"So, who is he and why are you keeping secrets from your big sister?" Paige Eames-Caldwell demanded even before Riley could close the door of her apartment behind her. It was sisters' night, and because it was drizzling outside, Paige had opted for an evening of wine and gossip at Riley's apartment instead of heading off to the Top of the Standard. It was Paige's usual hangout besides Soho House in the Meatpacking district. She was also getting over a cold and didn't exactly want to look like how she was looking right now, with her nose slightly tender even underneath her flawless make-up.

It was something they did each week, and sometimes Paige's friends joined them, most of them models, make-up artists, and stylists Paige knew from her days being a supermodel though there wasn't much of a difference to what she was now. She was still a supermodel, though this time, she was married to real estate and investment mogul, Clint Caldwell III.

Riley sometimes felt awkward around Paige's friends, especially when their conversations drifted toward the exclusive parties they attended, which model or celebrity they worked with or bumped into, and who was getting work done. It wasn't that Riley felt like she didn't belong in Manhattan's trendiest spots or hanging out with the hottest crowd. She could hold her own if she had to. But with many of Paige's friends also involved in the movie industry, sometimes it wasn't long before Gareth's name would come up, whether it was some new movie he was in, who he was dating, or where he was currently vacationing. It was usually all Riley needed before she'd say that something had come up, and she had to leave. Once, Gareth had come into the Boom Boom Room and thankfully, it had been Paige who saw him first, and after making their quick exit, both sisters ended up finishing a bottle of wine at Riley's apartment and from then on, the routine stuck.

One night a month, it was just her and Paige. They discovered that it was nice just to hang out somewhere quiet, with only the both of them to keep each other company, with no loud music to talk over and Miss Bailey, Riley's cat, purring by their side.

While Paige hung out with her kid sister one night a month, her husband, Clint, stayed home with their triplets, Thomas, Trey, and Trevor, though he was far from being overwhelmed with babysitting duties. As much as he doted on his three sons, two nannies were available seven days a week, with their living quarters in the apartment building next to their three-story brownstone in SoHo. Clint had his nights out with the boys, too, usually at the Core Club, and during those nights, if Riley wasn't busy, she'd help Paige keep the boys company, building their Lego sets and assembling trains. She loved her nephews like they were her children.

"What do you mean?" Riley asked, trying to act nonchalant. It had been a week since she'd met Ashe—seven days since she'd almost made a fool of herself by showing up at Gareth's hotel room ready for some ex-sex and pretending that she had gotten over him. But the roses on the counter, now trimmed to a dozen from the two dozen Ashe had sent, were the dead giveaway that something was up, and Riley realized that she should have put them away.

"Oh, come on, Ri," Paige said. "Clint stopped by Lee's last night for take-out. Lee told him you were there on a date last week—with some actor. I sure hope to God you and Gareth didn't get back together. After the mess Clint and I had to clean up after Gareth, you should know better than to go back to that asshole."

"It wasn't him."

"So who was he and where did you meet him? And why are you suddenly keeping secrets from me?"

"You don't have to know everything I do," Riley said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "We had some noodles, and that's about it. Is that against the law?"

"No, of course not. But after what Gareth did to you, and the two years it took you to get over him, I'd personally kill him if he hurts you again." Paige sighed and dropped her hands from her hips. "I'm sorry, Ri. I worry about you. Come here and give your big sis a hug."

They hugged for a few seconds before Riley pulled away and offered her sister some wine. Paige accepted a glass of white wine and sat down on the couch. She took a sip and then froze.

"Since when have you owned a TV?" she asked, sitting up and staring at a small box TV that Riley had set on one of the built-in shelves on the wall. She had to sacrifice a few books to make space for that small television with its built-in VHS player, but she didn't mind.

"Since Wayne was about to toss it out," Riley replied, sitting on the opposite end of the couch and tucking her bare feet underneath her. Wayne Callas was her next-door neighbor, and Riley often watched his apartment for him when he traveled. "He bought a flat-screen for his kitchen, so he didn't need this anymore. He said he never used it, so it's practically brand-new. It even comes with a remote."

Paige laughed. "No one uses VHS anymore, Ri. Clint and I could give you a flat-screen for Christmas. I swear you're an old lady inside."

"No, I'm not. I just have no room for anything else. You know how I like to read more than watch TV, and when I do have to watch something, I do it on my laptop," Riley protested. "I'm hardly ever home long enough to do anything else but eat, sleep and make coffee."

Paige didn't say anything for a few minutes but watched Riley suspiciously, her eyes narrowing. Riley decided it was the perfect time to show off her TV by switching it on using the remote. Not connected to an antenna, there was nothing visible on the screen except static and jagged white lines.

"I went to the thrift store and found a few videos," Riley said. "You remember when Mom and Dad used to do those movie nights with us?"

