Did it mean I was happy with that decision? That I didn’t wish that there was a way I could take control of my fate and still save the company, without having to marry Derek? Of course. That was what I was trying to do, while pretending to be a good little girl who would do as told. When I’d started to get restless as the future, and my eventual marriage, loomed ever closer, I’d sneakily visited a lawyer two towns over.

Under client confidentiality, she broke the news, pity in her eyes, that the only other option was to convince my father and the board to file an amendment to the articles. To change the contract, and offer shares up for sale to the public. I did learn that the articles didn’t specifically spell out what the familial relationship had to be, so long as the prenup said he was entitled to keep the shares if I was the one who filed for divorce.

It did. I made sure of that.

And if I married him, I would be divorcing him as soon as possible.

None of the menfolk thought much of it because who’d think Lilly Hastings had the spine to disrupt a carefully laid out plan? I knew our fathers were hoping that Derek and I would have a little Derek Thornton the fourth, but they were doomed to disappointment. Having a baby was the furthest thing from my mind. Derek was a “Preppy Prick,” but if he managed to convince me to sleep with him and I got pregnant, I wouldn’t just yank his kid away. Luckily for me, Derek would likely be equally as apathetic about having sex with me. As Jackson pointed out, I didn’t have a cock.

As for me, well…

Derek wasn’t Jackson.

Groaning, I yanked the covers back and scowled at the clock. The red numbers told me I should have gotten up for work ten minutes ago, so I climbed out of bed and hurried to get ready. Operating on no sleep didn’t exactly motivate me to give a crap about how I looked, so I grabbed a pair of leggings and a loose-fitting gray shirt with a sequined tiger face on my way into the bathroom. As I brushed my teeth, I turned on the shower and tossed the oversize shirt I’d worn last night to the side. It wasn’t till I spit and rinsed that I saw it.

I had blood smeared on my thighs. And it wasn’t that time.

It was evidence that I did something just because it made me happy.

Swallowing hard, I gaped at the mirror. Other than the blood, I didn’t look any different. I didn’t have a sign on my forehead announcing I was no longer a virgin. I didn’t even feel different. But yet, at the same time, I did. I felt older. More knowledgeable. More…

Trapped.

Jackson was right. My immediate future was loveless, celibate, and bleak. Derek and I could barely have a civil conversation; how could we ever have a meaningful relationship? He would never sweep me off my feet and make me come so hard I saw stars. He would never make me scream his name and curl my toes into the mattress.

Before Derek, I’d only dated suitable young men who had my parents’ approval. They would never dream of sullying the Hastings daughter, because I was the good girl they’d marry, not the kind they’d sow their wild oats with. So I stayed a virgin, contenting myself with masturbating, late at night when there was never the possibility of being overheard. I didn’t know there could be more than that. If I’d known what it felt like to have a man driving himself deep into me, the delicious helplessness of having that same man hold me down with effortless strength, well, maybe I would have been a bad girl sooner.

Probably not.

Because it wouldn’t have been Jackson.

Shaking off my dour thoughts, I stepped into the shower and washed as quickly as possible. I was a little bit sore, and it smarted between my legs when I moved too fast, but otherwise, I was fine. Well, fine, minus the fact that I soon had to face the stepbrother I’d screwed last night. The one who refused to help me cheat on my fiancé, despite repeatedly referring to him as “Preppy Prick.”

I wish I could hate him for that.

After dressing, I threw my hair in a sloppy bun, grabbed my purse, and headed down the stairs. As soon as I hit the foyer, Jackson came out of the kitchen, a mug of coffee in one hand, a to-go cup in another. He wore a black T-shirt that hugged him in all the right places and a pair of dark blue jeans. He looked unfairly sexy.

Then again, if I ever thought he didn’t look sexy, I would clearly be on my deathbed.

We stared at one another, and the way he looked at me, as if he was remembering me naked, made me shift uncomfortably, experiencing a different kind of ache between my legs now. “I made you coffee,” he said, his tone even and cautious.

“Thank you,” I said, reaching out for it. Our fingers brushed, and my stomach tightened at the innocent caress. His jaw flexed, so I knew he felt it, too—the sexual tension that had been there between us since the first night in the bar. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He ducked his head. “I know, but I wanted to. Despite my actions last night, I want us to be friends, Lilly. I don’t want what happened between us to be something we can’t move on from. We did it, it was great, but now it’s over. And we go back to being friends…family…whatever you want to call it.”

I held on to the coffee tightly, allowing it to warm my hands, because his words doused whatever heat I was feeling. Not because they were cold or anything—it was actually very kind of him. But because I didn’t want to be his friend. I wanted more. I wanted him. And I couldn’t have him. “I’d like that, too. Very much.”

“Good.” He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Your car’s outside. I went and got it last night.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t even thought about that. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime.” He rocked back on his feet. “If you come home in time tonight, I’m going to make pizza for dinner. You don’t want to miss it.”

God, he was good at this.

He acted as if he’d already slotted me away in his “hit it, quit it” files. I couldn’t see any lingering desire or passion. It was as if he’d thrown a mental switch and no longer thought of me like that. It hurt more than it should have.

But I straightened my spine and forced a cool smile to my lips. If he could move on and act as if last night didn’t mean a thing to him, so could I. “Yeah, sure. That sounds wonderful. I love pizza.”

“I know. I remember.” We stared at one another, the silence hovering awkwardly. After a little bit, he shifted his feet. “Did you need something else?”

“N-no.” I opened the door. “I’ll see you late—oh, crap.”

Derek stood outside my door, keys in hand. He never, ever came to my house, so why now? Why this morning, after Jackson and I…crap.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Hey, I have a meeting at your dad’s office today about the merger, and thought I would stop by and introduce myself to your—what the hell?” Derek broke off, finally seeing Jackson, who stood behind me. His colorful facial rainbow had faded to pastels, and he clearly hadn’t been too drunk to remember whose fist painted it. “What’s he doing here?”

I glanced over my shoulder at Jackson, who glowered at Derek. As soon as he saw me looking, though, he smoothed his face into a mask of nothing before he stepped forward, hand extended. “I’m Jackson Worthington, Lilly’s stepbrother.”

“I’m Derek, her fiancé.”

I didn’t correct him, because as far as he knew, I was playing along. Willing to marry him. “Derek, Jackson. Jackson, Derek.”

Derek didn’t take his hand. “You punched me. That was you in the club.”

“Yeah, I guess we got off on the wrong foot.” Jackson smiled and withdrew his hand, still holding his coffee in a tight grip with the other. His mug had an army logo on it. “I saw someone go up to Lilly, and she seemed upset, so I intervened. I’m her stepbrother, after all. I’m sure you understand my…protectiveness, right?”