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  So it made sense that when Jon left Sofia that night, he headed straight to the boxing club to work it all out. The converted warehouse located blocks from the Design District was light years away from the District’s freshly painted glamour. The street was dark, pothole ridden and lined with small businesses so precarious they could fold at any time. It seemed that every other shop was holding a going-out-of-business sale. With no signs or markings to call attention to it, the club would have blended nicely with the neighborhood if not for the heavily guarded parking lot filled with sport cars and SUVs. Jon let himself in with a key card, changed in the locker room and headed out to the floor.

  Grunting. Slapping. Moaning. Shouts. A few regulars were going at it on the mat. A woman was attacking a heavy bag. An instructor was running a class in the back of the room. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, up! Good! Now eight more!” Jon slipped on his headphones and silenced his world. He grabbed a rope and started skipping at a slow pace then at whip speed.

  Sofia had to be the most gorgeous liar he’d ever met. He didn’t know what she was hiding, but he’d find out. You couldn’t succeed in his line of work without the ability to smell deceit. That so-called fiancé of hers...he was calling bullshit. She’d hesitated to mention him. Never once said “we” like his engaged friends did. That was slim evidence, but enough to open an investigation.

  A tall blond came to stand right in his field of vision—not the kind of blond that he went for. Andrew Fordham looked disheveled, his tie loose around his neck and his suit jacket crumpled in his hand. He pointed to Jon.

  “Lose the headphones. Meet you in the ring in five.”

  * * *

  To a newcomer, Jon and Andrew would not seem evenly matched. Slim and fair, Drew didn’t look like much of a threat, but he was lightning fast and landed his punches with accuracy. But Jon’s bulk didn’t ever slow him down. They danced, circling each other, falling into a rhythm.

  “Did you hear?” Drew asked.

  Jon ducked, narrowly avoiding his jab. “Hear what?”

  “They got Taylor Benson.”

  Jon had heard. He’d watched the news over breakfast yesterday. The Florida Department of Revenue had announced the arrest of a former pop star turned Miami Beach nightclub owner. Taylor Benson had allegedly failed to turn over to the state one hundred grand in sales taxes collected at his two thriving nightclubs. Drew would be prosecuting the case. Naturally, Jon congratulated his friend before taunting him.

  Drew struck, his glove skimming Jon’s chin. “Benson is going away for a long time.”

  Jon went in for the attack, but Drew adroitly ducked away.

  “Sounds personal,” Jon said. “Let me guess. You got kicked out of one of his clubs?”

  “I’m wiping out corruption.” Drew circled him. “What have you done this week?”

  “I met a woman.” Jon hadn’t realized it but he’d stopped moving. He stepped back and leaned against the ropes. “I really like her.”

  “Damn it! You always win!” Drew cried. “Who is she? Anyone I know?”

  “I can’t disclose that information. Not yet.”

  Drew let out a low whistle. “That’s serious!”

  From the floor, one of the trainers shouted at them. “Hey! If you two sweethearts don’t get moving, I’m gonna ask you to step out of the ring.”

  “You heard the man,” Drew said. “Get off your ass. Let’s go.”

  Jon pushed off the ropes and landed his first punch.

  Chapter 7

  “Check us out.” Brie pointed to the reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. “We look like a ’90s girl band.”

  Sofia was sandwiched between Leila and Brie at the sinks. In their bright lipstick and little black dresses, they matched. Leila was the pretty one, Brie the wild one and Sofia the surly one who wouldn’t make it as a solo artist.

  It was a Thursday night and they were gathered at the penthouse of a Brickell high-rise to preview an ambitious new Miami real-estate project. The condominium tower, slated to go up in a few months, would transform the skyline and rival any building in Dubai. It would feature a helipad, a marina and five floors dedicated to amenities. Nick and Leila had come to scope out the competition. Brie had come for the free drinks. And Sofia had come to avoid another night watching TV alone at Miguel’s place, although her stated objective was to recruit new clients.

