This Time He Pursues Me With All

Maya's POV:

"Maya, prep yourself. We're heading to a cocktail reception at six."

I looked up from my laptop, fingers still hovering over the keyboard. Julian Garrison stood in the doorway of my cubicle, his Armani suit crisp enough to cut glass.

"Reception?" I asked.

"Business networking. Bring your A-game." He flashed that million-dollar smile that probably worked on every woman in Boston except me. "Wear something nice."

"I'll be ready." I nodded.

---

Two hours later, I stood in the marble-floored ballroom of The Somerset Club. Crystal chandeliers. Waiters in bow ties carrying champagne flutes. Women in designer gowns—Valentino, Dior, the kind of shit I only saw in Vogue.

Julian worked the room like he'd been born to it—which, technically, he had been, even if his father's first wife would rather die than admit it. He shook hands, laughed at jokes I couldn't hear, played the part of the charming executive. I stayed two steps behind, smiling when appropriate, nodding at introductions I'd forget in ten minutes.

The room shifted. Conversations paused mid-sentence. Heads turned toward the entrance.

And there he was.

Adam Sterling.

The name hit me like a punch to the gut. I'd spent five years searching for a ghost, and here he was, standing twenty feet away in a charcoal Tom Ford suit.

Six-foot-three. Broad shoulders. That same sharp jawline that used to graze my neck when he—

Stop.

His hair was shorter now, styled differently. Still that golden blonde that caught the light. But it was the eyes that confirmed it. Gray-green. Cold as a nor'easter wind off the harbor.

Sterling. How could I have found a man whose family probably had an entire PR team dedicated to keeping them out of the press?

The Sterlings were Boston royalty. Old money so old it had cobwebs. I'd been in this city for a week and even I'd heard whispers.

Real estate. Finance. Now apparently some clean energy venture in Austin that had half the tech world salivating. Julian had mentioned trying to land a supply contract with Sterling Global Holdings for weeks. That's probably why we were here.

Jesus Christ. I'd dated a billionaire and hadn't known it.

No. Scratch that. I'd loved a man who'd been playing dress-up as a regular guy, probably getting off on seeing if I'd pass his little test.

Looks like I failed.

Our eyes met across the room.

For a second, I thought I saw recognition.

Then nothing. His gaze slid past me like I didn't exist.

---

Julian finally elbowed his way to the inner circle. I followed.

"Mr. Sterling." Julian extended his hand with just the right amount of deference. "Julian Garrison. Garrison Industries."

Adam's handshake was brief.

"Garrison." His voice was exactly as I remembered it—low, controlled, with that edge of authority that used to make me—

Stop. Fucking stop.

"I've heard good things about your work in Cleveland," Adam continued. "You're new to the Boston office?"

"Yes. Still getting my bearings in your city."

Your city. Like Boston belonged to him. Maybe it did.

I stood there, three feet away, watching this man I'd once known make polite small talk with my boss. He was good at this. The corporate dance.

He'd been good at other things too. Pretending to be someone he wasn't, for instance.

Cleveland. Two years ago. That little Polish place on East 65th that made the best potato and cheese pierogis this side of the Midwest.

"You're here again," I'd said, sliding into the booth across from him without asking. "Third time this week. Either you're stalking me or you're addicted to Mrs. Kowalski's cooking."