They turned to see two women and a man racing to the elevator, their eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

“Hey, guys.” Hudson’s voice was hearty as he held the elevator for them. Annika realized it was his PR voice, the one he’d put on when he was talking to everyone on the rooftop. Weird—he hadn’t put on that voice once with her the entire evening. “Enjoy the party?”

“How could we not?” one woman said, grabbing Hudson’s arm. “It was so much fun. You really know how to show people a good time.” She pressed her body against his, her eyes heavy-lidded. There was no mistaking what she was trying to say.

Annika felt a twinge of irritation that she pushed aside. What did she care if Ms. Emma Stone–look-alike was hanging all over Hudson Craft? May the force be with her! And hopefully she wouldn’t wake up to find he’d stolen her purse or identity or something.

Hudson gently extricated himself from the woman and smiled, looking somewhat detached. “Great. I’m glad it was fun.” He met Annika’s eye and she looked away, her heart racing for no discernible reason.

This was none of her business. None at all.

Once they were outside, the trio dissipated to the right, where their Lyft was waiting. Hudson fell into step beside Annika as they turned left toward the end of the street, where they would wait for their Lyfts once they called them. Annika felt her pulse beat in rhythm with each step they took. Hudson was so close, she could practically feel a tiny, humming current of static electricity between their arms, like a spark waiting to ignite. She blinked the thought away.

They passed a homeless man bundled up in old, ratty blankets, sitting on the stoop of a shuttered liquor store. Hudson reached into his pocket, pulled out a packet of gummy bears, and handed it to him.

“What ya got for me tonight?” The man turned the packet over in his hands eagerly. “Ooh, these are my favorite. God bless you, Hudson.”

“And you, Tommy. See you tomorrow.”

The man waved and tore happily into the packet.

Annika looked up at Hudson and shook her head, her curls lightly billowing in the breeze.

“What?” he asked, his green eyes luminous in the near dark.

“You give food to homeless guys, but you’re okay with people breaking other people’s hearts. I don’t get you.”

“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough.” He stuck his hands in his pockets.

So cryptic. “And what does that mean?”

He was looking straight ahead, but Annika saw a shadow of emotion—anger? Hurt? Defensiveness?—flit across his face. “What looks like breaking people’s hearts to you might not look that way to everyone.”