  The trio parted ways outside the ladies’ room with plans to touch base in one hour or so. Leila joined Nick. Sofia was on her way back to a secluded spot on the balcony where she’d spent most of the evening “admiring the view” when Brie grabbed her by the elbow. She shoved a glass of champagne in her hand. For the first time in Sofia’s life, the sight of sparkling bubbles made her sad. Even this event, as glamorous as it was, so glamorous she really should be taking notes (an oyster bar, a vodka tasting station...), had left her indifferent.

  “Take a sip!” Brie ordered. “You’ve been lost in your feelings all night. You need to loosen up.”

  Brie wasn’t so much Leila’s assistant as much as the bossy little sister Leila had never had. A pretty girl with deep brown skin, hair that changed seasonally—presently cropped short and dyed blue—and a vivacious spirit, she was always the life of the party. Her birthday was no exception. The fact that her birthday was long over made no difference. They’d celebrated two nights ago at a Heat game, but Brie had claimed the entire week as her own.

  Sofia offered the standard excuse. “It’s nothing. I’ve got a headache.”

  It wasn’t a lie. Since her life had turned into performance art, Sofia wasn’t her best. She was moody, sluggish, bloated and prone to migraines. To make matters worse, there was no one to blame but herself. She’d cooked up the scheme that now consumed her. There were a million ways she could have ended things with Franco, and she’d chosen the single most complicated one. It was against her nature to lie and plot like this. She was a sharp shooter, direct and honest to a fault. The surprising end of her engagement had drawn out a side of her she did not like.

  “This place is crawling with millionaires,” Brie said. “You should be doing your thing.”

  Lately, her thing was to curl up on a couch after work with an assortment of snacks. And since she was on the topic of snacks, Sofia eyed the sushi station with some longing.

  Brie nudged her. “That looks delicious.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Not the food,” Brie said.

  Sofia followed Brie’s gaze out to the center of the room. Jon.

  What was he doing here?

  She must have uttered the question out loud because Brie answered. “He’s our client. We invited him.”

  Jon was studying the artist renderings of the future building. A saleswoman was working him over. Sofia had it memorized: 10 percent down, 10 percent at groundbreaking, etc. She couldn’t believe he’d consider buying a soulless condo in a glass tower all because it had a helipad. With the cheaper units priced in the high nine hundreds, Sofia couldn’t justify the expense. What was Leila thinking? Her job was to shield her client from bad choices, not lead him to them.

  Jon looked up. They locked eyes. Could he feel her judging him? Sofia took a sip of champagne to wet her throat. As he approached, her cheeks grew hot. This was the reason—the only reason—she’d resolved to avoid him. The physical reaction that he provoked and that she, for some reason, couldn’t hide. She looked down at her hand to make sure she was wearing her ring, knowing full well the little diamond solitaire couldn’t help. It wasn’t kryptonite.

  “Help,” Jon said. “I need cover. Every salesperson here is out to get me.”

  “They’re targeting young hot professionals,” Brie said. “That’s you.”

  Brie was beaming and Sofia envied her freedom to flirt and tease. Sofia envied her freedom, period.

  “
I think you know Sofia Silva,” Brie said.

  “I think so, too,” Jon said.

  From across the room, Leila gestured for Brie to join her. Brie groaned and promised to be back soon. Once Sofia was alone with Jon, he leaned closer and whispered, “Can I tell you a secret?”

  She nodded, her temperature rising to an alarming degree.

  “I’m starving and I’ve got to eat. Oysters are not going to cut it.”

  Sofia laughed, headache and moodiness gone. “There’s a sushi station behind you.”

  Jon glanced over his shoulder and let out a primal moan of satisfaction. “Should I get us something or a whole lot of things?”

  “I already ate.”

  “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

  A few minutes later, when she was staring at a gorgeous and colorful sashimi platter, she wondered how he knew all the things she liked. She led him to her spot on the terrace where he could sit and eat without balancing a plate on his lap. If it offered them a secluded spot to talk, well, so be it. When he handed her a pair of chopsticks, she reached for it without hesitation and stuffed a rosy piece of salmon in her mouth.

