I was glad that she couldn’t see my face. Julia would make me in a second. Even typing those words let him know set off a cold sweat through my entire body. This was why I kept chickening out, because whenever I set out to do it, I’d go into a full panic. Fear that nothing would work out the way I wanted. That I’d fuck myself over by leaving a secure situation to strike out on my own. Fear that once I walked away from a steady—and generous—paycheck there would only be me to blame when everything went tits up. But I could not keep delaying things any longer. The future I wanted for myself was riding on me bossing up and doing this. I was not going to let fear fuck with my dreams anymore.

Julia: Ahhh! I can’t believe I get you for a whole week! We’re going to have so much fun. The Gotham Exiles are all dying to meet you. They all feel like they know you already.

I grinned at that as I forced myself to take deep, calming breaths. Julia’s friend group was a crew of ex–New Yorkers living in Dallas. Most of them worked for Sturm’s, the department store that owned the foundation Julia and her man worked for.

Alba: I’m excited!

I wasn’t lying. I’d FaceTimed enough with all of them over the last couple of years to feel like I knew them too and was genuinely looking forward to meeting them all in person.

Right then my phone—provided by my boss, so he could keep tabs on my ass whenever I was on the clock—pinged with my thirty-minute warning. Immediately my stomach did that flippy move it did whenever I was in proximity of the reason I was up and out in the streets of Queens before the sun was out. You’d think after three years I wouldn’t feel like ants were running a marathon over my skin, but you’d be wrong. It had to be some kind of trigger or an allergy. Yeah, it was mostly likely some kind of emotional allergic reaction. That had to be a thing.

Alba: Okay I have to go. TTYL

Julia: Next time we talk you will be free from the clutches of that big-ass Greek-Dominican nightmare you work for.

I winced, picturing the brooding, perfect face attached to those six feet and three inches of hard muscle encased in delicious caramel skin, and with determination pushed through the doors of my boss’s building.

I was ready. I would be fine. It was my time now.

Chapter One

Alba

Alba Serena Duarte doesn’t have bad days.