The helicopter blades slowed to a stop on the rooftop helipad, downtown LA sprawling sharp and sunlit below. I stepped out, the insulated lunch bag heavy in my hand, wind whipping my hair across my face. Lorenzo waited at the edge of the pad, hands in his pockets, that wide, disarming smile already in place.
He closed the distance quickly and pulled me into a hug before I could brace myself. His arms felt solid, familiar, infuriating.
“Come on,” he murmured against my hair, lips brushing my temple. “I’ll show you around.”
His hand settled at my waist as he guided me toward the glass doors leading inside. I let him, because resisting here, thirty stories up with pilots and security watching, felt pointless.
Helene’s smug voice still echoed from breakfast. “He’ll love knowing his wife co
