KATHLEEN
The Maldives villa was a dream of white sand and turquoise water—and for the first time in a decade, Kathleen Palmer was *not* checking her email.
She stretched across the lounge chair, the sun warm on her bare skin, and watched Carl emerge from the ocean. Water sluiced off his shoulders, his swim trunks clinging to his hips.
*Her* billionaire. *Her* chaos. *Hers.*
He prowled toward her, dripping and predatory. "You're staring."
She smirked. "You're wet."
Carl braced his hands on either side of her chair, caging her in. "Problem?"
Kathleen hooked a finger in his waistband. "Depends. Are you here to negotiate?"
His growl vibrated against her lips. "I'm here to win."
Then his mouth was on hers, salt and heat and no mercy.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
Again.
And *again.*
Carl groaned. "Tell me you didn't—"
Kathleen kissed him harder. "It's off."
"Liar."
She sighed and grabbed it. **72 missed calls. 124 unread emails.**
Ava's latest text:
**EMERGENCY. Alina drew a family portrait for school. You're in it. WITH A WEDDING DRESS.**
Carl plucked the phone from her fingers and tossed it into the pool.
Kathleen gasped. "That was a prototype!"
He hauled her over his shoulder and headed for the villa. "Send me the bill."
---
CARL
Carl had never known peace like this.
Kathleen asleep in his arms, her hair fanned across his chest. No boardrooms. No bullets. Just the whisper of the waves and her steady breath.
His phone glowed on the nightstand.
One unread message:
**Unknown Number:** *You think it's over?*
Attached was a photo of Alina's school playground.
Carl's blood turned to ice.
Kathleen stirred. "Mmm. Time's it?"
He silenced the screen. "Early. Go back to sleep."
She traced his jaw. "You're thinking too loud."
Carl caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Just planning our next move."
*Lie.*
But some shadows were his to carry.
---
AVA
Ava Lopez was *not* babysitting.
She was *supervising a minor during a critical mission.*
Alina swung her legs at the kitchen island, coloring intently. "Aunt Ava, what color should Mommy's dress be?"
Ava choked on her vodka soda. "*What?*"
Alina held up the drawing: Carl in a tux, Kathleen in a white gown, and herself—in a *matching* dress.
"For the *wedding*," Alina said, as if it were obvious.
Ava's phone buzzed. The venture capitalist—*that infuriating, gorgeous bastard*—had replied to her email:
**Still avoiding me, Lopez?**
She slammed the laptop shut.
Alina grinned. "You're blushing."
"I'm *plotting.*"
The kid patted her arm. "It's okay. Love is scary."
Ava downed her drink.
*God help her.*