"Yes," Paige said, one eyebrow arching.

"Well, I found some classics. Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Cyd Charisse, and a few John Hughes' movies. Remember him? I even found Pride and Prejudice, the BBC version with Colin Firth coming out of the lake—all ten tapes of the series. Can you believe that?"

"Good God," Paige groaned as Miss Bailey jumped onto her lap. "That's it! Clint and I are getting you a flat-screen. We can have it installed on the wall, that way, it won't use up any valuable shelf space. I don't understand why you need all these books, Ri."

"You know how much I love reading, Paige," Riley frowned. "Just like Mom did."

At the mention of their mother, Paige became quiet and for a few moments, they only sat and sipped their wine.

One of the reasons Riley had put in an offer on this apartment was because of the built-in shelves that occupied the full wall of the living room. It was so 70's, but she didn't care. A Pulitzer Prize-winning author had used the apartment as his writing office though he never wrote anything as good as his award-winning book again. His table had been positioned right in front of the windows in the space now occupied by her four-poster bed, so that whenever he worked, he faced the door, with no view of the city to distract him. He also smoked like a chimney, so the place reeked of cigarette smoke when Riley first saw it, even though the realtor had done her best to get rid of the smell. But at least, it had helped to lower the price.

Since she couldn't afford to tear down the walls and she refused to accept any more help from Clint and Paige, it took Riley a few months of scrubbing to get rid of the smell of tobacco. But Riley didn't mind getting dirty. She loved to work with her hands and was proud of her handiwork. She had help, of course. Wayne was an architect and helped her with some of the minor renovations, and even the overall design of the small space.

"So, who is he?" Paige asked again. "Don't think you can distract me by showing off your TV set and VHS collection."

"Just someone I met that night. He's not some local boy you can blog about, by the way," Riley added, not that Paige would have blogged about Ashe. If there was one thing that Paige kept off her well-known lifestyle blog, it was anything that had to do with her baby sister, not after what happened.

"He's the one who sent you roses?" Paige asked. "Someone you just met?"

"Yes," Riley replied. "But I haven't heard from him since."

"Did you give him your number?"

Riley shook her head.

Paige rolled her eyes. "All right, let me rephrase the question. Did he ask for your number?"

"He did, and he even walked me to my door, but no, I didn't give him my number. I can't deal with another Gareth."

"After what that asshole did to you, no one can deal with another Gareth, Ri. But let's not drag up the past, because it's not about to happen again, all right? So if it wasn't Gareth, who was it? Is it someone famous?"

Unlike Riley, who wasn't much into films, Paige lived for the latest reality TV shows and movies. For the past five years, she was a self-confessed stay-at-home mother, who blogged about life in Manhattan raising triplets while managing to maintain a social life. Of course, there was nothing stay-at-home about her. She lunched with women just like her, attended gallery openings and movie premieres, and one night a month, spent a few hours hanging out with her baby sister looking nothing like she'd just spent the day running after three rambunctious four-year-old boys. Because she didn't.

She had a brand that was uniquely her own, PaigeCaldwell.com, where followers could be like her by buying into the lifestyle she promoted. From the clothes she wore to her favorite shoes, even the skin products she used and the vacation spots she and the family went to—they were all linked from her website to her social media accounts. But if people thought it was not hard work to be Paige, they were wrong. For Paige worked at it, honing her image till it was as perfect as it could be. She'd been a supermodel after all, married to one of New York's oldest families, and she had a reputation to maintain. But she kept her brand as down-to-earth as she could, if it could even be called that. She knew how to write her blog posts and captions in a way that resonated with many women living their ordinary lives, from the stresses of raising three little boys (no one had to know about the two full-time nannies) to how to bake chocolate chip cookies without burning them.

At thirty-four, Paige was the epitome of the woman who had it all and everything that Riley felt she wasn't. Eleven years younger than Paige, Riley should have been the one better versed in technology, the web, and social media. Instead, she preferred to spend her nights reading her books, losing herself in imaginary worlds and one night a month, heading a book club at the Library Cafe.

Maybe Paige was right, Riley thought. Maybe she was an old lady inside. While Riley tirelessly blended espresso drinks and managed the Library Cafe, Paige spent her time just being fabulous. Whatever she blogged about, people believed. Once, she wrote about a cup of café Medicí Riley had made for her at the Library, and the next day, people showed up ordering it. If Miss Perfect ever existed, Riley could honestly say she knew her. They were even related.

It was that moment when Miss Perfect grabbed the remote from Riley's hand and switched off the TV. "So who is he, Ri? Why are you keeping secrets from me, of all people?"

Riley didn't answer. If she told Paige about Ashe, then she'd have to tell her how they had met—in an elevator at the same hotel where Gareth was staying.

