Love begins with lies.

It was the third day of the cold war between us.

As soon as I, Harper, walked through the door, Mr. Davis, our butler, approached me with a huge bouquet of roses.

Mr. Davis’s smile was utterly fawning. “Mr. Leo knows he messed up, ma’am. He specially picked out these red roses for you this morning—your favorite.”

“If he didn’t have a meeting today, he would have delivered them himself. Please don’t be too angry, ma’am. You’re the one Mr. Leo cares about most.”

Mr. Davis exhausted every good word he knew, trying to make excuses for Leo.