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I quickly open the file. The first thing I see is a list of women who are candidates for fake dates.

Where is our new client, anyway? Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, since the process always follows the same pattern.

I glance at the file name and push open the door to the conference room. Two things happen at once. I greet Derek, who’s the first person I see. “Good morning, everyone. Hi, Derek. It’s been a while.” And my mind processes the name I read only a second ago: Evan Sinclair.

“Evan Sinclair.”

My heart is pounding so hard that the blood rushes to my head. My ears are ringing; my vision focuses and finally blurs. I search for him. I search for the man who pulled the rug out from under me eight years ago.

My first love. Many firsts. Above all, my first experience of absolute heartbreak. Evan left me utterly devastated.

The man who kicked me to the curb to follow his true love. A love so great that I can’t compete with it. Couldn’t. Can’t. Whatever. Screw him.

Eight years later, he somehow still appears the same. The short, dark brown hair, which appears shaved at the sides, the intense gray-blue eyes that still get under my skin even now. But with his simple black clothes and serious expression, he seems much older than he does in my memory. How could he not? We’re no longer twenty-year-old students, and the images on the billboards in Times Square show a completely different version of him. But I can still picture his muscular body . . .

Evan is now a client who has booked us—me—to polish his image back into that of a strong, straight hockey god. A hysterical sound escapes my lips. Pull yourself together, Parker. Theoretically, we could have run into each other every day. But that hasn’t happened since I moved here five years ago. Why today? Why here? Fuck. This is my job.

“Mr. Sinclair, it’s nice to have you here. You’ve already met Carly.” Please. I’m being completely professional.

“Parker,” he mutters, and my eyes widen. “I mean, Carly introduced you as Parker.”

I clench my jaw. Nice save, Mr. Hockey. His reflexes have always been impressive.

“We don’t have to be so formal,” he continues. “Evan.” He holds out his hand to me, and I eye it as if a monster from an alien movie was holding out its claws.

Still unable to say anything, I nod and take his hand. This warm, large, rough hand. The touch stirs memories within me that I’ve buried for such a long time.

Memories of tenderness, playful moments, and intimacy.

I jerk my arm back, and my thoughts halt like a record whose needle is being scraped across the surface.

We’re here to do business. Because exactly what I predicted a long time ago is happening, and I’m here to help.

If Evan doesn’t want to work with me, he’ll tell us.

“Okay. Evan. Let’s get started.” I force my gaze back to Derek. “You know the ropes by now.”

“What do you mean?” Evan asks, visibly irritated.

I glance back to Derek.

“Kid, this isn’t my first rodeo.” Derek sounds as arrogant and annoyed as he always does.

“Let’s sit.” Thankfully, everyone takes a seat right away. We need to get this show on the road. I have to be done and out of Evan’s reach. Being this close to him is unbearable. “Let’s all take a look at Carly’s presentation.” I talk and talk for dear life. “In similar cases, we offer various strategies. There are four different approaches.”

“Dammit, Parker, it’s the same thing every time. I don’t care about your four ways. The strategy is denial. Deny it for all you’re worth. And sue if you have to.”

Evan raises his hand. “Derek, wait. I want to hear the options.”

Immediately, my gaze is glued to him again. The promotional videos don’t do him justice. In real life, he is way hotter. Eight years older—twenty-eight—since I last saw him. More mature. Tougher. More tense. As if he’s on the verge of breaking apart at any second.

“Keep scrolling. Option one is coming up.”

Evan sits there stiff as a board. I’m not sure if he heard me.

“Since he’s not gay, there’s no coming out,” Derek calls out.

I want to laugh out loud and throw the tablet against the wall. No. Evan isn’t the first person in these rooms to lie through his teeth, and he won’t be the last. He’s nothing special. Even though I feel as if my heart is in his hand. Echoing in my chest while being crushed at the same time.