CHAPTER1
Sometimes you wonder if the great Oz enjoys totally disrupting life.
When Aisling O’Byrne got the call, she’d been on her way to her last presentation at a small bookstore in Hollywood, running on caffeine, ambition, and the sheer force of dreams that just wouldn’t quit.
Patrick Wright—the Patrick Wright—was finally going to meet with their firm.
After months of chasing him across time zones, trade shows, and inboxes, the bestselling thriller author and his agent were in New York, and Aisling had snagged the meeting. If they landed him, it wouldn’t just change the trajectory of the small indie publishing house she worked for—it could launchherinto the editorial career she actually wanted. No more playing salesgirl with a smile and a suitcase full of Author Reader’s Copies. She could finally be the oneacquiringbooks instead of justpeddlingthem.
Racing to the airport, she’d called Michael and Samantha and told them to be prepared. Patrick Wright would be meeting with them this very morning. She hadn't slept on the plane. Instead, she’d spent five hours constructing the perfect pitch and three more mentally practicing how tonotfangirl when she met him. Her feet ached from sprinting through LAX in heels. Her nerves were fried, but her heart was thundering with the kind of excitement that made her feelalive.
She couldn’t wait to see Michael.
He hadn’t answered when she’d called from the airport last night, but he’d sounded off earlier that day—distracted, maybe a little drunk—but thrilled, nonetheless. They both worked at the same company. This meeting could mean apromotionfor him too. Their lives—the one they’d planned—could finally begin. Wedding. New apartment. A lifetime of commitment. The works.
She smiled as the cab rolled to a stop in front of his building. The New York skyline blinked overhead, busy and buzzing like always. Still, a small part of her—tucked behind the exhaustion and nerves—longed for a place that didn’t run 24/7. A quieter life. One that gave her room to breathe.
One she could build with the man she loved.
She tipped the cabbie, grabbed her suitcase, and nodded to the doorman, who opened the door for her. “Good morning, James.”
“Good morning, Miss O’Byrne.”
As she walked through the lobby, she knew this was not the apartment building she wanted to live in. She and Michael hadn’t lived together yet, but it was only a matter of time. She had a key, a drawer, a toothbrush, and dreams.
And in a few hours, they’d both be sitting in front of Patrick Wright, pitching a future that would skyrocket their careers.
She took the elevator up to his floor, heart fluttering like the inside of a new hardcover. The building smelled like fresh paint and overpriced rent. Her reflection in the mirrored doors looked a little wild but determined—red curly hair in a sleep-deprived bun, tired green eyes, lipstick applied with the precision of someone who'd done it in a cab.
This was the start of everything.
She let herself in with her spare key, already planning to shower, change, and wow the author of the decade. Today was a special kind of day, and she wanted to look her best.
But the second the door opened, her steps faltered.
The apartment was a disaster zone. Takeout containers scattered. The reek of tequila soaked the air like cheap cologne. Clothes on the floor. Women’s panties. A bra. His underwear.
No. Just no.
Her stomach twisted. Michael wasn’t a neat freak, but this had the makings of a liquor-soaked affair. What were women’s clothes doing on the floor? Her stomach clenched, her heart beating wildly.
He must still be asleep.
She walked toward the bedroom, suitcase bumping quietly behind her, still holding on to the sliver of hope that maybe—just maybe—he'd had a rough night and just needed a coffee and a shower.
What she got instead?
Two naked bodies. One bed.
Her fiancé.
Her boss.
Aisling froze. She swallowed a sob.
Her brain tried to make sense of it—Michael, sprawled on his side, arm slung across Samantha Lee, her boss, who was snoring softly with her perfectly blow-dried hair splayed onAisling’s pillow.
Two empty tequila bottles.
