Chapter One

Emma Greene was the total trifecta: cute, savvy, and rich. She had won the life lottery that touched every corner of her seventeen-year existence, the death of her beloved maltipoo in the fifth grade aside. In a world overset with poverty, illiteracy, and illness, Emma had nothing to complain about, except the occasional pore-drying heat waves that beset California when the Santa Ana winds were at their worst. Oh, and humid hair days. But other than that, life was perfect.

Which was why it was so important to Emma that she be awesome. It was Emma's mission, nay her meaning in life, to help those less fortunate than herself. For the record, that included practically everyone. Even her distinguished classmates at the Jane Austen Academy who were hand-selected for their intelligence, talent and—most importantly to the headmistress—deep pockets. Among the Jane Austen Academy elite, Emma Greene was the cream in their coffee, the spoonful of sugar (or agave nectar if one was low-carbing), and to a select few, Emma was a dear friend. When those in need of help happened to be her friends, well…Emma became an unstoppable force.

Since the beginning of the school year, Emma had helped stop the Academy's name from being changed, save her roommate from quitting school, and stave off their beloved institution's demolition. Most fun of all, she had successfully matched four of her classmates with excellent boyfriends. This weekend, she intended to see the fifth and last of the bunch blissfully paired. Even if it killed her and her unsuspecting partner in crime, Gregory Knight, in the process.

Sitting on a faux-fur settee in front of a brightly lit bulb-lined vanity mirror in the master bedroom of her parents' fourth beach house, Emma flashed a dazzling smile at her reflection. Her success was an inevitable as her charm. She would be responsible for her friend's utter and overwhelming happiness.

She plucked her crystal perfume decanter from her vanity and dabbed the heady, lily scent behind her ears, an echo of the move she'd watched her mother perform time and time again when she was little.

Really, Emma, how can you take such pleasure in helping just one measly little person? Couldn't you do more?

Emma's smile faltered, and she set down the perfume bottle with a clatter as she heard her mother's voice as clearly as if she were in the room instead of 3000 miles away on the other side of the country. Her mother's voice was resonant and deep. It had the kind of gravitas news anchors and politicians would give their souls for. And it was always pushing Emma to be better.

She firmed her chin and sat up straighter. She shouldn't need to hear her mother's voice; she should strive for more on her own.

No, Mom, not just one person. Two people, at least. And that would just be a start. She hoped to have more to share with her mother about her weekend plans than just a match made in heaven. With a little more effort, she hoped she could make her mother proud. To prove that she could stand alone on her own two stiletto heels…or calfskin booties or whatever was in fashion.

She heard a sharp shriek, then tires on pavement, and stood and walked to her picture window. Her perfectly manicured hands brushed aside the white panel curtain. Knight's shiny, black Corvette squealed as it made a hairpin turn up the rolling hills that led to her family's beachside estate. Knight seemed to be taking advantage of being the only person on the private road. She clutched the fabric in her fist as the sports car executed a stunning right-angle turn, its tires rotating sideways and smoke swirling up from the exhaust pipe.

Knight was nothing if not reliable, and she should have known he would take her 911 message literally in every sense.

She glanced at the one-of-kind Hublot watch on her slim wrist—a replica of the one her mother wore. There was still so much to do but she stole another look at her reflection, this time in the full-length gold-gilt mirrors that lined the entry to her walk-in closet. As usual, nothing was out of place. She ruffled her long, blond curls, which cascaded artfully over her bare shoulders, sending up another whiff of lily perfume. Her platinum hoop earrings winked as they reflected the sunlight pouring in both through her front windows, as well as the back patio that overlooked the pool. She'd selected her dusty-rose camisole sundress for its comfort and now wondered if she should change—she was much more stunning in golds—but no, there wasn't any time. With a quick smack of her lips to refresh her pink lip gloss, she swept out of her room and down the stairs.

Emma's hot-pink thong Caovillas sandals clicked against the sand-colored Moroccan tiles that led from the staircase, down the hall, and into the chef's kitchen. The catering company's deliveryman was stocking the last of her refreshments in the pantry and fridge. As she surveyed the bowls of fresh tropical fruit, stacks of Greek yogurt, trays of rotisserie chicken and grilled flank steak, casseroles of roasted vegetables, mason jars of artisanal jam, loaves of freshly baked bread, bags of snacks, and glass bottles of soda and juice, her stomach rumbled with hunger.

But she couldn't eat, not a moment before her guests. Her mother would revoke her hostessing rights—and rightfully so—if she did any different.

The deliveryman paused in unloading his crates when he noticed her standing by the kitchen island. With a nervous glance at the open fridge, he asked, "Everything all right, miss?"

"Everything is perfect." He had followed her instructions to the letter. Well, almost. "Would you please chill the beverages lying on their sides?" She'd read something once about how it helped the carbonation.

"Of course, miss."

"Oh, is there tea?" Her lower lip pursed as she opened the cabinets.

"Tea?" He gave a panicked look over his clipboard. He shut his eyes tight and glanced at his watch. "I'll run out—"

"There's no need," Emma said, sensing his anxiety. He clearly had another appointment. Somewhere to be. Possibly with family.

"But I was given strict instructions—"

"The instructions are mine, and it's my prerogative to change them." She flashed her trademark smile, and he blinked, momentarily dazzled most likely.

"Thank you, miss."

