Clara Morgan had been swamped since dawn, not even time for a sip of water. Her stomach ached dully—old damage from crash diets, worsened by a missed breakfast. That morning at the Imperial Hotel, she'd stood by as Sebastian Hartwell ate alone. No surprise—just his fucktoy, not worthy of a seat at his table.
Mia noticed her pallor. "You okay, Clara?"
"Just hungry, maybe. Stomach's acting up." Clara kept sorting Sebastian's travel plans, mind racing. Slave by day, bedwarmer by night. No overtime, no workers' comp—why the hell did I return that $1.4M?
Mia slid a pack of caramel cookies under the desk. Clara took one, but before she could bite—
A women rapped the desk. "Caught you snacking on company time, Ms. Morgan."
A stunning woman with chestnut curls and blood-red lips loomed over her, sunglasses pushed up on her head. Clara rolled her eyes. "Since when's that your problem?"
The woman yanked off her shades. "Oh, so you've grown a backbone, huh?!"
Mia gasped, hand flying to her mouth. "Vivian Sterling?!"
Clara shushed her. "My bestie. When'd you get back? And why here?"
Vivian tapped Clara's cheek with her shades. "Flew in ten hours ago. Came straight from the airport to see my girl."
"Your bestie is a movie star?!" Mia gaped. "Does she know Serena Vance hit you? She can avenge you!"
Vivian's eyes flared. "Serena fucking Vance laid hands on my girl?!"
As lunchtime hit, Clara dragged Vivian out. "Keep it down! Aren't you scared of Sebastian?"
"Not his employee. Why should I be?"
The two ducked into a bistro near the office. With Vivian's hit drama currently airing, they snagged a corner booth to avoid recognition. The moment menus were ordered, Vivian stabbed her fork toward Clara: "Your colleague said Serena clocked you—what the hell happened?"
Clara shrugged it off: "No big deal. She came looking for Mr. Hartwell. I said he was in a meeting, and she decked me for blocking her."
" That bitch! Guess I haven't stolen enough of her gigs." Vivian whipped out her phone. "I need to call my agent."
Clara grabbed her wrist: "Drop it. I'm done fighting her."
Vivian rolled her eyes so hard they nearly hit the back of her head, her expression screaming Seriously, you're letting this slide?.
Clara smiled. That was Vivian—dramatic, loyal, and fearless. They'd met in prep school: Vivian, the Sterling heiress fresh from abroad, had spotted Clara eating alone and marched over with a Valentine's chocolate. "You looked like a kicked puppy. I had to adopt you."
Thanks to Vivian, Clara's life had finally gained color—at least she'd found a real friend, one who'd stuck by her through the years.
Vivian had the tact of a sledgehammer, but Clara adored her bluntness.
"Viv, the Windsors called me back two days ago."
Vivian jerked her head up, fork frozen mid-air. "They after your dad's inheritance?"
Clara nodded. "Ethan wants me to get back with him."
"Is he mental? As if! Did you say yes?"
"Seriously? Do I look like an idiot? They treated me like dirt, and now they expect me to crawl back?"
Relief washed over Vivian at Clara's resolve. Right—Clara's too sharp for puppy love. "Eat up, then go sleep off your jet lag."
As Clara swept her hair into a ponytail, autumn's cool air seemed to thicken in the corner booth. The motion bared vivid love bites along her neck, stark against her pale skin.
CLATTER. Vivian's fork hit the table. "Clara… your neck."
Clara's hands flew to her hair, cheeks flaming.
"Who did that to you?"
Knowing she couldn't hide it, Clara pushed Vivian's plate aside and whispered, "Swear you won't freak out. Promise me you won't yell."
"Spill it."
"Mr. Hartwell and I… we slept together."
CRASH. Vivian toppled backward, chair legs screeching against the floor.