The Lie

Emzee:

It’s funny how some things can change…but others? They only ever stay the same.

And sometimes, something that looks exactly the same as it always has from the outside can turn out to be completely different on the inside.

Like when your favorite French fusion restaurant on the North Side suddenly revamps its entire menu out of nowhere (even though it was already literal perfection). Or when you find out your scary-tough—but financially indulgent—workaholic father is actually a shady-as-hell international criminal. Or when the modeling agency you do photography work for decides to wholly switch up the way they operate, thanks to the arrest and removal of said father/international criminal as CEO, yet the media still wants to paint the place as an evil sex trafficking empire because they have no idea what’s really going on behind closed doors.

You know. Just as an example.

The sign in the lobby was brand new, and so was our management team, but beyond that, the offices on the twenty-ninth floor looked basically the same. My brothers and I had stopped doing business under the name KZ Modeling over a year ago. Henceforth, we relaunched as Danica Rose Management, named after our late mother. Getting a new sign made was easy—everything else, everything on the inside, well, that was a lot harder.

Still, I liked the familiar comfort I felt when I walked through the lobby of the fancy high-rise we worked out of. The way it felt the same as it did when I was a kid.

I used to love visiting my father at work when I was younger. Everything was so exciting back then. Back when I was too little, too naïve, too sheltered to know the ugly truth behind the agency’s astronomical wealth and success.

It was still crazy to me how oblivious I had been to things that now seemed so utterly obvious. And it was hard not to be angry about all the secrets everyone had kept from me. Not just my father, but my two older brothers as well. They hadn’t taken part in the crimes, but they’d known about the whole thing long enough to join forces with the feds in order to take KZM down and get our dad thrown in jail. Meanwhile, I’d been left totally in the dark.

The ensuing trial had been lengthy, public, and very ugly. Stefan and Luka had both testified. After being found guilty on about a million felony charges, our dad was sentenced to life in prison with no possibility of parole, and Stefan took over as the new head of the agency and the family. It was still completely mind-blowing to me.

I didn’t know if I would ever really get over it.

As I headed across the lobby toward the sleek bank of elevators, I waved to Jorge, our head of security.

“Morning, Emzee!” he said, waving back. “You look ready to kick some culo today.”

He said that every day, about me kicking ass, and it always made me smile.

“You know I rock these shitkickers just to impress you,” I said, shaking a combat boot for emphasis.

“You tease,” he said. “I’m sure you have plenty of other men to impress.”

Ha. If only. No men. No boys, even. The only males in my life are my brothers, Stefan and Luka. Well…and Ford, I guess. But he’s definitely not impressed by me.

Technically, I had dressed up today, but not for Jorge. The truth was, the agency wasn’t the only thing undergoing a change. From budding professional photographer to part-owner of my family’s company, I knew I needed to start looking—and dressing—the part.

I still mostly wore black, but instead of jeans and artfully distressed T-shirts with a blazer or leather motorcycle jacket on top, I had added a few actual suits and skirts to my closet. I’d never give up my big black boots, though. They were me.

And yeah, I didn’t need to do much more than sit at a conference table today, but if the zombie apocalypse were to hit in the middle of a PowerPoint, you better believe I’d be ready for it. The only time I’d be caught in a pair of heels would have to be for a wedding (not mine, lol) or maybe a fancy date (which, ha. I wish.). Plus, they helped balance out my lack of height.

My suit was a perfectly tailored black St. John’s with a pencil skirt and a silk blouse underneath. My dark hair was pulled over my shoulder in a fishtail braid instead of hanging loose around my face, which made my gray eyes stand out, and I’d applied my signature winged eyeliner and a touch of nude gloss. Anything more dramatic, I saved for nights out.

Not that I’d had many of those lately.

It would have been easy to blame my perpetually on-the-prowl status on my hectic work schedule—and I was more focused than ever now that we all had something to prove—but the truth was, I’d never been the kind of girl that settled down long-term. I could casually date until I was blue in the face, but rarely did I reach the point of being in an actual “relationship.” Things always seemed to fall apart before then.

Probably for the best. Lord knows the media had devolved into a frenzy over the relationships of my older brothers. At least one of us Zoric children was happy to keep a low profile and stay out of the limelight.

The only exception was for my charity, See Yourself, which I’d founded to help former KZM models. I’d do just about anything to keep operations running. Including going out and getting attention.