Suddenly Paige set down a meowing Miss Bailey and reached toward the vase of roses. Before Riley could stop her, Paige snatched the envelope that held Ashe's note tucked between the blooms. Total fail, Ri, she thought as she resigned herself to her fate, leaning back on the couch and wondering why she hadn't slipped Ashe's note straight into her journal.

Of course, Riley hadn't hidden it. She has reread the note each night since she has received the roses though by the third night, she began to suspect that Ashe hadn't written the note himself. His message had probably been dictated over the phone and hand-written by someone who worked at the flower shop.

"Ashe?" Paige prolonged the name for dramatic effect. "Am I to believe that Ashe Hunter sent you flowers? The Ashe Hunter? And not only that, but you had dinner with him at Lee's, of all places? God, couldn't he have taken you somewhere classier?"

"I was in the mood for noodle soup, and he wanted to tag along," Riley said, rolling her eyes. "It wasn't like we were on a date or anything."

"Oh. My. God. You do know that he's working with Gareth, right?"

"It was just a quick dinner, and apparently I made him laugh so hard that he sent me flowers for my trouble," Riley said, pretending that she didn't hear Paige say Gareth's name.

"Apparently you didn't understand me," Paige said. "He's working with Gareth. But how on earth did you manage to meet him? He's a hot commodity right now, you know. I would never have imagined he'd be walking around New York, and he just happened to bump into you, or who knows, maybe you met him at the Library. He's not even a New Yorker. He's English."

"So? He's just a guy," Riley said, shrugging her shoulders. "What's the big deal?"

"He's big, Ri. He's Hollywood's latest "It" boy. If he's interested in you, I've got to warn you—he could be another Gareth and break your heart."

"What's your point?" Riley asked, frowning. "I only met him that one night, and that was it. We got caught in the rain, and he offered me a ride. It wasn't like we were alone or spent the night together or anything. His manager was even there."

"You're sure that's all that happened? You met him one night, got caught in the rain, and then he sent you flowers? Which means he knows where you live."

"He was just being polite with the flowers," Riley said.

"He's dating Isobel Reign, you know. Has been for more than a year, or maybe two years. I think they met when they were filming this last movie, Sentience, or something. Oh, and her father happens to own Reign Studios. And they're big, Ri. Boy, they're big. Clint's an investor, so he knows these things."

"Isn't Isobel the actress with one blue eye and the other hazel?" Riley asked. It was a tidbit of gossip she'd overheard at the coffee shop a few days earlier.

"Yes, that's her," Paige said, finishing off her wine and handing her empty glass to Riley, who refilled it immediately. "Being that her dad's a mega-player in Hollywood, if you're an actor wanting to have parts handed to you, you'd better cozy up to his little princess."

"Do you think Ashe know this?"

Paige shrugged. "He'd be stupid if he didn't. I mean, being with Isobel is a ticket to fame as it is because whatever she wants, she gets—especially men. And she wants her men to be successful, so whatever she wants, Daddy dearest gets it for her. I wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what Ashe is doing. Abraham Reign can boost his career as long as he keeps Isobel happy."

"How do you know all this? Is this all through Clint?"

"Remember my friend, Betty? The one who had the boob job that left one normal and the other one scarred up and turned all hard, like a torpedo? Well, her PR company's biggest account right now is Reign Studios, so if there's a movie to promote, she's there. Of course, you know better than to tell anyone what I just told you, right?" Paige said, cocking her head toward Riley.

"My lips are sealed," Riley said, making a face.

"Speaking of Ashe, did you know he's quite famous for something other than his acting?"

"Like I said, I just bumped into him. I made him laugh, and he sent me flowers," Riley replied. "Why? What else is he famous for? I mean, he is good-looking."

"Good-looking, my ass! Have you seen him? He's hot, Ri!" Paige laughed. "Well, if you ever do get him in your bed, you'll have to tell me all about it, because I hear his package is huge. You might even be the one to send him flowers."

"Oh, shut up," Riley said, covering her ears in mock protest. "I'm not interested. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not."

"Oh, you will be when you see it in HD. He went full frontal in his first movie, Besties, or something like that. It wasn't a big hit, but it's a cult classic now because his dick makes such an impressive appearance—more than once." Paige laughed, and then grew serious again. "But thanks for letting me know that it wasn't Gareth. You had Clint and me nervous there for a while. He did a number on you, Riley, dumping you as he did, and after what happened to you, I've never forgiven him. None of us have. What he did was low and despicable, and it's a pity that karma hasn't caught up with him."

"Well, it wasn't Gareth," Riley said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "And no way would I ever want to see him again, not even if he called me and went down on his knees begging to see me again for old times' sake."

She brushed invisible lint from her jeans as she spoke, unable to look Paige in the eye, and wondered if she could ever pass as an actress.

"Liar," Paige said, chuckling. "You so would."

Oh, well. Guess not.