I groaned, wanting to pull my hair out. “Why are older sisters so fucking pesky?”

She blew me a kiss and got down to work. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I took them down as soon as she left.

“Is this your work?” I hear Rachel ask.

I focus my attention on her once again. “Yeah, but don’t sound so surprised.”

She smiles, and I watch the way her smile transforms her cool beauty to one of warmth and sweetness. She puts down Ollie’s photograph and reaches for another, and another until she’s gone over at least five of them.

“You’re very talented.”

Shrugging, I walk toward her, grab the picture from her hands, placing it on the floor, and take her into my arms. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look when you smile?”

She begins to trace my features, slowly, gently. I feel the pads of her fingers traveling along the lines of my jaw. “You don’t like talking about your work, do you?”

“Not particularly.” I lean down and kiss her on the mouth.

When we pull apart, she smiles softly. “What a lovely way to change the subject.”

I grin. “That obvious?”

She nods, and I kiss her again, her arms going around my neck. Breaking apart, both of us breathing heavily, she lets me go and takes a step back, putting some space between us.

“I think I’ve overstayed my welcome and it’s time for me to go.” I’m about to tell her that she hasn’t when she adds, “And don’t say that I haven’t. We’ve been honest with each other up until now, so let’s not part with a lie.” She’s quiet for a moment, seemingly considering her next words. “Listen, I’m hosting a party next Thursday at my house, and I would love for you to come. I want to introduce you to someone who I think can do wonders for your career. And no, this isn’t a ploy to see you again. I sincerely think that—”

“That what? That you can help me? You don’t even know my work.”

“I’ve seen enough to know that you’re truly talented. I want to help you.”

I run my hands over my face, anger and frustration stirring inside of me. “Well, what if I don’t want to be helped? I don’t need your pity.” I’m aware that I’m being harsh, but why can’t she drop the fucking subject?

Irritated, she shakes her head as an angry blush coats her high cheekbones. “It’s not pity, Ronan.” She walks to my kitchen, grabs a pen sitting on the countertop next to the newspaper opened at the Sudoku page, and scribbles something on it. “Here’s my address, the date, and the time of the party. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I honestly think you should.”

“I’m not going to, Rachel.”

“Why not?”

“Because—”

“Because you think you can do it on your own?” She scans my apartment, stopping inside my small kitchen, the old carpet underneath the coffee table, and the furniture that has seen better days.

“No offense, kid, but I think you could use some help. You have talent, and it’s a crime for your work to be lying on the floor forgotten and accumulating dust. But if that’s what you want, so be it. I was obviously mistaken in my first impression of you, which is odd because I’m never wrong.”

“And what’s that?”

“Simple. I saw a man who wanted more.”

“You’re wrong. I want everything.”

“Then prove it, but not to me. Prove it to yourself.” She grabs her clutch and walks over to the entrance of my apartment. I follow and open the door for her. As she’s walking past me, she places her hand on my chest. “I’ll let the people at the door know to expect you.”