Charlotte Islipped into Alex’s office clutching the folder to my chest like it contained state secrets. Thankfully, my planning had paid off and he wasn’t at his desk, so I made my move. I slid the papers out of the folder and positioned them just beneath a stack of contracts he would definitely sign without reading. Anything that ended up on this desk had already been vetted by his secretary, which meant that if it made it that far, it was as good as approved. Today’s cause was a STEM camp over Thanksgiving break for one of my girls. Alex would never notice. He would sign it, his finance team would process it, and boom, another scholarship for the camp was funded, another smile on a kid’s face. What my dearest brother didn’t know was that he had also funded at least three field trips this year, a small library renovation, and he’d single-handedly bought more than fifty thousand dollars’ worth of Girl Scout cookies. Every time I snuck one of these folders in here, I told myself it was good PR for the Westwoods. He would thank me if he ever found out, but he’d probably have a minor heart attack first. Still worth it. We’ve got good doctors. Everyone thought my life was all brunches and boutique openings. A whole lot of prancing around, as my brothers liked to call it, but in reality, I was busy. And proud of it. I was knee de ep in half a dozen foundations and programs around the city, most of them for school-aged and teen girls. Especially kids who’d lost one or both parents. When there was no one else in their lives to do it, I went to their middle school graduations. I volunteered for field trips. I took girls to the mall and bought them ice cream while we talked about periods, crushes, and how to stand up for themselves. It wasn’t glamorous, not in the way people imagined a Westwood’s life would be, but it was real. It filled a hollow space in me which had opened up when Mom had died. There had been no one to do those things with me. I’d navigated my periods by myself. I’d figured out discreet, surr eptitious ways of asking my brothers about boys when I’d had crushes. A nanny who’d been temping for us at one point had briefly taught me the difference between wearing clothes and styling them for my body as it had grown. Sometimes, when I was laughing with the girls or helping one of them pick out a prom dress, I forgot all about how alone I’d felt. For a little while, I got to fill the gaps in my own life for someone else. I got to be there for a girl in a time of need. That was how I lived out my passions. No one could complain about it because, naturally, a Westwood was expected to be in volved in charities. They simply didn’t know how de eply rooted I’d become in some of these organizations.
It was my not-so-secret secret. After making sure the sponsorship form wasn’t sticking out in any way that was suspicious, I slipped out of Alex’s office and nearly collided with a brick wall. Well, technically, with Nate, but all my brothers were tall and addicted to working out. He caught me by the shoulders before I could stumble back, his dark blond eyebrows raised. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite little criminal sneaking around the executive floor.” I pressed the folder I’d been carrying against my chest out of habit before realizing the evidence was already planted. “I’m not sneaking. I was dropping off something for Alex.” His mouth curved into that older-brother, I know you’re lying but I’m too entertained to stop you smirk. “Uh-huh. Let me guess, something to do with your Big Sister thing?” I sighed. “It’s not a thing. It’s a legitimate foundation with measurable outcomes and—” “—and a lot of forms you ke ep smuggling onto Alex’s desk.” He grinned. “Don’t give me that look. You’re terrible at being stealthy, Lottie.” I crossed my arms. “It’s for a good cause.” “I know.” He softened, that teasing glint in his blue eyes fading into something warmer. Nate had always been the bridge between me and the rest of the brothers. Less bossy than Alex, less chaotic than the twins. “Next time, just come to me, okay? I’ve got discretionary funds that don’t require you to risk your life in hostile corporate territory.” “Hostile corporate territory,” I r epeated, deadpan. “Alex’s office is not a war zone.” “Please.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “The man hasn’t sl ept in, what, three weeks? He growls when someone brings him decaf. I’ve seen the interns flinch when the elevator dings.” I laughed. “Fine. Next time I’ll come to you, but don’t tell Alex.” “Your secret is safe with me.” He squeezed my shoulder affectionately before heading down the hall. I took off in the opposite direction, impatiently jabbing the down button on the elevator panel when I reached it. A low ding rang out and the doors slid open, and I slipped inside with no one but Nate being any the wiser that I’d ever even been here. Relief trickled through me. I could probably just talk to Alex about all this, but he’d carry on about oversight, checking with finance, and all sorts of boring things that would only make it take longer than it needed to. W&S had always given generously to charity. The only thing I was doing was bypassing the red tape. Aunt CC simply slapped contracts down on Harlan’s desk, Sterling’s now, and told them to sign. I didn’t have that same kind of clout. When I finally left the offices, I felt like I could breathe again. I hurried down the block to the café where Stella and I always met for lunch, already unbuttoning the top of my blouse and aching to kick off my heels under the table. Stella breezed in five minutes after I did, bringing the scent of turpentine and victory with her. Her hair was a wild halo that told me she’d been painting again. Between her secret art classes and secretly attending pastry school at Kendall College, she did even more sneaking around than I did.
