PROLOGUE

      Six years ago

      THERE WERE CERTAIN benefits to returning to civilization, texting being one of them.

      Without it, she doubted she would survive this party.

      No. Not party. “Charity event,” as these A-listers liked to call their swanky affairs.

      Whatever.

      Mila Brightman’s thumbs glided over the keys with remembered ease.

      I will let u know.

      C’mon, Mila. He’s gorgeous and newly single.

      Perfect. Just what she needed. A charity date to go with the charity event. She grinned at her own witticism. Okay, so her mental play on words hadn’t been all that funny. But, then again, neither was this party.

      He’s ur bro. You have to say that. Does he even know u r trying to set him up on a date?

      Not yet. But it’ll be fine. And he is cute. Promise.

      She hadn’t even told him yet. Mila rolled her eyes, thumbs already responding.

      That’s what u said about the last guy.

      She’d let her new friend Freya Rothsberg talk her into going on a different blind date a week ago. That particular man had been good-looking all right, but their date had stalled when he’d road-raged his way down Hollywood Boulevard. She’d ended up hopping out of the car at a stoplight and hailing a cab to take her home.

      This is different. PROMISE.

      Uh-oh. Her friend had used the word promise twice in a row. This time in caps. Never a good sign. Freya was on the other side of the room, waiting for her supposedly gorgeous brother to arrive. Time to head her off at the pass. Maybe she could use humor to soften the blow.

      With my luck ur bro is probably short and squatty. A real toad.

      The screen stayed blank for almost a minute, and Mila wondered if she’d offended her friend. Then it lit up.

      A toad? Really?

      A smiley face followed the words. Whew! Not offended.

      Yep. T.O.A.D. Warts and all.

      Another long pause. Maybe the Wi-Fi reception in the hotel ballroom was glitching or something.

      Why don’t you look up and see?

      Something about those words caused a shiver to ripple across her midsection. Swallowing, she glanced over the top of her screen.

      Freya stood right in front of her. Eyes wide. Mouthing something. “I’m sorry.”

      In that instant, Mila realized her friend was no longer holding a cell phone. Neither was she alone. And the person standing beside her was neither short nor squatty.

      Oh. My. God. Her thumbs pretend-typed the words as they sprinted through her head.

      The man in the tuxedo was tall. Very tall. And gorgeous?

      Yes. Oh, yes. He was also holding something up, turning the object to face her.

      A phone—with all Mila’s text messages surrounded by a bold blue bubble. The air left her lungs, and she struggled to breathe.