“A surprise.” I throw my head back to laugh. God, only Rachel is fucked up enough to bring in another woman when Raven is here.

“Perfect.” I point the bottle at Rebecca and stand. “Yes, please call Iain.”

“Yes, Mr. Powers.” And for a second those words make my chest hurt, but they’re mere words. So what if my Lolita said them like the good girl she is? I need to focus on the future.

“One more thing?”

“Yes?”

“Is Raven coming in on Monday? I heard she wasn’t feeling well, and she wasn’t here today—”

“No. Raven is done interning. If you need more help, hire someone,” I seethe with visions of tossing the glass bottle out the window and shattering everything.

Shattering.

The way my chest feels when I think of giving her up. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This is over. I need to tell Raven the truth—that I have never considered not marrying Rachel.

I never lied to her.

She only thinks she’s in love with me. She’s nineteen, for fuck’s sake, caught up in the excitement of having sex with an older, experienced man.

I walk out of my office, ignoring the startled gasps and stares, push the elevator button, and loosen my tie.

Love.

Christ, it’s not even a real emotion. It’s nothing more than two people connecting and then mistaking that feeling as love. It wears off, as all connections do. They break up, and boom, they start all over with another person.

Snorting, I bring the bottle to my lips. This is why Rachel is the one for me. I already can’t stand her. How fucked up is that?

“Mr. Powers.” I turn toward the voice.

“Your car is ready for you.” Iain stands with the door open.

“Thank you.” I slide in and lean my head back, letting the warmth of the bourbon flow through my veins. And just like that, I feel better than I have in weeks.

It takes ten minutes from my office to my house. In thirty minutes, I’ll be balls deep inside whoever the surprise is that Rachel has arranged.

And in an hour… well, in an hour, everything will be back to normal.

“Mr. Powers?” Iain’s voice makes me blink and I slowly look over at him. His usual calm expression has changed, his eyebrows knit together as if he, too, is concerned. Clearly, he’s been standing with the car door open while my mind races.

Nodding, I step out and gaze up at my house. “You believe in love, man?” I say, turning before I walk up the steps. The question seems to have caught him off guard. Pain swirls in his dark eyes. I guess that’s my answer.

“Absolutely.” He takes a breath and nods. “Fuck yeah, I do.” He steps to the front of the Mercedes.