Needless to say, her parents didn’t approve either. Our backgrounds were eerily similar, but at least we had each other. “You will not believe what I’ve done,” she said, sliding into the seat across from me with a grin that instantly made me suspicious. “I think you’re going to hate it, but then love it.” “Oh, good,” I said dryly, then took a long, calming sip of my iced tea. “I’m glad things end well for me.” She giggled and flagged down the waiter with one hand while rummaging through her bag with the other. “You, my darling, are going on a date tomorrow morning.” I barked out a surprised laugh. “Excuse me?” “A blind date,” she corrected herself, beaming at me from across the table. “You’re meeting him at your favorite coffee shop. You’re welcome.” I stared at her, wondering if all the sneaking had finally made her lose touch with reality. “No. Absolutely not. I have plans.” “Really?” She propped her chin on her palm, her green eyes sparkling. “What plans?” I opened my mouth, realized I had nothing, and shut it again. “Plans to not go on a date.” Stella laughed loud enough that the couple at the next table looked over. “Lottie, come on. It’s been what, two years since your last date? Three?” “Two,” I muttered. “It was so terrible that I decided never to go on another one. He ordered for me. Fish for brunch. Then he droned on and on about how he was going to have his picture in People magazine one day. I still haven’t recovered.” “It’s time for redemption.” She finally fished her phone out of her purse and started scrolling furiously. “He’s perfect for you. Tall, outdoorsy, great smile. I swear, when you see his picture—” The screen went black and Stella groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. My battery died.” “Tends to happen when you’re too busy running around, ke eping every hobby you’ve got off your family’s radar. When was the last time you charged it?” “I can’t remember.” She sighed. “And swanning around at the country club isn’t a hobby I’d like to get into, and since that’s the only one my family approves of, I need to get creative. But don’t change the subject.” She tucked the dead phone away and gave me a smug look. “It’s fate, babe. You’re meeting your date tomorrow morning at ten. I already told him you’d be there.” “You what?” “Relax.” She leaned back in her chair, still beaming at me like she thought this was the best thing she had ever done. “Worst case scenario, you get free coffee and a funny story. Best case? It’s true love and you name your first child after me.” I sighed, stabbing a fork into my salad. “What if it’s a boy?” “Then you can make me your maid of honor at the wedding.” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “For the record, you’d be my maid of honor anyway, so you don’t have to go looking for guys for me to cement your position.” She pumped her eyebrows at me. “Someone has to. You’re not looking for a guy for yourself, so if I don’t do it, I’ll never be the maid of honor.”