The new clothes helped with that, too.

Still, I hated being noticed.

Growing up, I’d been told many times that I’d be a great asset to my father’s company if I decided to give modeling a try. I couldn’t do runway—I was too short for that—but, people suggested, I’d be great for print work. I was lucky to have inherited my mother’s hourglass figure, and my entire Serbian family had been blessed with good looks.

But what was beauty, anyway? I’d grown up around models, around photographers, and around all the people that flocked to them. Beauty was fleeting, and subjective.

It could be dangerous, too.

That was something I’d learned from my father, even though I hadn’t realized it at the time. I had simply never wanted to be stared at the way the KZ models were. Assessed. Admired. Objectified.

Shaking away my thoughts, I stepped into the elevator and jabbed the button that would take me up to the twenty-ninth floor. I checked my Shinola watch. Five minutes early. Excellent.

Stefan hadn’t said much in his email last night. Just that we needed to have a family meeting, stat. I twisted the strap of my bag nervously between my fingers. With everything that had happened to the business—to our family—in the past year or so, I’d gotten used to these meetings being full of bad news. It didn’t feel like today’s would be any different.

Though things weren’t all bad.

Ever since KZM had become Danica Rose, the atmosphere had changed. I came to work and saw smiling faces. People seemed more relaxed, no longer shrinking back every time my father stormed down the hallways. The models who had decided to stay with us (although technically, they signed new contracts with DRM) were happier, too.

And as for me and my brothers? For the first time, it felt like we were a real family. One that didn’t keep secrets.

I’d always looked up to my brothers, and I knew they loved me, but we’d been raised very differently. I was the baby. Coddled, sheltered, and, in so many words, a bit spoiled.

Stefan and Luka, on the other hand, were brought up in my father’s image, brought up to be a certain type of man. The type that was the head of a typical Eastern European family. The type that was like my father.

It created distance between us because their lives were so different than mine. Separate. I knew now that they’d been forced to do things they hated, that my father’s special attention—especially the type he bestowed on Stefan, his heir—came with painful consequences. It had nearly cost our family everything.

Thankfully, our father was out of the picture, and things were heading in the right direction. Both of my brothers had married amazing, genius, incredibly decent human beings, and Tori and Brooklyn had changed my brothers’ lives. And mine.

I’d wanted sisters my entire life, and with a few “I do”s, I got to have two.

Soon, they were both going to be mothers. I was going to be an aunt. Auntie Em.

I was beyond thrilled.

The elevator doors dinged open and I headed down the hallway with an extra bounce in my step, waving at our receptionist and a few agents, all who smiled and waved back at me. Knowing everything we’d gone through to get to this point, I felt a surge of pride.

No matter what Stefan had to say today, I knew I could hold on to that feeling.

Despite being a few minutes early, both Stefan and Luka were already waiting in the conference room when I swung the door open. Both of them looked tense. As expected.

“Morning,” I chirped, trying to lighten the mood. “Is that carafe full, or do I need to swing by the break room for some fresh coffee?”

“Damien just dropped it off, along with some pastries,” Luka said. “Help yourself.”

Gosh, it would’ve been nice to have an assistant of my own at my beck and call. Always ready with the piping hot coffee and donuts. When I popped open the pink box, I locked eyes romantically with the guava cheese pastry, which I then snatched up before Stefan could grab it. Then I took a huge bite and got comfortable in my chair, waiting for the verbal bomb to go off.

Stefan let out a long sigh.

“Whatever it is, I can handle it. Just spit it out,” I said. “Also it’s making me nervous that you’re both standing there looming over me. Can you two sit down?”

They dropped into chairs across from me, but the vibe stayed anxious.

A year ago, the sight of both of my brothers in a conference room, side by side, ready for business, would have been a real shocker. Stefan had always been devoted to the company, sometimes to his own detriment, but Luka? Luka wouldn’t have been caught dead doing anything resembling work when he could have been out banging models and getting drunk.

It was amazing how much they both had changed.

Now, Stefan wasn’t living at the office, working around my father as he tried to find a way to save the women who were being trafficked through our company. My oldest brother was still busy as all get out, but he was devoted to Tori and I knew he was over the moon about the newest little addition that would be joining the family soon.

