by J. Kenner
The secret he kept from Skye about who he really was.
He was navigating rocky terrain, and all he could do was hope that he didn’t lose his footing.
Chapter Two
Present Day
“I … can’t believe he’s … doing … this to me.” Skye Porter concentrated on speaking slowly, tears close to the surface. She took the last swallow of her whiskey sour—because today called for something stronger than her usual wine—then met Hannah’s eyes. “Doesn’t he get it?”
“He loves you, Skye. You know that.”
Skye shook her head, emotion pooling in her gut. Disagreement. Displeasure. Something like that, anyway. She turned in her seat, glancing around the friendly, cozy bar where they often met after work. It was warm and inviting. A welcoming place. The perfect place to come on a day like today when her work had gone completely off the rails.
All her life, Skye had wanted to be a particular kind of appellate lawyer. The kind who dug deep into theory and precedent. Who wrote briefs that swayed judges and changed history. Important work where she could live in a library with her books and thoughts, letting another lawyer actually stand up and make the oral argument, because no way did Skye want to be in that spotlight.
It was her ideal job, a dream she’d worked toward since childhood. And for the last two years she’d been walking on a cloud because she’d been living that dream.
Today, with a single announcement, her father had twisted that dream into a nightmare.
Hannah leaned forward, then reached across the small two-top to put a consoling hand over Skye’s. She gave a little squeeze. “You know I’m right.”
Skye exhaled, reconciling herself to the truth. “About loving me? I guess.” Words never came easy, but they were downright stubborn when she was agitated. Breathe. She took a breath, then another before continuing. “But he should have asked.” More than that, he shouldn’t have needed to ask. He should have known that her answer would be no.
“It’s not about … love,” Skye continued. She concentrated on speaking slowly, using all the techniques she’d been taught over the years, but hating the inevitable stops and starts between her words. “It’s—it’s about … fixing me.”
“You’re not broken.” Hannah’s words lashed out at Skye, and she immediately wanted to hug her friend for being so damn loyal even as she wanted to chastise her for being a naive idiot.
Because no matter what her friends or therapists said, Skye was broken. She’d been broken since she was five. Her brain banged and bruised in the same accident that had killed her mother.
“He thinks…” She trailed off, waiting for Hannah to lift her head and look at Skye’s face. It was always easier for people to understand her gravel-laden voice and slow, muddy words if they were both watching and listening. “He thinks that if this group understands me, then everything is just fine. And that … will ease his guilt.”
A presentation to a conference room full of international big wigs. General counsel for major corporations. Government leaders. Entrepreneurs and philanthropists. All potential clients of the firm coming to a day-long symposium, and Tarlton Anderson Porter had signed her up to speak to the group.
Had her father lost his freaking mind?
“He’ll always feel guilty,” Hannah said gently. “It doesn’t matter that the truck blew through a red light. He was the one driving the car.”
Hannah was right, of course. Skye’s mother had died in that accident, and Skye had come close. She’d spent almost two months in the hospital. And despite her father’s fortune, no doctor could fix her.
And though her father had walked away from the accident with nothing more serious than a broken arm, Skye knew that he was as damaged as she was.
Before the accident, she’d been a chatterbox. Everyone said so. After—well, after, she hated the way she sounded. The way she couldn’t control how her mouth moved and couldn’t predict how the words would come out.
Traumatic brain injury. And it wasn’t the kind of thing that would ever completely heal.
Those sluggish and muddled words had become a part of her, and not a part she liked. She tried to breathe properly. To force the words to come slowly. But even with years of practice, it was hard. Most of the time, she sounded drunk, her speech slurred and her cadence off. And repeating things because people didn’t understand was her personal nightmare.
She knew she should be grateful that only her speech was impacted. But getting good grades was cold comfort, especially when both kids and adults would hear her speak and just assume she was below the line academically. Standing to present in front of the class had brought on sweats and shakes and only made her already thick speech that much worse. She’d had to prove herself over and over so many times that she’d been utterly exhausted—not to mention relieved—when she graduated.
She might be out of school now, but she was still self-conscious around everyone except her family and the co-workers she knew best.
Her father understood all that. He’d lived the daily drama with her. And yet here he was, throwing her out into the world. A world where people weren’t used to deciphering the cadence and slur of her speech.
“Just tell him no,” Hannah said gently.
Skye shook her head. The advice was great in theory, but total crap in practice. Tarlton Porter was one of the firm’s senior partners, the grandson of one of the founders, and the head of the Austin office of Porter, Jenson & Kaye. He was a man whose praise of a new attorney could push their career up a notch, and whose sidelong glance of displeasure had sent more than one young associate racing toward the restroom with a sour stomach churning with nerves. Such a common reaction, in fact, that all the restrooms were stocked with a mouthwash dispenser.
Just because he was her father didn’t make Skye immune to the Tarlton Effect. So there was no way she was walking into his office and telling her dad that she wanted him to assign someone else to present her paper at the symposium.
Even if she could ask him without nausea and weak knees, it would be career suicide. More than that, it would make for a very un-merry Christmas. Never mind that it was still summer. Tarlton Porter, Esq. knew how to hold a grudge.
