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I spent ten years with Albert Mooney. He said he didn't want children. And then, he turned up with one. By the time I was nearly past my chance to have a child at all, I'd become the punchline of every joke. So I did the only thing that made sense. I went straight to his sworn enemy—Gianni Leonard—and slid ten million dollars across the table. "Mr. Leonard," I said coolly, "I'd like to make a deal." The day it blew up online, Albert smashed his phone mid-call and came pounding on my door like a madman, eyes red, begging me to take him back. I didn't even bother looking at him. I was in Gianni's arms, lazily eating pomegranate seeds he'd peeled for me. Later, his lips brushed my ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You owe me a year. Tell me, how many times should I collect tonight?"