“You’re not looking for a guy for yourself either.” “True.” She tapped her chin for a moment. “Maybe your guy has a friend. Or a brother. Ask him, would you?” “Only if he turns out to not be a serial killer.” I smiled sweetly, my head shaking until both of us dissolved into fits of laughter. I didn’t even want to know how Stella had come across this guy or how she’d convinced him to go on a blind date. My friend was as free-spirited as they came and just as persistent. All of which made me love her, but not everybody did. After promising her I would think about it, I asked about her art class and she spent the rest of lunch raving about all the things she was learning. I was happy to just listen, vicariously exploring my creative side through her. When I got home later that afternoon, the last thing I expected was to find Gregory sitting in our living room. He looked completely at ease, one arm slung casually over the back of the couch. His tailored navy jacket fit him like it had been sewn together directly around his body. My father was nowhere in sight, so it was just him, looking up at me with that dashing grin that could probably charm the frost off a snowman. When he saw me, he stood smoothly and spoke in a cultured voice that made me think of gray British skies and porcelain teacups. “Charlotte, how lovely to see you again.” “You too,” I said, shaking his hand. His palm was warm, but disappointingly, I didn’t feel that same giddiness I had when he’d kissed my hand before. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.” “Your father invited me,” he said easily. “He wanted to show me some of the art in your family’s collection. You have a beautiful home, by the way. It’s got so much character. It’s very American Gilded Age.” “Which I think means that it’s old,” I teased, and he laughed, st epping aside to let me sit. “You must be used to old buildings though, being from jolly old England and all. Where, uh, where exactly are you from?” “London,” he said, settling beside me. “It does mean that it’s old, but in that romantic way.” “Then I’ll take it as a compliment.” He chuckled. “It was meant to be one.” I turned to him, deciding that I might as well take this opportunity to get to the know the handsome... not prince. Viscount. Lord? I had no idea. “How are you liking Chicago so far?” I asked. “Do you miss home?” He shrugged. “London has its charm, of course, but nothing is quite like Chicago in summer. The lake. The skyline. The wind.” “The humidity,” I added, wrinkling my nose. “You must be loving that.” “Ah, yes.” He smiled faintly. “My hair doesn’t stand a chance.” I laughed. The guy’s hair was perfect in an effortless way. It looked better than mine, if I was being honest.
He looked into my eyes for a beat longer than was polite, his honey-hued irises bright and assessing. “How about you? What do you do with yourself all day, Charlotte Westwood?” The question caught me off guard. No one ever asked it quite like that. Most people assumed they already knew, or they just didn’t care. “I, uh, I volunteer,” I said, sitting up a little straighter. “With a few youth organizations in the city. I mentor girls, mostly middle and high schoolers, through a Big Sister program. We do fundraisers, events, even field trips sometimes.” He blinked. “Oh. Well, that’s adorable.” “Adorable?” I r epeated, arching a brow. “What I meant is that it’s sweet.” His mouth curved into a smile that made me wonder if he was teasing me or waiting for me to tell him I was kidding. When he seemed to realize I was serious, he cleared his throat. “Charity work suits you. I just assumed you were in volved in your family’s company.” “I’m not,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I’d realized they would. “Boardrooms and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.” Gregory chuckled. “Well, I suppose that’s more of a man’s world in any event.” A man’s world? Wow. Aurelia, Harrison’s wife, was absolutely killing it in that man’s world. Laney owned a booming company specializing in baby goods and services. Sadie’s foundation was growing by leaps and bounds. And hell, those were just my cousins’ wives. I knew a dozen other women I could throw in his face right then. The patriarchy might be very and alive in some places, but not in any of the circles I traveled. Not being in volved in W&S was my choice. Acquisitions bored the crap out of me. Before I could respond, my father’s voice echoed from the hall. “Gregory! Are you ready?” He stood up immediately, buttoning his jacket with a practiced flick of his wrist. “Always, sir.” When he turned back to me once he’d reached the door, the corners of his mouth softened. “We’ll have to finish this another time.” “Sure,” I said, forcing a polite smile. Seconds later, they were gone and the silence that followed pressed down on me, heavy and familiar. I sat back on the couch, staring at the spot where Gregory had been sitting. Typical. Invited when he needs a decoration, dismissed when I’m not needed. Dad hadn’t even realized I was home. Trying my best to take it in stride, I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over the calendar reminder Stella had created at lunch. Coffee with Tony. Tomorrow, 10:00 a. m. When she’d first mentioned this, I’d been dead set against actually going, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Especially if Tony turned out to be a normal guy for a change. Someone who didn’t talk about himself like he was reading from a résumé. Someone who might actually see me and not think I was a joke for volunteering.
Someone who would look at me and see Lottie, not Charlotte Westwood, and might actually like what he saw. That was all I wanted, for someone to look at me and want what I had to offer, Westwood fortune and name be damned.