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CHAPTER 1

New Orleans, LA

Wednesday, June 18th

It was 10:15 a.m. when Livia Benoit stormed into her New Orleans real estate office. Elegantly designed with large glass windows that offered a stunning view of Lake Pontchartrain, the front lobby featured a round table and two leather chairs arranged near the windows, as well as framed photos of famous local landmarks on the wall. The sleek reception desk, angled at the back of the room, blocked anyone from entering the inner office without approval.

A slender man with neatly trimmed black curls and features a breath from beautiful glanced up to study her with a raised brow. As always, Marcel Rivera was impeccably attired. This morning he wore a bright yellow shirt, which highlighted the golden flecks in his dark eyes and the rich gloss of his skin and tailored slacks.

Marcel had been her personal assistant since she opened her own real estate agency two years ago. He was not only her employee, but her best friend.

If she was honest, he was her only friend.

Livia was smart, driven, and ruthlessly honest, but her social skills were a disaster. At thirty, she’d finally accepted she would never change. Might as well enjoy her career and the comfy home she’d bought a few blocks from her office.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Marcel drawled. “You’re late.”

Livia’s stilettos clicked against the black-and-white tiled floor, her brunette curls bouncing against her shoulders as she stomped to stand in front of the desk.

“Love sucks,” she announced in dramatic tones.

“Preaching to the choir, sweetie.”

“No. I mean, it really, really sucks.”

“I know. We’ve been saying it for years …” Marcel’s words trailed away as he abruptly narrowed his gaze. “Wait. I thought you’d switched sides. You know. Everything is rainbows and butterflies. Ain’t love grand and all that nauseating crap.”

“Jacob Pearson happened.”

“Your knight in shining armor? The yin to your yang—”

“Stop.”

Livia clenched her teeth. She didn’t blame Marcel for his teasing. She’d been vocally anti-love since the age of two. Just after her mother had died and her family had sent her off to a foster family in New Orleans. She’d never wavered in her certainty. Not when she’d gone to college at Tulane to get her business degree. There’d been a few casual boyfriends and plenty of fun nights with friends and lovers, but nothing lasting. Not even after she’d gained her real estate license and opened her agency. There were business acquaintances and casual men who she could call to escort her to formal events, but they barely skimmed the surface of her life.

Until Jacob Pearson.

The thirty-five-year-old financial advisor was her complete opposite. He was tall with the muscles of an athlete. He had short blond hair and bright blue eyes.

Livia, in contrast, was a little over five feet with full curves she emphasized with her hand-tailored power suits. Her dark curls held hints of fire in the sunshine and her skin was remarkably pale, even when she spent time in the sun. Her eyes were a light gray, like the mist that would rise from the bayous in the early morning.

And unlike her, Jacob was funny and charming, with the ability to fit into social situations with casual ease. A confident extrovert.

Still, there’d been an immediate connection from the moment Jacob had strolled into her office looking to buy a house. And for one glorious month, they’d discovered that opposites truly do attract.

Jacob might be outgoing, but he’d insisted that he loved spending quiet evenings at home with her, watching old movies and sipping wine. He hadn’t even complained when she had to work late. He said he admired her commitment to her career.

Livia had foolishly started to hope that she’d been wrong. Maybe true love did exist.

Of course, it’d all been a scam.

“Livia?” Marcel leaned forward, his expression worried. “What did he do?”

“He lied to me.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’? Isn’t that enough?”