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Irving Prep, New York City. October 4, 2012.
Her heels click ominously on the marble, an echoing reminder that she’s alone. The elite prep school is almost eerily empty—something that would bother her more, if she hadn’t expected it.
The budget meeting was open to the student body and their parents. But with so many parents making large donations to keep their kids out of trouble, no one paid much attention to the budget. She wouldn’t have attended if Uncle Mikie hadn’t called the night before and requested she’d go. Even then, she would have skipped it, if anyone else had asked. But it came from Mikie and he didn’t make many requests.
Still, her head aches from listening to the arguments, and from two exams earlier in the day. She’s anxious for the quiet of her room, even if it means dealing with her mother.
The heels of her shoes—the only things she wears that deviate from Irving’s uniform—falter as the door pulls open before she can touch it. A dark haired young man grins at her, too pale, his eyes too blue to be the one she wants.
It is odd to be so disappointed while happy. She pushes aside intrusive thoughts of her cousin, and settles for a smile. “Rico. What are you doing?”
“Boss wants to see you. Unless you’re busy, princess.”
Emma wrinkles her nose at him, and he laughs. Thoughts of home and a warm bath vanish. Rico plucks her bag from her shoulder, and escorts her out of the school, down the stone staircase.
The city is alive, smelling of exhaust and wet cement, and the crisp scent of winter. She’s almost vibrating with impatience as Rico opens the door for her and she slides into the Bentley. He lands on the seat next to her, and wraps an over her shoulders. The driver gives them a quick startled look before he pulls into traffic.
Rico is chattering, mindless nonsense as she adjusts her skirt, smoothing it down. She stares out the window as they slip through the city streets.
“You do that too,” Rico says, his tone serious. It startles her into looking at him, her eyebrow raised. “Caleb watches the city. Like it’s his own private playground.”
A smile teases one corner of her lips, as deviant a grin as Seth ever gave. She shifts a bit on the seat, and his arm falls off the back to land heavy on her shoulders.
Rico jerks away like he’s been burned.
She’s gorgeous, and they can tease. Flirt. Buy her presents and show her around the city she knows better than breathing. Caleb finds it almost amusing, and lets them out of runs to entertain her. But not one of Caleb’s men will dare touch her. Being the favorite of the Morgan men, the only daughter, comes with more protection than she actually appreciates, most days.
Seth wouldn’t allow her to be with his division—the entire idea of training her on the streets would infuriate him.
They both know it—sometimes, she thinks that’s half Caleb’s motivations. Pissing off the brother who isn’t here to care.
The car comes to a gentle stop, and Emma takes a breath, steadying herself and pushing aside all thoughts of Seth. He isn’t here. The promise he made is empty because he isn’t here.
She shakes her head, and Rico gives her a quick look. “You ok, principessa?”
She doesn’t answer, just stares at him. Rico’s smiles are gone, all teasing vanishing now. He extends a hand, and she ignores it, slipping out of the car and tugging her skirt down before she strides into the little café.
He’s sitting in the corner booth, his back to the wall. There are a few discarded coffee cups in front of him—he’s been here a while, and his golden hair is tousled.
The bench across from him is empty, and she moves through the quiet café, past Caleb’s boys without comment, to slide in across from him.
Caleb Morgan flicks a lazy look over his cousin, and she meets it with a raised eyebrow. “Picking me up twice in three days, Caleb?”
“You want a coffee?” he asks, ignoring her jab.
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