  The party chatter swirled around them and a local hotshot DJ had started a set. Then Jon spoke and all that noise faded.

  “What’s your fiancé up to on a random Thursday night?” he asked.

  It wasn’t a trick question, but Sofia had trouble with it anyway. She had no idea how Franco spent his leisure time now that they lived apart. “This is a girls’ night thing. I’m here with Brie and Leila.”

  “Except Leila is here with Nick.”

  “Well...it’s also a work thing.”

  “Something’s up with this fiancé,” Jon said. “I’m starting to think he doesn’t exist.”

  “Why would I invent a fiancé?” Sofia asked.

  Jon drew his brows as if the question required deep thought. “If you needed an alibi, he could provide one.”

  Sofia couldn’t get over how twisted his imagination was. She held up her left hand. “Here’s proof.”

  “Exhibit A,” he said, without even glancing at the ring.

  She reached for a piece of yellowtail tuna and changed the subject. “What did you make of the presentation? Will you be buying in? Is a million-dollar condo in your future?”

  He shook his head. “Not for me. With so much going on, how’d I sleep at night?”

  How did he sleep at night? she wondered, now biting into a piece of fresh crab.

  “You haven’t eaten,” he observed.

  He was right. She’d had a granola bar for dinner. And now she realized that he hadn’t touched the food she’d been wolfing down.

  “Why wouldn’t you let me get you anything?” he asked.

  “Because,” Sofia said, “men offer food and women say they don’t want food. It’s the way it works.”

  “Like when you order a salad but really want a steak?” Jon asked.

  “Speaking of food,” Sofia said, “if you do buy a condo, no one will expect you to make breakfast. Those kitchens are so small.”

  He leaned closer. “What’s your obsession with breakfast?”

  “Me? I don’t even eat breakfast!” she protested. Although she understood why he would think that. “Just some coffee and toast most days.”

  “Is that another thing women say for no apparent reason?”

  She popped a blushing shrimp in her mouth and said nothing.

  “I’m not ruling out a house,” he said. “That first one Leila showed us was pretty good. It was worth the trouble of making breakfast, don’t you think?”

  “It was perfect.” The open house had gone well and Sofia knew it wouldn’t last very long on the market. She could see it now with its clean design and open airy rooms. She’d loved how the slate-gray hardscape of the yard had yielded to the soft blue waters of the pool. “And so sexy.”

  “It’s no bachelor pad, though,” he said. “It felt like a home. Know what I mean?”

  “A home for a couple just starting out,” Sofia said. “No kids and no plans beyond traveling Europe.”

  “Do they own a dog, this couple?”

  Sofia thought about it. A small and sturdy dog felt right. “Sure.”

  “Say ‘sexy’ again.”

  He looked at her, light brown eyes glowing...rum pouring into her open hands. Sofia forgot herself. She held Jon’s gaze, knowing full well what her eyes revealed.

  Brie found them. She came rushing over and plopped down on the seat between them. “There you are! I need cover from my bosses. They don’t know when to quit.”

  “They’re pros,” Jon said.

  “Well, I need a break,” Brie said. “And another drink.”

  “Come on,” Jon teased. “You’re young. You can handle it.”

  And so they carried on. But very soon Nick and Leila joined them, and all four talked around Sofia. They made plans to meet with Jon over the weekend to show him options beyond million-dollar properties in glass towers with helipads. Sofia rested her chopsticks and told herself she wasn’t jealous. Only moody, sluggish and bloated. Also, her headache had returned.

  Then it was time to go. “Come, Sofia,” Leila said. “If we don’t leave now, there’ll be a line at the valet.”

  Jon stood and thanked her for keeping him company. They exchanged a brief good-night hug. As she followed Leila toward the elevators, Sofia chanced a look over her shoulder. Jon was speaking to Brie, who’d stayed behind, his back to Sofia. With her very next step, Sofia toppled head first into a ditch of disappointment.

