Zoey is setting my Starbucks on a table when I finish my last lap. All the tension I eliminated with my swim dives right back into me at the sight of her. Dressed in a tight T-shirt and jeans, she looks fresh and sexy. My cock stirs. She’s still affecting me, and I can’t make the feelings and sensations she arouses go away. It’s hopeless. Damn her. Hoisting myself out of the pool, I grab my towel and throw it over my shoulders. Heading her way, I have no clue what to say. And my arousal isn’t helping. It’s only making things worse.
“Here’s your coffee.” Her voice is devoid of emotion, and she’s deliberately avoiding eye contact with me.
“About last night—”
She meets my gaze. “There’s nothing to talk about. What I did and what you did was wrong, but two wrongs don’t make a right. You were right, however, about one thing. I need a boyfriend.”
I feel totally deflated. It’s as if she has no feelings toward me. Her tone is very business like, bordering on icy.
“Zoey, I have feel—”
She cuts me off again. “Please, Brandon, let’s not talk about it. Like you said, let’s forget about it and move on. Your schedule is on the table. You’re shooting the entire day. It may go into overtime.”
I notice there’s no coffee for her. Usually, she sits with me and reviews my schedule, but obviously, she’s not going to do that today. Guess what? She is affected. She’s just not letting on. She’s a damn good actress. I feel a glimmer of hope.
“Yo, Brand-man. How’s it going?”
A familiar nasal voice interrupts my thoughts. An unexpected visit from my manager, Scott. Wearing a navy blazer over cream pants and an open shirt, he ambles our way. His leathery skin looks tanner than ever. For sure, he’s gone to one of those tanning salons.
Zoey’s expression hardens at the sight of him. Her father’s been working day and night to uncover the connection between him and Donatelli, the motherf*ck
er who murdered her mother and also did in my parents. But so far, no leads. Scott still denies ever having lunch with him. Plus he has an alibi: After having lunch with Katrina at The Ivy, he accompanied her to a bridal gown fitting at nearby Monique Hervé’s eponymous boutique. The designer backed him up as did Enid, Katrina’s wedding planner mother, who was also there.
Zoey and Scott exchange scathing looks. Their mutual disdain is palpable.
Zoey: “Excuse me. I have a lot of things to take care of.”
“Nice seeing you too, sweetheart,” Scott snickers as my assistant pivots on her heel. My eyes stay on her as she traipses back to the guesthouse. My X-ray vision penetrates her jeans. I can see that gorgeous ass. And that delicious cheek is still red. My cock flexes. It’s as if it’s telling me there’s no such thing as mind over matter. Damn it. She’s f*ck
ing with my brain.
Scott takes a seat. “Mind if I have a smoke?”
I do mind, but I let him. He reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer and pulls out a pack of Camels and his gold lighter. Scott really seems to like gold. He’s wearing a thick gold chain that hangs low on his hairy chest and a pinky ring with a substantial diamond. He lights up a cigarette and inhales. I’m relieved he blows the smoke away from me.
“Scott, why are you here?” Though he’s been my long-time manager, my relationship with him since I awoke from my coma has been on shaky ground. I don’t like the fact he’s shown up here uninvited.
He takes another drag of his cigarette. “I have something to ask you.”
“I want to ask you something first.”
His face tenses. “I thought we were done with that Farmer’s Market incident. And I’m going to level with you. I don’t like the smell of that cop on my trail. What’s his f*ck
ing problem?”
You. But I keep my mouth shut. Pete’s instructed both Zoey and me to not talk about it with him or make any mention of the fact that we know he lied when he told me he called in my accident. I tell him I don’t know why he’s being investigated and assure him my query has nothing to do with the incident. I brave my question.
“Did I ever share anything about my sex life with Katrina before my accident?”
“You told me it was off the charts hot. And Katrina told me the same thing. You two were going at it like bunnies.”
I don’t know whether to believe him. Since discovering he lied to me about my accident, I can’t trust him. All is not what it seems.
“Have I always been honest with you?”
“You’ve never held back.” He takes another puff and then flicks the ashes on the patio. f*ck
ing slob. I should get him an ashtray, but by the time I get back, there’ll be a mountain of ashes. No point.
“Was there anything else she or I told you? Anything unusual?”