And Luka, well. He had finally stopped looking for himself at the bottom of a liquor bottle. He’d become a completely different person since marrying Brooklyn. Thank God for that.

There were times I felt a slight twinge of jealousy, knowing they got to go home at the end of the day to a partner who loved them, while all I was going home to was Munchkin.

I loved my rescued French bulldog—seriously adored him—but it wasn’t quite the same.

Studying Stefan and Luka more closely, I realized that something else was off. Usually Tori and Brooklyn were present for these family meetings. Not today, apparently.

Stefan adjusted his tie, took a sip of coffee, and then cleared his throat.

“We have a problem,” he said. “A very big one.”

Even though I’d been expecting it, my heart still sank.

“Of course we do. What is it this time?” Luka asked, running a hand over his face. He suddenly looked as nerve-racked as I felt. We’d been through so much over the past year, and every time things started getting better, we were hit with some heinous new catastrophe.

“This…is much worse than anything we’ve dealt with before,” Stefan said. “I don’t even know how to say it.”

“If you could figure it out soon, it’d be much appreciated,” I said dryly. “I have a nail appointment at noon.”

Luka shot me an eye roll, which I knew I deserved, but you couldn’t blame me for trying to insert a little levity after hearing something so heavy and ominous.

“This is the thing. Despite dismantling KZM’s operations here in the US, the trafficking organization Dad was a part of is still active internationally,” Stefan said. “It’s thriving.”

“Okay…” Luka said. “And this affects us how?”

Stefan’s lips thinned into a hard line, and all of a sudden I thought I knew what was coming next. Dread curled low in my belly, and I pushed my pastry away, suddenly nauseated.

“The organization is not pleased that they’ve now lost one of their biggest outposts,” Stefan went on. “I’ve been contacted by the Bratva.”

Luka let out a long breath, and my jaw fell open. Even I knew who the Bratva were.

“The Russian mob?” I blurted. “Fuck. We’re dead.”

Stefan nodded. “We’ve cost them money with Danica Rose going legitimate, and they have now determined a dollar amount equivalent to what we owe them. Our debt, as they put it.”

“This is bullshit!” Luka exploded. “We don’t owe them a goddamn thing. We’re not like KZ. We don’t have to roll around in the muck with them anymore.”

“Unfortunately, that is not how they see it,” Stefan said.

He took out a piece of paper and wrote something on it.

“This is what they believe is owed to them,” he said before passing it to Luka.

“Jesus Christ.” Luka looked like he was going to be sick. “This can’t be real.”

He passed it to me and my eyes bugged out at the number.

It was impossible.

We’d worked so hard, as a family, to get this business into the clear, to drag it free from my father’s corrupt hands, and now this?

“We don’t have this kind of money,” I said. “And even if we did…we can’t just hand it over to them.”

“There must be something we can do,” Luka said.

Stefan took the piece of paper from me and tore it into pieces.

“This information does not leave the room we’re in,” he said. “There’s a reason that Tori and Brooklyn aren’t here. They don’t need to know anything about this. Got it?”

Luka and I nodded, even though I was barely paying attention. All I could think about was the money. That the Russian mob wanted. From us. The Bratva—the Brotherhood—was nothing to be fucked with. I knew the cruelty, the violence, the inhumanity they were capable of.

And I knew they wouldn’t hesitate to act if someone got in their way. Danica Rose Management was, apparently, in their way.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

Stefan said, “Look. I know this is…”

“Fucked,” I finished for him. “Totally, completely, irrevocably fucked.”

“Accurate. But the point is, we’ll figure it out,” he said, his expression softening a little.

I hated that so much of this fell on his shoulders. It didn’t seem fair.

With that sense of dread and uncertainty hovering around us, we all left the conference room. My brothers went back to their executive suites. I went for a long walk.

Outside in the fresh Chicago air, all I wanted to do was call my best friend, my oldest friend. All I wanted was to talk to Ford, to tell him what was going on. He was more than just my friend…he was my hero. In all the years I’d known him, he’d always been the one other person (besides my brothers) that I could depend on. He’d always been there for me, and would go out of his way to come to the rescue and fix whatever problem I had. I trusted him completely.

But I couldn’t trust him with this.

Not just because Stefan had made us promise to keep it secret. But because I knew that this was one thing that Ford couldn’t fix. Maybe nobody could.

