Zaria was cross-legged on the chaise in her living room, her face painted in cool blues by the glow of her laptop. The Manhattan skyline outside her window was bathed in late-night rain. The city hum was muted, as if even New York was leaning in to listen to what she was considering.
Her fingers rested above the keyboard.
She'd been telling herself for two days she wasn't going to do it—that she had the self-control not to. But self-control had been eroding, grain by grain, since Ethan Grant came back into her life.
She typed his name anyway.
ETHAN GRANT.
The search bar blinked at her like a guilty conspirator before exploding into results. There he was—photo upon photo, article upon article. The guy who'd ridden beside her on that tense drive out to the Hamptons, whose eyes had seeme
