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Prologue

Greyson

What’s better than winning the lottery?

Hitting jackpot when you didn’t even realize you’d bought a ticket

And this woman— this Harley Davison— has jackpot written all over her

Thin yet strong athletic body A dipped-in waist I instinctively want to put enerous mauve-lipped smile that slays me Green eyes with a brand of aap-toothed teeth and every golden wave on her head seem to beam

I rip aze off her, force it onto her hands Lithe rosy-skinned, set, as if small birds that want to be cooped up in this over-air-conditioned office as little as I do

“I’m Harley,” she says

Her voice has an exotic flare to it—Australia? New Zealand?—one that her clothing—red-gold brocade blazer, black on black pinstriped pants— only accentuates

Just another quick glance and a whole nuh my head

Focus, Greyson

But it’s too late Another smile of hers and I’m done for

Why she’s here, what I’, what this interaction is even for, all falls away

I have to grip the arlances for me, who knoould happen

All I know is that I, impossibly, unaccountably, incredibly, with an intensity that’s almost painful—want her

Chapter 1

Greyson

One Day Earlier