Emzee:

Thankfully, what Ford couldn’t fix, champagne could. At least temporarily.

I snagged a glass of bubbly off a passing tray, wishing that I could have stayed home and taken a nice bubble bath instead of getting dressed up to celebrate a woman who didn’t even tolerate me, let alone like me.

But I hadn’t come here for the birthday girl.

I had come for her son. For Ford.

As usual, the Malone family had gone all out for their matriarch’s birthday. Ford’s mother never saw an extravagance that she didn’t immediately want for herself, and this party was no exception. It was black tie, of course, and the waiters were all gorgeous young men, wearing bespoke tuxedoes and carrying around equally expensive glasses of booze.

Even though fancy shindigs like this weren’t really my style, I’d accepted the invitation hoping it would at least be fun. Beyond the endless flow of snazzy alcohol, these parties were legendary for how completely ridiculous they could get. The Malones knew everyone in Chicago—everyone worth knowing, as they say—so when they wanted to celebrate, things had a tendency to get crazy. Plus, there were always good anecdotes in the making, like how last year’s soiree had ended in a million-dollar wager over a Connect Four game between the intoxicated CEOs of the city’s two biggest hospitals.

The paparazzi would be waiting outside in droves afterward, hoping to get a shot of some drunk socialite or a couple investment banker bros throwing fists on the sidewalk.

I could already tell tonight was going to be epic, and that was even if no one did anything outrageous. The dinner would be a sit-down affair, as nothing so vulgar as a “buffet” would be appropriate for one of the wealthiest families in Chicago, and no doubt we’d be served the priciest gourmet cuisine money could buy. Followed by, I prayed, equally prime desserts.

Along with the glasses of Dom, there were silver platters circulating, each one covered with tiny, perfect hors d’oeuvres. I passed on the escargots de Bourgogne (snails aren’t my fave, to be honest), but took full advantage of the latkes with caviar, brie en croute, and prosciutto-wrapped shrimp tartlets.

Like a glutton, I ate it all, down to the last crumb. I knew Ford’s mother probably wouldn’t touch a single morsel all night, and took perverse pleasure in knowing that she would probably hate the fact that I was enjoying her birthday food so much.

She didn’t want me there, judging by the way she was glaring from across the room. She’d never liked that Ford and I were friends. My family’s money was new, hers was old, and that was enough to make me trash in her eyes. On top of that, she was likely upset that Ford had brought me as his date tonight instead of his very, very longtime girlfriend, Claudia.

Or rather, his now ex-girlfriend.

I couldn’t say I was sad about the breakup. Even though Claudia and Ford had been together for years and their families had been pushing them to get married almost from day one, I’d never gotten along with Claudia. It was a feeling that was entirely mutual.

She didn’t like me because I was friends with Ford, and we had the kind of close friendship that someone like Claudia said was inappropriate between a man and woman. Not that she was jealous of me, or suspected any kind of infidelity. No, she made it perfectly clear that she didn’t consider me any kind of threat whatsoever…she just didn’t like that Ford spent so much time with me. That he and I shared more common interests than she and Ford did.

In my personal opinion, Claudia was a snobby, judgey bitch with no sense of humor.

Always had been.

I smoothed down my Givenchy gown. It was one of my favorite dresses, a sleek, form-fitting number with one long sleeve. The other sleeve was a simple strap that went across the bodice, then crisscrossed down the fabric in an edgy-artsy subtle design. And of course, my combat boots. Though the floor-length hem mostly covered them.

I also wore a gold bangle pushed up over my bare forearm and a pair of diamond briolette drop earrings that I’d had for years. Even still, I was probably the most modestly dressed woman in the room. The birthday girl, of course, was dripping in jewels, making sure to show every single one of her guests the chunky new diamond bracelet her husband had gifted her.

No doubt if Claudia had been in attendance, she would have been hanging all over Ford, dropping hints that she’d like a bracelet like that. Maybe even a ring to match. Wink, wink.

Ford and I hadn’t talked about it, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if that was one of the main reasons they broke up. I knew Claudia was intent on settling down, and had been especially pushy about them getting engaged ever since her best friend had gotten married last spring, but he’d been dragging his feet for a while.