She shook her head, wanting to cry. Like seriously, truly, honestly wanting to just break down in tears. A presentation to over a hundred big wigs from all over the globe. People with massive influence, who expected presentations to be both polished and understandable.
Well, they were in for a shock when she slid behind that microphone. She drew in a shaky breath. “I need a way out of this. But short of emergency … surgery or running away to Australia, there is no way.” She blinked back tears. “You know he won’t let me back out and … and I don’t want to disappoint him.” The tears flowed freely now. “But I will. You know … I will.”
She shuddered, and Hannah reached over and squeezed her hand again. “I really am sorry. But maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”
“It will.” Skye was certain of that. “And don’t tell me … you can understand me. That’s not the point.” She was suddenly aware of the way she was concentrating on her breathing. The effort required simply to try, often futilely, to keep her speech understandable. It was exhausting. And her dad thought she could present an entire paper?
“He thinks that if he just pushes the right buttons … then everything will be better. But this is me.”
“I think that’s the point, Skye. All your dad wants is for you to be you.”
Skye waved the words away. “Wasn’t traffic a bitch today?”
Hannah stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Is that your subtle cue that it’s time to change the subject?”
“It wasn’t meant … to be subtle at all.”
“Fine.” Hannah finished off her drink, then signaled to Tyree, the bar’s owner and a friend, for the check. “We’ll change the subject to Bart.”
Skye frowned. “What about him?” Bartholomew Greene w
as a friend from law school who was currently crashing at her place while his house was being remodeled.
“That’s my question,” Hannah said, a lascivious edge to her voice.
“We’re … just friends.” He was one of her best friends, actually. Someone who knew her secrets and had her back. But their connection had never been sexual or romantic. Which made him the perfect roommate.
“Uh-huh…”
“I’m serious,” Skye said, wishing she could make her voice sound more emphatic. “He’d tell you the same.”
“Fine.”
A waitress Skye had never seen before dropped the bill off at their table, and Hannah immediately reached for it.
Skye shook her head. “You listened to my pity party. I’ll pay.”
“Fair enough,” Hannah said, then pushed the bill toward Skye. “As for Bart, all I’m saying is that you haven’t dated since him.” She shot a quick glance toward the bulletin board that boasted dozens of candid shots of male customers alongside the twelve winners of the bar’s original Man of the Month contest. Once upon a time, his picture had been among the candid photos. At least until Skye had ripped it off in fury when she’d learned the truth.
“Two years and no sex,” Hannah chirped. “I’m just pointing that out.”
“Hannah, don’t.” Not a day went by that Skye didn’t think about Leo, the first man she’d loved. The only man she’d loved. “Please … don’t.” Her voice sounded even more slurred than usual, because her throat was thick with tears.
Across the table, Hannah’s shoulders fell. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I was—”
“It’s fine.” She concentrated on pulling out enough cash to leave on the table so that she had an excuse not to meet Hannah’s eyes. Then she pushed her chair back. “Ready?”
“You go on,” Hannah said. “I’m meeting Matthew here as soon as he finishes his last training session for the day.”
Skye nodded, pushing down the rising jealousy. The owner of an Austin-based chain of gyms, Matthew Herrington was Hannah’s husband, and after a crazy start with a fake engagement, now they were about as happy as a couple could be. Skye adored them both, but some days it was just plain hard being around them. Because more and more she feared that she’d never find that kind of love.
Not the kind that lasted, anyway.
She reached for her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and told Hannah she’d check in tomorrow. Then she gave Tyree a quick wave followed by a nod to Jenna, one of the owners who was hurrying toward the back office with a baby on her hip.
Other than her office, The Fix on Sixth was one of the few places where Skye didn’t feel awkward speaking because both the staff and the regulars had come to know her over the years. She smiled to herself as she walked toward the entrance, remembering Cheers, the classic TV show that she used to watch with her dad. The Fix on Sixth was definitely a place where everyone knew her name.
She was glancing around as she walked, waving at a few familiar faces, and not paying enough attention to where she was going. Which was why she almost barreled straight into the tall, dark-haired man with broad shoulders, the delicious scent of sandalwood soap, and the familiar, kissable mouth with parted lips now forming a startled oh.
“Skye?”
She froze. And for one glorious moment, joy spiraled through her.
Then reality came crashing back, and without even thinking, she lashed out and slapped Prince Stephan Leopold, heir to the crown of Avelle-am-see, hard across the face.
Chapter Three
Two Years Ago
Antitrust law was the worst. Or maybe it was just her professor who was the worst.
Either way, it didn’t matter. Because unless Skye Porter managed to wrap her head around his nonsensically meandering lectures, she was going to fail and ruin her straight-A average right as she was heading into her last year of law school. Which would be fine if she wanted to go straight into practicing. Her GPA would still be plenty high. But she wanted to clerk for a year on an appellate court, then return to work at Porter, Jenson & Kaye, the firm her great-grandfather had co-founded in New York over a century before. And appellate clerkships were incredibly competitive.
