The Better Man (Chicago Sisters) by Amy Vastine Read Free Book Online

strange...but he sort of looks like...”
    Kendall stopped listening because behind Owen, Trevor was stepping out of a cab. Even though her brain told her it couldn’t be Trevor because Trevor was dead, she watched as this Trevor ran a hand through hair that was much too long. Her Trevor always wore his hair short—military short. This Trevor patted his pockets then shook his head like he should have known there was nothing there.
    It wasn’t until he looked up and right at Kendall that she noticed the world around her had gone fuzzy, not just the sights but the sounds, too. It was like she was underwater. Owen seemed so far away. Did he see Trevor, too, or was she the only one? Owen’s voice as well as the street noise was muffled. The only thing that wasn’t blurry was this Trevor, who was smiling as he glided over to her.
    He was beautiful, dressed in dark gray slacks and a light purple button-down. Her Trevor never would have worn purple. Ever. But it looked so good on him. The sleeves were rolled up like he was ready to do some work. His arms were as tan as the first time he came back from Afghanistan.
    She wanted to touch him. Hold him. Cry on his shoulder. Beg him to be real. Then let him have it for leaving her, for not choosing her and Simon. She would have done all of that if her arms and legs weren’t numb. There was a tremendous burning in her chest, but the rest of her was frozen.
    Trevor’s eyes never left her and his grin widened as he got closer. He was right in front of her, and she wasn’t sure how she was still standing, or breathing for that matter. “You must be the K in KO Designs,” he said in a voice that wasn’t at all like her Trevor’s. It was deeper, rougher.
    Before she could say anything or hold his hand like she wanted, the world went from fuzzy straight to black.

CHAPTER FOUR
    “S IT HER DOWN over here,” Owen said, clearing some junk off a dusty chair. The poor guy was almost as pale as the woman in Max’s arms.
    “Does she have low blood sugar or some kind of medical condition I should know about?” Max asked. He wasn’t sure how she was going to hold herself up when she was unconscious, so he held on to her.
    “Not that I know of.” Her business partner was flustered. “You should put her down. She’ll pass out again if she wakes up and you’re holding her.”
    Max’s eyebrows pinched together. There was no way he was blaming him for this. Who passed out at the sight of someone? Although ... His mother had always teased him about being a knockout. Kendall Montgomery was indeed out cold, and all he had done was smile and attempt to introduce himself. Maybe he had KO’d the K in KO Designs with his devilish good looks. He fought a smile. It was funny, even though it wasn’t.
    Her eyes began to flutter open and, though it was absurd to think he had anything to do with her passing out, Max wanted to set her down before she came to. She looked up at him as he set her on the chair.
    “Oh, God, did I die?” She was horror-stricken. Her eyes were wide and wild. “I can’t die. What about Simon!” Her hand covered her mouth.
    “No, no, no, K. You’re fine. You’re alive,” Owen said, pushing Max aside and helping her sit up straight. “Mr. Jordan, here, brought you inside.”
    “Mr. Jordan?”
    The beautiful but somewhat strange designer rubbed her forehead and stared at Max. She was pretty enough to be forgiven for spilling her coffee all over his shoes. This time.
    “Please, call me Max,” he said to both of them. This Mr. Jordan stuff made him feel uncomfortable. The only Mr. Jordan that Max ever knew was his grandfather, and his mother’s father was nothing but a mean, old man. He scanned the room. “Let me find you some water.”
    The restaurant was a big, torn-apart space with nothing to offer but broken furniture and an empty bar. He decided to duck outside and spotted a Dunkin’ Donuts on the corner, down the street.
    He bought Kendall water and a