The Perfect Fit: A stand-alone why choose romance
Sadie Kincaid
Prologue
WEST
It’s the crying I hear first, and I can’t help but sigh. Always the crying. This time it’s closely followed by the sound of footsteps thundering down the hallway. My concentration broken, I discard the magazine I was reading and glance across the room to Xander. Rolling his eyes, he pushes himself up from the sofa and goes to head her off so he can prevent another tantrum.
Xander’s always been her favorite—the one who could talk her down. I suspect she’s only stuck around for as long as she has because of him. However, I doubt even he can convince her to stay now. I must admit that with her experience and previous references, I thought she’d last longer than this, even if her presence has made the atmosphere in our penthouse increasingly tense.
Ebony—currently headed along the hall and into Xander’s waiting arms—is our latest test subject. Our guinea pig, as Zeke likes to call them. She’s lasted three months, which is longer than most. But that’s because Zeke has been on his best behavior for her. Until today. We warned her how he could be, and she swore she could handle it. Seems like she can’t.
She’s pulling one of Xander’s old hooded sweatshirts over her head when she comes into view, but I catch a glimpse of the bite marks and purple welts on her torso. “He’s a fucking animal,” she cries, wiping tears from her cheeks.
I grind my jaw, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut and let Xander handle this. He found her—it’s up to him to let her go. But Zeke is no animal. He has issues, sure, but don’t we all? Ebony included. Fuck me, does she have issues.
Xander whispers words of comfort in her ear, and she clings to him, her hands fisting in the fabric of his T-shirt even as he gives her his well-practiced speech about how it’s time for her to leave. He had such hope this one would work out. Not because he’s particularly attached to her, but because we swore she’d be the last one we attempted this with.
On paper, she seemed like the perfect fit. But no woman will ever come between Xander, Zeke, and me, although that hasn’t stopped every single one of them from trying.
Chapter
One
LILY
“Hey! Watch it, jackass,” I shout at the disappearing taillights of the taxi that splashed freezing rainwater all over me. It’s the first week of April and the weather should start warming up any day now, but I’m still waiting. Betty—my bike—creaks as I cycle faster in an attempt to keep my rapidly numbing legs warm. I swear she’s going to completely give out on me one day soon.
“Just a few more weeks, baby,” I say quietly, giving the frame a gentle tap. “As soon as I get my big break, I’ll retire you.”
Turning right, I head toward Central Park. Where do tired old bicycles retire to anyway? The scrap heap? Not my Betty. I give her another reassuring pat on her handlebars. “Maybe you can be one of those bougie garden ornaments at some fancy house in the country,” I whisper as the imposing WXZ building comes into view.
In the lobby, I’m hit by a rush of warm air. Oh, that’s nice. Pulling off my helmet, I shake out my curls and sigh. I hate wearing this thing, but I love my undamaged brain more, so …
After parking Betty at a bike rack near the stairway, I open the zipper on my coat and study the fancy interior on my way to the reception desk. I’ve cycled past this building thousands of times and have always wondered what it looked like inside. It’s exactly how I imagined it would be. All glass and steel and marble. Cold and detached. Much like the three men who own it, I suspect.
A stern-looking man wearing a dark gray suit and a powder blue tie sits behind the desk, eyeing me as I approach. “Can I help you?”
I reach for the thick padded envelope in my backpack. “I have a delivery for Mr. Archer. It requires his signature.”
“I can take it to him,” someone says, walking up behind me.
I roll my eyes. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that. Exactly what part of his signature do people not understand? I spin around. “It needs his …” Holy mother of fucknuggets. Did this guy just walk off a photoshoot for some fancy designer cologne? My jaw hangs open, the rest of the sentence caught in my mouth as I try not to drool.
He cocks an eyebrow at me, no doubt used to eliciting this kind of reaction from women. “It needs?”
“H-his …” I swallow the dreamy sigh that wants to roll from my lips. Straightening my shoulders, I tilt my chin and look him in the eyes, which has to be safer than staring at that chiseled jaw. “Signature.”