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As we talk, I do my best not to feel jealous of my best friend. I tell myself, just like I did at the baby shower, that if all else fails, I can be the best auntie in the world for my friends’ and sisters’ kids.

“How are your sisters doing?” Poppy asks, as though she can read my mind and the faux-positive affirmations in there.

“Good, good, I’m pretty sure. We don’t get to talk as much as I want to, but I know they’re all so busy with their families and their careers.” I pause, play with my cup on the table, though it’s nearly empty now and the last dregs of latte inside are long cold. “Sometimes I…sometimes I think about moving back to Colorado. I came out here for school, then stayed for work, and I wonder if it would be easier for me to meet someone back home.”

Poppy has a thoughtful look on her face. “Well, you’re going back home for the holidays, aren’t you? Maybe that’s a chance for you to reconnect with a hometown boy. Have the Hallmark movie love story.”

Patrick flashes through my mind instantly, and I have to push the thought of him away. My best friend is right.

I’ll fly home, keep an open mind, and let this failed romance—hopefully—lead me into one that actually works out.

CHAPTER 29

PATRICK

For some reason, nobody is available to meet with me regarding mergers and acquisitions this close to the holiday. You’d think, for lawyers who make their living off of hostile takeovers, that this time of year would be perfect for them. A chance to catch people off guard, when they’re home with their families and not responding to emails or chats from their team.

I pace back and forth in my office—in the office, not at home. I’ve also not been able to find anyone who will come take down all the Christmas decorations on such short notice and this close to the holidays. The one man I did hire thought I meant after Christmas, so after a strongly worded phone call, I came to terms with the fact that my house would remain a tomb of the way things were before Finland.

All that to say that now I’m in my office, which is mercifully free from any decor. Beyond my door and the window leading into the main area is all the stuff Cami put up early on the very first day of December, but if I close the door and the blinds, I don’t have to look at it.

I can just be inside my office, with the neutral grays and the LED lights. The sun shines in over my shoulder a little too merrily, casting stripes of golden light on my desk, but I don’t get up to close the blinds. Instead, I stand still for a moment and feel the heat of it on my back. It’s strange, being back in Miami after a week spent in a winter wonderland.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see the particular shades of color in the sky during the northern lights. I can still taste the spice of hot chocolate on Cami’s lips.

But I can’t be thinking about that right now.

I need to focus on what I’m trying to do.

Which is to make sure this wasn’t all for nothing. Acquire Moreno Toys even if it kills me.

On a late-night call with one of my advisers yesterday, I impressed upon him how important it is to me that we get this company.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said, in a slightly shaking voice, “why is Moreno Toys so important to you? I think there are many other manufacturing companies we could look into with just as strong distribution networks. It doesn’t have to be the Morenos, if they’re putting up such a fight about you getting the company.”

Of course, I haven’t told anyone on the board or any of my financial advisers or strategists what really happened with the Morenos. I didn’t let them in on the fact that I lied to the entire family, or that I was willing to take on a fake fiancée if it meant acquiring the company.

The truth is that I don’t know why I want Moreno Toys so bad. Maybe it’s just that I hate losing. Maybe it’s the fact that I decided on it and don’t like feeling like there’s something I can’t do.

Or, just maybe, there’s a chance that I feel like owning a toy company might be the closest I ever come to having a family of my own.

The thought is errant and I push it out of my head the moment it arrives. It sounds like something Cami would say—something David or Chris would say. Just because they don’t have their eye on the prize doesn’t mean I have to start being sentimental. I don’t need to overanalyze things.

This is about making money. And I’m convinced Moreno Toys is going to make me the most money. So that’s what I’m pursuing.

I’m still pacing back and forth in my office, thinking about how I can find someone who’s available right now to help me build a plan of attack—maybe someone who doesn’t celebrate Christmas?—when my phone starts to ring.

A sense of triumph riots through me. The man from the firm is calling me back, deciding I’m too big of a client to lose just because he has a planned vacation.

I bring the phone to my ear without bothering to look at the caller ID.

And, for the second time in just a matter of weeks, my confidence leads me right into a situation I would much rather not be in.

“Patrick.”

It’s Chris Moreno on the other end of the line, and at just the sound of his voice, I instantly feel a paralyzing crush of guilt over the fact that I’ve been looking for a way to take his company. I hold the phone and stand very still in the middle of my office, wondering when the last time I felt something like this was.

My parents hardly ever paid attention to me, which meant that while I didn’t receive much praise, I was also never the subject of their disappointment, either. I’ve never really felt this responsibility toward a person, the understanding that I’ve done something to let them down.