When he told me they’d split, I’d practically jumped for joy. Then I’d felt guilty. Because the real reason I’d been happy that he’d kicked Claudia to the curb had nothing to do with the fact that Claudia didn’t like me or that Claudia was a sanctimonious mean girl.

It was the fact that I was, and always had been, totally and completely in love with Ford.

He had no idea, of course.

We’d been friends since sophomore year in high school, and I’d developed my crush on him then, but I’d kept my feelings a secret. Continued to keep them a secret. Because I knew that Ford didn’t feel that way about me. He’d always dated girls like Claudia—old-money, tennis-playing, extroverted pretty girls who were just as comfortable riding their ponies at the country club as they were wearing ballgowns in the spotlight, who craved attention and popularity. I knew what he wanted, what he looked for in a woman, and it was not me.

We were just friends. We would always be just friends.

And honestly? That was enough for me. I wasn’t the arm candy type, anyway.

After finishing my second flute of champagne, I retrieved another glass from a passing tray. There was a classical quartet in the corner, and though it wasn’t really dancing music per se, I began swaying in time with the celloist.

I might have been a little tipsy. But I deserved it, didn’t I? After the day I’d had.

Drinking more bubbly, I wondered where Ford had wandered off to.

I’d really hoped the evening would be a distraction from the news I’d gotten from Stefan this afternoon, but the number written on the piece of paper that he’d torn up still haunted me. There was no way we’d be able to pay off the Bratva. Surely they knew this, and I couldn’t help worrying that they were already planning lots of horrible punishments, so they could make an example out of us to others in their network.

I shuddered at the thought.

It wasn’t that I thought Ford would have a solution, it was just that it was killing me to keep it from him. We were friends, we helped each other out. Just like I was helping him this evening by essentially being a shield against his family’s relentless questions about Claudia.

His mom didn’t believe that it was over between them. According to Ford, she kept insisting that he was just looking to sow his wild oats before he finally settled down with Claudia. Despite the fact that he kept insisting just as stubbornly that they were done.

The thing was, I knew Ford’s mother. She never took no for an answer. And if she wanted Claudia and Ford back together, then she’d do everything in her considerable power to make it happen. Hence, my presence tonight. I was here to distract Mrs. Malone as best I could and keep the peace.

I wasn’t exactly sure how I was supposed to accomplish that, unless Ford actually meant for me to annoy his mother (something I could do in my sleep), rather than distract her. At the very least, I’d been eager to spend time with Ford, but my date kept disappearing into the crowd. I knew he was hiding from his family, but the party was decidedly dull without him by my side.

Setting off into the largely older crowd, I tried to mingle. Events like these were usually perfect for shoring up support for my own charity; it was best to get rich people to agree to things while they were drunk and then shame them into their continued generosity later. But this time, I couldn’t even muster the energy to shake down anyone for money.

Suddenly, I spotted an IG influencer who would be a fantastic fit for spreading the word about my charity. She was laughing and drinking and taking pictures of everything—especially herself. I knew I should cross the room and introduce myself. Still, my boots stayed put. I could barely muster the energy for a charming smile, let alone manage a coercive conversation.

Thankfully, that was when Ford chose to reappear.

I always needed a moment to collect myself when I saw him. Regardless of how long we’d known each other, he was just so unbelievably handsome with his mischievous smile, unruly chestnut brown hair, and liquid brown eyes. Plus those adorable deep dimples I was perpetually teasing him about, and that perfect angular jaw. Standing there in his tuxedo, he looked good enough to eat.

In all possible ways.

I sipped my champagne, feeling a flush come over me as my eyes raked over him from head to toe and then back up again. A girl could look, couldn’t she?

“Having fun?” Ford asked, taking a drink from a glass of something that looked way darker and stronger than champagne.

I nodded, even though it was a lie. I was exhausted, and as much as I appreciated the sight of a cleanly shaven Ford in a tux with his hair smoothed back, smelling of cedar-esque cologne, I would honestly rather be spending the evening watching Netflix at home with my best friend, in a well-worn shirt and soft, broken-in jeans. The ones that molded to his ass perfectly.

It was hard to say what part of his body I liked the most. Those broad shoulders were the best for leaning on, and his big, strong arms made for some amazing hugs when they were wrapped around you. I guess he was just all around flawless. He was the kind of guy who took pride in the way he looked. He didn’t spend all day at the gym, but he was athletic and strong.