She sighed, the thick, blue-bound antitrust treatise sitting open in front of her on the Tarlton Law Library table. She scowled at it, then went back to taking notes. If the adjunct professor teaching the class couldn’t bother to organize his thoughts and actually teach, then she’d just have to huddle down with her casebook and a treatise and teach herself.
No matter what, she intended to ace this final. She drew a breath, flipped the page, and started taking more notes.
“Hey!”
Skye jumped a mile, then collapsed with a groan. “Hannah! You scared … me to death.”
“Sorry about that.” Her friend pulled out a chair and sat opposite Skye. She was older than Skye’s twenty-four years, with an athletic build and blond hair that framed her face and brushed her shoulders. They’d met when Hannah did a summer clerkship at Porter, Jenson & Kaye while Skye was working as a lowly file clerk. Despite the fact that Skye had barely been out of high school, they’d had lunch a few times and stayed in touch. Now Hannah had her own firm, and Skye could think of only one reason why she’d be back in these hallowed halls.
“What are you researching?” Most law firms had their own basic libraries and online database access, but for obscure case law or scholarly articles that weren’t easily found online, local attorneys often braved the parking situation and came to the University of Texas campus.
“No research,” Hannah said. “I’ve been mentoring some 2Ls in the mock trial program. I saw you, and figured it was fate.”
“Fate?”
“Absolutely. It’s Friday. We should go get a drink at The Fix.”
Skye cocked her head and stared down her friend. “We did that last night.” She tried not to sigh with the memory. Because last night, he had been there.
He was the cute guy that Skye had caught looking at her for most of last night. Except cute wasn’t the right word at all. For that matter, cute was an insult for this guy. He was magazine cover spectacular. Broad shoulders, a tight ass. Dark, thick hair with just a hint of wave to it. And his eyes...
Eyes so blue that she could see their color from all the way across the room. They were deep set and sexy, and every time his eyes caught hers, she felt hypnotized, and not in a bad way.
He had the face of a god, too, which made her want to keep looking. High cheekbones and an angular jaw line that inspired her to sketch him, and she didn’t even know how to draw. As for his lips, well, they looked positively kissable.
All in all, looking at him had been like eating a sumptuous meal. And every time she’d taken a bite, he was looking right back at her, devouring her with his eyes.
The whole night had been weirdly sensual, and she wasn’t sure if she was the only one who felt it, or if he did too. Either way, it was one of the sexier experiences in her life. And she couldn’t deny that the possibility of seeing him again intrigued her more than it should.
“Come on, Skye. Why not? Are you saying we can’t go two nights in a row?”
Skye shook off the memory. “I’m saying that Matthew must be out of town if you’re looking to hang with me on a Friday night.” Matthew and Hannah hadn’t been together that long, but Skye had a feeling they’d be married soon. They fit together perfectly. She sighed, wondering if she’d ever find a guy she connected to like that.
His image popped into her mind, and she chastised herself. The guy was cute, and she’d felt a tug, but the odds of her ever seeing him again were slim, so…
“— in Dallas. He’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”
Skye straightened, realizing she’d lost the thread of the conversation. “I’m sorry. What? Matthew’s in Dallas?”
Hannah nodded. “I could have gone with him, but I had a hearing this morning and the mock trial thing just now.” She sighed dramatically.
“I’m so damn proud of how fast his business is expanding, but he’s gone and now you’re making me spend the evening alone, wallowing with Oreos and bad television.”
“Can’t have that. I guess we can … go to The Fix, and you can wallow … with fried food and tempting libations.” And, bonus, maybe she really would see him again. A girl could hope.
She sighed as her mind conjured him … then caught the way Hannah was studying her. “What?”
“Nothing,” Hannah said, her voice rising with mock innocence. “Just thinking what you’re thinking.”
Skye shook her head. “You are so not reading my mind.”
“You mean you’re not thinking that he might be there again, and that he’s ridiculously cute, and this time, maybe you’ll work up the nerve to talk to him?”
Skye shook her head, her heart pounding so hard she knew better than to even try talking.
“Careful,” Hannah said. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your profile.”
Skye cocked her head, confused.
“Your nose is growing,” Hannah said, then pushed back from the table. “I’ll see you there at eight.” Then she wiggled her fingers, turned, and walked away without waiting for Skye to answer.
Chapter Four
The Uber dropped her off at the corner of Sixth and Congress, and Skye glanced around downtown Austin as she waited for the light to change. Her condo was only a few blocks away, and for a moment, she considered going straight home. She enjoyed The Fix—it was one of the few places in town where she didn’t feel completely self-conscious—but she really did need to study. She ought to text an apology to Hannah, tell her she’d stayed at school too late, and just go home.
But she didn’t.
She loved her condo, although technically it was her dad’s. An investment property he’d bought over a decade ago. Originally, she’d worked up the courage to share a house with some other students who’d been matched during first year orientation. But when her dad offered to let her have the condo rent-free, she’d jumped at the chance. Not only did her place have a gorgeous view of the river, but she was living alone, which meant she didn’t have to speak in front of strangers.