"Think nothing of it." The phrase barely made it out of her mouth before she ran into the brightly lit hall, sun streaming in through floor-to-ceiling white-trim French windows. The cleaning staff had finished mopping, dusting, sweeping, and steam-cleaning the Moroccan tiles, French chandeliers, and Turkish curtains hours ago. While they were qualified professionals and had performed all the needed touch-ups, Emma still saw room for improvement. She stopped at each windowsill to turn the crystal vases of calla lilies so the petals opened up to the sun and the lush, silky leaves faced the lathing rays hitting Newport Beach.

Had it been another day, she might have ignored these small details in favor of a nap or a trip to the beach. But today was not just any day. Today was the first day of many days of two miserable lives she intended to make much, much better.

If only her two victims knew what they were in for.

She threw open the front doors to the circular driveway, which—perfect timing—Knight was rounding. The Corvette swung out parallel to her and stopped hard. Knight threw open his door and leaped out.

Knight's gray T-shirt was rumpled, as if her text had found him sleeping. Likely, given his aggressive napping schedule. He must have pulled on the first pair of dark jeans he could scrounge up from the foot of his bed. The sleeves of his brown leather jacket were pushed up to his forearms, and one of the shoelaces of his Converse was untied and flopped to the ground. His brown hair stuck up at odd angles, skyward and sideways. He must have fallen asleep with gel in again. (Knight wasn't one for Emma's strict grooming rituals.) While she should have frowned in disappointment at his haphazard appearance, she found herself smacking her lips with approval.

He did manage to make disheveled look adorable.

Knight's warm, coffee-colored eyes wildly roved her body from head to toe and back. "Oh god. You look okay." His right arm latched around her neck. He pulled her against his side and laid a quick kiss on the top of her head. "You are okay, right?"

"Of course I am." With a grunt, she disentangled herself from his arms.

"What is it then? Don't say your mom."

"Why would I say your mom?"

"Emma." He let out an exasperated sigh. "So…everything's okay?"

"Better than okay. Dazzling! Don't worry about your lack of luggage. I'll have some clothes brought to the house. But first we must go for a ride." She walked around to the passenger side of his Corvette and opened the door. She noted that he wasn't moving and waved her hands for him get in.

Knight's brow crinkled, and he heaved out a breath that ruffled his bangs. He ran a hand through his hair, which made the dark strands puff up even more, and then pulled his phone out of his back pocket. Reading the screen, he said, "9-1-1. I need you now." He held the phone out over the hood of his car for her to read. "Is this how your phone autocorrects, I'm doing nothing important, swing by whenever?"

"Everything I do is important." Emma crooked her finger. "Let's go."

She jumped into the passenger seat as he let out a second exasperated sigh, but joined her. "Where to?"

"The store."

 

* * *

 

"You have a fleet of town cars as your disposal," Knight said as he shifted the car into drive. "You didn't call me all the way down here just to play chauffeur."

"Maybe I called you down here because I missed you and I needed to see you."

Knight's head spun toward her, his dark eyes bright and questioning. "Emma…"

Emma burst out laughing at the anxiety on his face. He squinted, returning his stare to the road. His knuckles stretched tight as he fisted his hands on the steering wheel.

"Not funny, Emma."

"Don't print our wedding invitations yet."

"Emma—"

"Another fabulous joke as I would never resort to printing my own wedding invitations." She shuddered at the thought of ever sending out non-letterpress printed materials. "Ooh, that's the store. Pull in here."

He spun the wheel, and the car pivoted—a little sharper than necessary in her opinion— and slid into a tight parking spot.

"Be right back." She opened the door to jump out, paused, and turned back.

Knight was still anxious, judging by the deep groove in his brow and how he hadn't yet released the steering wheel. She reached across the console and tousled his soft hair. Her thumb gently brushed across his forehead, soothing the lines. He cocked his head to lean into the palm of her hand.

"That's better," she said.

"Emma, what am I doing here?"

"You'll see." She pulled back her hand and smiled mischievously. "I did miss you, you know." She jumped out, shut the door, and ran into the small grocery store.

It was more crowded than usual, and she had to edge past bodies pressed close together to maneuver through the store as she searched for the tea aisle. She knew the beverage preferences of each and every guest she had invited, and ginger-mint tea was at the top of her guest of honor's list. She absolutely had to have some on hand. The feeding and care of guests was the bare minimum a Greene should provide.

Emma found the tea she needed, but there the check-out lines were dozens deep. A disembodied voice over the intercom noted the store was sorry for the delay but they were short staffed and invited customers to use the self-service lines. Emma paid for her purchase and headed outside.

Even from a distance, she could see Knight was far more relaxed now as he leaned back in his seat. She noticed a small, white meter maid cart driving toward her. She hadn't had Knight feed the meter since she was running in and out and realized she'd need to make it back to him before he got a ticket. She started toward him, then stopped.

Several of the other meters were flashing red and expired, even though cars were parked in the spots. They probably belonged to families still in the store, stuck in lines. She didn't want them to pay hefty tickets, either. After only a moment of hesitation, she pulled a few spare coins from her purse and began to feed the meters.

Emma ran out of change but still had more meters. She glanced over to the Corvette to ask Knight to join her, but he was already there, at her side, digging through his pockets.

"We have to hurry," he said. "Meter maid is catching up."

A dimple dug into her cheek. "It's no easy task, keeping up with me." She grinned up at him, squinting as the sun glinted in her eye and cast a halo over his head. "It's a rare guy who can do it, Knight."