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“You do your research,” I murmur.

“You already know that.” She smiles. “Now imagine this shoe is worth five of them.”

My brows fly up.

“Exactly,” she says. “And they’re not even my most expensive pair. Hence the reason my shoes are my babies.” She carefully slips them back into a bag and stows them into her suitcase. “And why they’d be first on the chopping block.” A shrug. “Because they’re still not as important as Josie or her nephew.”

Something weird is happening in my chest.

Something big.

Something that’s guaranteed to blow up in my face.

And maybe that’s why I don’t think before I say…

“Your father is a fucking idiot.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Violet

“Wh-why would you say that?” My voice is croaky and I hate that I stutter.

Hate that I give away how deep the wound is, how vulnerable the topic makes me feel.

But when I try to summon the ice, the armor, the wall between me and the rest of the world…

I can’t get it to lock into place.

Likely because Ace is coming over, crouching next to me, and taking my hands in his.

They’re bigger, rougher, could crush mine.

Yet, I have the distinct notion that he won’t hurt me. Ever.

“Because you’re fucking cool, Vi,” he says, “and that coolness didn’t just magically appear.”

A sliver of hurt slices through me and I try to pull free. “Right, I already know I can be cold,” I mutter as his fingers tighten, not releasing me.

Cool. Cold. I cling to it because it keeps me safe and⁠—

“That’s not the kind of cool I’m talking about, baby.”

I suck in a breath.

“You’re a survivor. You’re smart. You’re funny. You dress nice. You care about your employees and your clients—and you work hard for them.”

“Ace,” I whisper, unsure why he’s saying all this.

Unsure how I feel about it.

“You’re fast as fuck and competitive and have a killer right hook.” His lips twitch. “And you may try to bury it, that fire inside you—” He cups my jaw. “But it’s impossible to hide.”

“Ace,” I whisper again, “I don’t have fire.”

“You do.”

“I really don’t.”