  Chapter 8

  A petite brunette was taking a selfie on the balcony overlooking the beach. Sofia had spotted her from the front door and knew she’d walked in on one of Miguel’s dates. He’d joined a service and made dating his part-time job. This was the third time in a week. She was tired of coming home to sideways glances and hushed promises that she wouldn’t “be in the way.” Sofia said hello, ducked into her room for her gym bag and left.

  After his divorce, Miguel had bought a condo on a private floor of a Sunny Isles Beach hotel. This way he enjoyed world-class amenities without having to leave home. More and more, Sofia relied on those same amenities. To avoid crashing her brother’s dates, she grabbed dinner at the restaurant off the lobby or worked out at the wellness center.

  Tonight, after a vigorous ballet barre class, she found herself alone in the sauna with a very handsy couple. Sofia took a seat on the teak bench and closed her eyes, trying to block out the lovers. Still, their whispered words and muffled laughter reached her. Her heart in knots, she walked out, changed into a bathing suit and headed to the pool.

  The infinity-edge pool located on a terrace overlooking the city was deserted. Sofia waded into the cool water until it reached her shoulders. This time when she closed her eyes, it wasn’t to block out the world but to take it in.

  Lovers.

  The water pushed and pulled at her, tugged her limbs and applied soft pressure to her belly. She hadn’t been touched in months. What she’d give to be kissed. She thought about Jon for the hundredth time that day. Two weeks had passed since she’d seen him. Was he a good kisser? He was so strong—how would it feel to be in his arms? What kind of lover was he? Would his talk be as frank and direct as in everyday life? She worried she might never find out. She had four weeks of her fake engagement to go. Even then, she couldn’t fly into Jon’s arms. Every woman’s magazine had recommended time. Time to regroup. Time to heal. Time to put herself first. She owed herself that much.

  * * *

  Later that night, Miguel left with his date for a club, and Sofia had the condo to herself. She posted a photo to her company’s blog, then logged into her personal email account. Some of her friends were planning a weekend getaway. The email chain’s subject line was: Are you in???????? Nope
. Sofia shut her laptop. She was definitely out.

  She was settled in front of the TV in the living room with a bowl of popcorn when the front desk called to say that Leila Amis was in the lobby, asking to come up.

  Busted!

  Sofia held the phone to her chest and racked her brain for excuses. What could she possibly say?

  Moments later, Leila walked through the door, tossed her purse onto the couch and asked, “What are you drinking?”

  “What makes you think I’m drinking anything?” Sofia replied defensively.

  Leila looked around, taking in the darkened living room illuminated by the blue light of the TV and the city lights twinkling in the distance. “What makes me think you’re sitting here alone drinking? I don’t know. I just do.”

  “How about some white wine?” Sofia had a bottle of Pinot Grigio in the fridge—but she hadn’t opened it yet. “I’ll pour you a glass.”

  “Thanks. Be generous.”

  Leila stretched out on her couch as if waiting for a therapy session to begin. Sofia handed her a glass and sat on the ottoman beside her. “What brings you by?”

  “I was showing a condo in your building—your old building—when I thought I’d pay you a quick visit.”

  Sofia nodded, and adjusted the tie of her bathrobe. “You saw Franco.”

  “He suggested I come here,” Leila said. “Imagine that.”

  “I’m just keeping Miguel company,” Sofia muttered.

  “Where is Miguel?” Leila asked.

  “He’ll be home soon,” Sofia replied. Her voice was thin.

  Leila narrowed her eyes at her. “How long do you need me to play dumb?”

  Sofia looked at Leila for a long while. She should’ve known she couldn’t hide this from her. Leila wasn’t her oldest friend, but they’d quickly grown close. It was proof that a true connection did not require years to mature. Sofia had been feeling so miserable and isolated lately that maybe it was time she opened up to someone.