LONDON

 

 

 

After our yogurt dinner together, I couldn’t even look him in the eye anymore. 

I was ashamed. Striker was a good man, and my father handpicked him for me for some reason, and he was okay with it—it was too good to be true.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been awfully silent.” He sent me to the guestroom, opening the door for me. “Is the room okay?”

“I should check in at the suite if I want a 5-star treatment, Cade. You’ve been nothing but kind and hospitable to your unwanted guest.”

He smiled at me. “You’re not my guest anymore, Vanderford. You know that.”

I took a deep breath and...