Then again, I really loved those dimples. Maybe they were the best part of him. I always fought the desire to kiss them.

Aaand I was definitely a little drunk. These were the kinds of thoughts I allowed myself to entertain when I was alone in my bed at night with my trusty vibrator. My only lover, ever.

It was probably a little pathetic, being a virgin at twenty-three, but ever since I secretly gave my heart to Ford back in high school, I hadn’t been able to find anyone that even came close to living up to him and the depth of our relationship. Sure, I’d had a few orgasms with guys, and I loved a good blowjob, but I just wasn’t a casual sex kind of person. I was still stubbornly saving myself for someone I loved. Someone special. I didn’t care that I was being either childishly romantic or stupidly old-fashioned about it. It was my choice.

“Thanks again for coming,” Ford said, but he wasn’t looking at me as he spoke.

His eyes were scanning the crowd. I knew he was looking for his mom, doing his damnedest to avoid her attempts to get him and Claudia back together, but I still felt invisible.

He hadn’t even noticed that I’d been moody all evening—quiet and subdued and lacking my usual snarky sense of humor. It was something he’d normally remark on, but Ford was instead completely focused on himself and on hiding from his family.

Despite that, he seemed to be having a great time.

“Did you see the Bohlins?” he asked with a smirk. “They’re having a massive fight over by the ice sculpture.”

“Which one?” I asked, not really caring.

“The swan.” Ford put his hand on my shoulder—the bare one—and turned me in the direction of the quarreling couple.

I did my best not to shiver at his touch.

“One hundred bucks, Mr. B gets stabbed with the swan’s beak before the end of the evening. I think it’s something to do with the au pair.”

“Their British nanny?” Even though I was annoyed with him, I couldn’t help smiling.

“That’s the one. I’m going to get another drink,” Ford said.

His glass was somehow empty already, but so was mine.

“I’ll get us both a refill,” he said, plucking my glass from my fingers.

I didn’t need another drink and I really didn’t want Ford to abandon me again, but he was gone before I could stop him. Watching him get joyfully waylaid by some friends, I realized he might be gone for a long time. Well. I couldn’t really be mad at him. We weren’t here together on an actual date or anything, so there was no need for him to stay glued to my side.

But that didn’t mean I had to keep torturing myself like this.

No more, I told myself. You can’t keep being his second-string, doing him favors like this left and right. This is the last time.

After tonight, I would have a talk with him. I’d make it clear that we needed to have better boundaries in our friendship, so it involved less of me being constantly at his beck and call and more of a 50-50 thing. I wouldn’t keep running to him at the drop of a hat.

Suddenly, though, Ford was next to me again. He didn’t have anything in his hand, so something must have happened on his way to the bar. It didn’t take long to realize what that was.

His mother, trailed by two of his gossipy aunts and some family friends, was bee-lining straight for us.

“Shit,” he said under his breath, before turning on the charming smile I knew so well. “Mother,” he said smoothly as she approached. “Happy Birthday. You look gorgeous.”

“Happy Birthday, Mrs. Malone,” I chimed in.

She ignored me, leaning forward to allow Ford to bestow a kiss on either cheek.

“Goodness, Ford darling, where’s Claudia?” she asked, blinking innocently after making sure to give me a disapproving once-over.

Ford sighed. “Mom,” he said. “I’ve told you a hundred times, we broke up.”

“Did you?” she asked. “I must have forgotten.”

I held back an eye roll at the blatant lie.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Malone turned to her other family members. “Oh, to be young again,” she said. “Don’t you remember all the romantic theatrics we put our parents through?”

“It’s not theatrics,” Ford said.

“Well, of course you’d tell yourselves that, but it doesn’t mean it’s truly over.” His mother pouted, quite the feat for someone who’d had as much plastic surgery as her.

“Please, stop,” Ford said. “Claudia and I are finished. I’m over her and I’ve moved on with my life. I suggest you do the same.”

I felt Ford moving closer to me. This was where the protecting came in—if Mrs. Malone didn’t let up, it would be my job to make up an excuse and politely drag Ford away with me.

“Moved on?” Ford’s mother repeated, her eyes narrowing.

“That’s what I said,” he told her.

And then suddenly, his arm wrapped tight around my waist, and I was being pulled hard against his lean, muscular body.

“I’m with Emzee now.”