brain froze for three full seconds before I finally matched the face in front of me to the ID photo Rachel had complained about a thousand times on her phone.

It was Christopher, Rachel's older brother.

The legendary architect was known for being cold, reserved, and completely uninterested in women.

What was he doing here?

The question slipped out before I could stop myself. "Are you delivering food now?"

The corner of Christopher's mouth twitched slightly.

Those deep-set eyes studied me as if they could see straight through to my thoughts. After a long pause, he spoke in a low voice that carried a hint of roughness.

He asked, "Didn't you ask me to come?"

I stared at him blankly.

When did I ask him to come?

Then it hit me. The message I had just sent to Rachel.

[Tell your brother I'm sleeping with you tonight. I'll buy the snacks.]

Heat flooded through my entire body and rushed straight to my head.

Oh god.

I had meant to say "tell your brother" that Rachel and I were having a sleepover, so he wouldn't worry about his sister staying out all night.

But the way I had phrased it made it sound like I was inviting him to sleep with me.

And Rachel, my utterly useless friend, had replied with an enthusiastic string of affirmatives.

What was she even thinking?

I wanted to sink through the floor and disappear.

"Christopher, this is a huge misunderstanding," I stammered, the words tumbling out in a panic. "I meant for Rachel to come keep me company, not—"

He said nothing, just fixed me with an unreadable stare.

His silence made everything worse. The longer he stood there watching me, the more my heart raced.

"I just went through a breakup, and my brain is completely scrambled," I pleaded, pressing my palms together like I was begging for mercy. "Please don't take any of this seriously. I'll call Rachel right now and tell her to come over."

I moved to close the door, but his hand shot out and pressed against it. His strength was undeniable. The door didn't budge an inch.

He stepped forward, and his tall frame blocked out the hallway light. The sheer presence of him carried an authority I couldn't ignore.

"You already ordered food?" he asked.

"What?" I blinked at him, completely lost.

"I can smell barbecue." He nodded past me toward the stairwell, where another delivery driver stood holding two large bags of food.

I realized the delivery had arrived faster than I'd expected.

"Oh, right," I said awkwardly, nodding like an idiot.

"Then we shouldn't let it go to waste." His tone stayed perfectly even and controlled. "I haven't eaten dinner yet."

Before I could process what was happening, he stepped past me into the apartment and took both bags from the delivery driver. His movements were smooth and natural, as if he were walking into his own home.

I stood frozen in the doorway, completely stunned.

This wasn't how this was supposed to go.

By all logic, he should have found my behavior inappropriate and left immediately.

So why had he just walked straight into my apartment like he owned the place?

I watched Christopher slip into the spare slippers I kept by the door for my dad and walk straight to the living room, where he set the bags down on the table.

"What are you waiting for?" He glanced back at me. "Not hungry?"

I shut the door mechanically and shuffled toward him.

Barbeque, pizza, and fried chicken covered the coffee table, filling the room with their rich aroma.

Christopher, the man who belonged on business magazine covers, sat on my worn couch and removed his coat with practiced ease.

His crisp white dress shirt came into view as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing toned forearms and an expensive watch.

He picked up a chicken wing and took a bite with surprising elegance, and somehow the scene felt both surreal and natural.

I swallowed hard and carefully sat down on the carpet across from him.

I said, "Christopher, I'm really sorry, I—"

"Just eat." He cut me off and pushed a container of ribs toward me. "It won't taste as good cold."

The ribs glistened with sauce, and I recognized them immediately from my favorite place. My stomach growled.

Whatever. Food first.

The breakup was bad enough without starving myself too.

I grabbed a rib and bit into it. The savory, tangy flavor hit my tongue immediately, and tears welled up again at the worst possible moment.

The shock and pain from earlier came flooding back, triggered by the comfort of food, and I couldn't hold it in anymore.

I stuffed food into my mouth while tears streamed down my face, eating quickly and desperately.

Christopher didn't say anything, watching me in silence.

He didn't try to talk me out of it or offer empty comfort.

When I reached for my third beer, he took it from my hand and replaced it with a glass of warm milk.

"Stop," he said quietly. "You'll make yourself sick."

I looked at him, and the tears came harder.

"What gives him the right?" I finally broke down, my voice cracking. "I suggested we start talking online. He asked me to meet in person. And now he just decides we're not compatible? He couldn't even explain why.

"Just because that girl's prettier than me? Because she has more money?

"What's wrong with me? I work hard every day. I can cook. I bake. I'm not ugly."

The more I talked, the worse I felt. A year of effort and hope came pouring out with every word.

Christopher pushed the tissue box closer to me.

"He doesn't deserve you," he said.

His voice was quiet, but there was no hesitation in it.

I froze and looked up at him.

Under the light, his profile was sharp and clear. His eyes held no trace of empty politeness.

Something shifted inside me then, something soft and unguarded.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the weight of his gaze.

Before I could stop myself, I asked, "Then who does?"

Christopher stopped chewing mid-bite and lifted his eyes to meet mine.

His gaze was heavy and unreadable, holding emotions I couldn't decipher.

After a long moment, he set down his food and leaned forward slightly.

He said, "Me."