Arrogant, ungrateful, sanctimonious asshole.
Frustration tightened every muscle in Emma’s body. Her breathing exercises were useless at the moment. As useless as the man who was now—yep—swearing at her in Italian.
And to think, they’d been best friends once.
She’d met Lorenzo in Milan after she’d accepted the design scholarship she’d almost missed out on because of Dean. Moving from small-town Texas to culture-rich Italy had been jarring for her, and because of her social anxiety, making friends had been difficult. She wouldn’t have even spoken to Lorenzo if they hadn’t been forced to share a patio table at a crowded café near her design academy. Thanks to her crappy Italian and his rusty English, the conversation had been stilted, but by the time lunch was over, Emma had herself a new friend—a charming, confident male model who made her laugh and encouraged her to come out of her shell and have some fun.
They’d been platonic from day one, which she appreciated, because at the time she hadn’t been ready to date anyone. Her breakup with Dean had still been too raw, and, frankly, she’d been soured on the whole idea of love. But she’d relied on Enzo’s friendship, she’d valued it, at least before her future and her success had suddenly become tied to his.
“I want this bodyguard gone.” Lorenzo’s sharp command penetrated her thoughts.
“Lou isn’t going anywhere,” she said, equally sharp. “He’s going to be on your ass until I get back to New York, and you just have to deal with it.”
“We will see about that.”
Click.
The bastard hung up on her.
A moment later, an incoming text from Stella lit up her screen, informing Emma that she’d call her as soon as she was done with damage control.
Damn it. It seemed like her entire career was damage control these days.
She dropped the pile of sketches on the table and buried her head in her hands, ordering herself to relax. It would be okay. Everything would be okay. She had to let Stella and Lou deal with Enzo while she concentrated on designing this Bay Area line. Because if she didn’t start making headway on it, every model walking down that runway in the spring would be buck-ass naked.
Easier said than done, though. She was too riled up to work. Too pissed off. Too frustrated. Too everything. And to make matters worse, she couldn’t stop thinking about Dean Colter.
It had been three days since he’d crashed her morning run, and she hadn’t seen or heard from him, which should have been a relief. Instead, she’d kept wondering what he’d been doing. Or rather, who he’d been doing.
Suz hadn’t been kidding about Dean’s ladies’-man reputation. That awkward confrontation with his former fling outside Emma’s hotel had confirmed what she’d already suspected—Dean wasn’t worth her time.
Yes, she understood why he’d deserted her. Hell, she even forgave him for it. But clearly he was as unreliable now as he’d been back then. Fucking his way through San Francisco and walking out on women left and right. Did she really need a man like that in her life?
No, thank you. She already had one selfish man-child to deal with at the moment.
Setting her jaw, Emma stood and headed toward the master bedroom of her suite. Screw working. She wouldn’t get a single thing done unless she expelled the angry energy whirling inside her. The local dojo she’d signed up at offered private classes every evening. She’d been going twice a week, but there was no way she could hold out until Monday.
She needed an emergency kick-some-ass session. Stat.
Before she gave in to the urge to hop a plane to New York and murder her “business partner” with her bare hands.
Chapter Nine
Colby phoned.
Dean hauled ass.
It had taken calling in a shit-ton of favors to get himself into position on time, but now he sat cross-legged on the workout mat, eyes closed as he calmed himself. As he evened out his breathing and waited for Emma to arrive.
The dojo was quiet. By some miracle the regular evening class had been canceled tonight, since most of the students were taking part in a competition in the city. The few members arriving to train were still being accommodated in the main room, but Dean’s friend had no problem giving him access to one of the private workout spaces, though the other man had grinned as if Dean planned to run hedonistic rituals in there.
Which meant the first thing Dean did after entering the room was black-light the security cameras so he and Emma could have some privacy. Not that he expected anything to happen, but just in case it did…
A soft whoosh sounded as the screens at the door slid aside, the barest of air currents brushing him as he remained stationary, allowing Emma to come to him.
A soft gasp hit his ears and he opened his eyes to look up at a face filled with frustration. “What are you doing here?” Emma demanded, fists pressed to her hips in the most adorable way ever.