Cal was unlike anyone she’d ever met. She couldn’t pigeonhole him, couldn’t put him in a box. Just when she thought she might have him figured out, he would reveal something new and wonderful about himself. And the sex was off-the-charts amazing. She couldn’t imagine letting another man touch her ever again, let alone make love to her. Monica wanted only Calum.

So where did that leave her? Monica should have opted for the tequila—maybe then her brain would stop dashing back and forth and the pain in her heart would dull to bearable levels.

In Evan’s bright aqua bedroom, she chose a pair of sea-green boxer shorts and a Ralph Lauren T-shirt from the dresser drawer. After grabbing a quick shower in his guest bathroom—Gucci towels, naturally—she shuffled back to the living room.

“Do you need another blanket?” Evan asked, carefully unfolding the zebra-print duvet.

“No, I’m good. Thanks, Ev.” He patted her arm as he headed to his bedroom. Monica climbed beneath the Egyptian cotton sheets. They weren’t as soft as the ones in Cal’s villa.

She pulled the silk duvet up to her chin and looked out over the Vegas skyline. Neon lights as far as she could see.

Monica stared at them until the sun came up.

* * *

Monica Campbell was naked—not a bloody stitch. She lay between his legs, her hair trailing over his hips. She smiled right before her mouth slid over him, taking the length of him deep in her throat. Heaven. Then she gazed up at him and started buzzing.

Cal pried one eye open, realized he’d been dreaming. Monica wasn’t here. She’d left last night, broken things off for good.

He fumbled around for his phone on the bedside table. “What is it, Jules?”

“He’s had a heart attack.” Her voice sounded tremulous.

Cal sat up, his heart still pounding from the dream. “What? Who?”

“Father. Mummy just called. I have to get back home immediately.”

Shit. “Are you still at Allie’s house?”

“Yeah. Will you go home with me, Cal?” She sniffed. “I need you.”

“Of course, but slow down. How serious is it?”

“I don’t know.” She cried in earnest now.

“Is Trevor around? Let me speak to him.”

“I’ll get him.”

“Jules? It’s going to be all right.” He hoped that was true. For her sake, for his stepmother’s. When Cal had failed to return Jules to L.A., his father had been positively livid. Cal wasn’t sure what kind of welcome he’d receive from his stepmother, either, but he’d stick by Jules’s side and see her through.

A moment later, Trevor’s cool voice said, “Terribly sorry about this, Cal. Is there anything you need? I could book you a private flight.”

“Yes, actually. Thanks for that. And Trev, if anyone asks, I’ll be back. Do you understand, mate? I’m not leaving for good.”

“I won’t get rid of the Mustang, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“It’s not. Get Jules to the airport, and I’ll meet her in less than an hour.”

Suddenly, he was very glad he’d spoken to Pixie the night before. If anything happened to his mum and they hadn’t made up, Cal would never forgive himself. Although he’d never have his father’s approval, none of that mattered now. His father might be dying, and Cal wanted to say good-bye.

He threw back the covers and nabbed the clothes littering the floor. Monica. He reached for the phone to call her, but remembered she never wanted to see him again. But no time for that now, he needed to get to Jules.

Four and a half hours and countless tissues later, Cal and Jules arrived at the hospital. His little sister was a mess, her eyes nearly swollen shut from crying so hard.

In the waiting room, his stepmother, Tara, sat in a corner. Jules ran to her, throwing her arms around her mum’s shoulders. Cal stopped in the doorway and stared at them. Unequipped to deal with this kind of thing, he never knew what to say.

As he walked toward them, he held his hand out to Tara and flung his arm around Jules’s shoulders. “How is he?”

His stepmother was a very quiet woman. The exact opposite of Pix. “He’s going to be all right. He’s had a mild heart attack and needs a pacemaker.”

Cal closed his eyes in relief. “That’s good news.”

“The doctor says if he doesn’t slow down, the next one could do him in.”

Not so good news. The old man would never slow down—it wasn’t in his nature.

Cal settled Jules in a chair, then he bent down in front of Tara and patted her knee. “How are you holding up?”

Wispy blond hair framed her face. Her skin looked pasty, and dark rings circled her red eyes. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for bringing Jules home.”

“You’re welcome.” He glanced between the two of them. Poor Jules looked pale, scared. “Tea. That’s what we all need.” He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and went hunting for some. Babcock’s cure-all, sans the brandy.

He found the cafeteria, bought three cups, and laced the weak brew with lots of sugar and milk. He carried them back to the waiting room. Cal felt completely useless. But maybe just being here, sitting next to Jules and holding her hand—maybe it helped.

He fought the urge to call Monica. She would know what to say, what to do in this type of situation. She was good at that. He needed that.

Monica Campbell hadn’t been out of his life for twenty-four hours, and he missed her so much he ached with it.

* * *

Monica shook hands with all the board members. Even Stanford. The meeting had gone well. Allie’s English garden would hold the event this year. Monica had a ton of work ahead of her, and she was glad. It would take her mind off of Cal.

She hadn’t stopped thinking about him since she’d left the villa the night before. Was leaving Cal the right thing to do? Because it felt wrong on every level.

Deena Adams sauntered over and nodded. “I owe you an apology. You’re not just here to rubber-stamp your sister’s decisions. Whatever help you need to pull this off, let me know.”

“Thanks, Deena.”

Monica gave Stella a thumbs-up as she walked to her office. Once she closed the door, she glanced over at the portrait of her mother. Those damned tears burned the backs of her eyes. She missed her mom so much. Before she’d gotten sick, Trisha had been the glue that held her family together. Allie did her best to fill the role, but it wasn’t the same.

Monica grabbed a tissue, dabbed her eyes, and had just sat down when Allie blew through the door.

“You get off on blindsiding me, don’t you? First Jules, now this.”

Monica shrugged. “Yeah, a little bit.”

“Hosting it in the garden is kind of brilliant. Congratulations, Sis. Come on.” Allie waved her arm. “I’m starving, and we need to hammer out the details. Might as well do both at the same time.”

Allie was being a good sport about all this, so Monica didn’t complain about her lack of appetite. She grabbed her purse and followed Allie out of the office. On the way out to the car, Monica donned her sunglasses. The morning sun seemed unusually bright. Or maybe her eyes were overly sensitive from all the crying.

“Everything all right?” Allie asked. “You aren’t gloating, and that worries me.”

“Yep. I’m fine.”

Allie stopped walking and turned to her. “I’m sorry that I made you feel incompetent. That was never my intention. You’re really good at this job.”

“Thanks. And I’m sorry I yelled at you. It’s just that you’re always so damn perfect. How am I supposed to live up to that?”

“I’ve never expected you to be perfect, Mon.”

“Actually, you do.” She resumed walking toward her car. “You always expected Brynn and me to follow your every order, to the letter.”

Allie finally moved. “Do I really act like I’m perfect?”

How to answer that? Cal would tell her not to lie. “Sometimes. You were the good daughter, and I was the bad one. We all get it.”

“You weren’t the bad one.” She hopped into Monica’s passenger seat.