Not Just Friends (Hot in the City Book 3)

by T Gephart

  So hearing Shapiro was on the case—albeit unofficially—made me feel better about the situation. Well, that situation at least. I still had another fucking issue that was gnawing at my gut.

  “I’m glad, dude. And it goes without saying. If you need anything from me, you know I’m there.”

  Meant every single word of that too. Tibbs was the brother I never had—my two older sisters not really the same—and all he ever had to do was ask. Even if it hadn’t been for Presley, but knowing it was for her sure as hell upped the ante.

  A look floated between us with the unspoken gratitude on his face. “Well, actually, there is something you can do.”

  “Name it.” I didn’t hesitate, knowing whatever it was, was a done deal.

  “I need you to talk to Presley.”

  Ah.

  Fuck.

  He took a breath, deciding to continue. “Look, I know she can be a ball buster and the last thing you want to do on your time off is chase after my sister.” Really? I was positive somewhere up in heaven those guardian angels my mother always raved about were laughing their asses off. “But dude, she trusts you. And she’s about a minute away from filing a restraining order on me. You can get closer to her. Make sure she’s not taking any chances, and keep an eye on her. Meanwhile, I’ll work the backend and make sure we nail this cocksucker.”

  My mouth opened but words failed to fall out. Because really, what could I fucking say? Sure, Tibbs, as much as I’d love to follow your sister around and keep her safe, I’m worried I might sleep with her again? Like that was even a possibility. And hell, even if she did press every button I had, stripped naked and begged, I could still say no. Not that it would be easy—or enjoyable—but I’m positive I could. But je-sus, if his favor didn’t come with a buttload of complications.

  “Man, you know I would do anything for Presley. And keeping an eye on her is the absolute least I can do.” Ain’t that the truth. “But you think she is going to be down with a babysitter?”

  That the babysitter was me, well, that was going to be another bone of contention.

  Tibbs laughed, punching me in the arm like he couldn’t see the problem. “Use that charm of yours, brother. Hell, you talked Quinn into taking those photos for your mom when her and North were broken up. Seen you sweet-talk the chief when he was about to blow a fuse. And it was you who managed to convince Presley to let you drive her home the other night when she told me to fuck off. Flash those baby-blues, give her that charismatic grin, and say whatever you need to say. We’ve got to do what we have to do. I take full responsibility, and if she gets mad, I’ll take the heat. Only fair since it was my idea.”

  There was so much in there, I didn’t even know where to start. And if Tibbs only knew the half of what we’d done, he wouldn’t be volunteering to take the heat.

  The way I saw it, I had two choices. Sack up, tell him his sister and I had crossed a line and give him the option to change his assessment. Or shut my fucking mouth, be a man and do what I needed to do so she was safe, and her brother didn’t blow a gasket.

  “I’ll talk to her later today. But Tibbs, if I’m going to be busy with Presley.” Such a baaaaaad choice of words. I swallowed, trying to recover. “I mean, keeping an eye on her, then you need to clue me in on the shithead. I want to be there when it goes down.”

  Tibbs held out his hand, giving me a grunt of approval. “Easy. Done. Couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want there more. Besides, I’m going to need someone to run interference with the chief. Mack will be so far up my ass, I’m going to need some Preparation H.”

  “You should thank your lucky stars he’s got Hayden to distract him.” The chief’s new woman not only gave the man something to smile about, but would take most of his attention.

  “Right?” Tibbs laughed. “Quinn getting him that dating profile for his birthday was a strike of pure genius. If North hadn’t already married and knocked her up, I’d totally have made a play.”

  I rolled my eyes, knowing he wouldn’t have gotten very far. “Sure you would’ve. And I’d be visiting you at Mount Sinai where you sucked your dinner through a straw.”

  “I can take North. He’s a big bastard, but I’m quick.” He nodded, convincing himself—because he didn’t have a hope in swaying me—that he’d have won that fight.

  “Go make us coffee, moron.” I lifted myself out of the La-Z-Boy, needing a shower before heading to work. “And make it extra strong.”

  “Don’t use all the hot water,” he yelled, hopefully heading to the kitchen as I disappeared into the bathroom.

  Yeah, because me using all the hot water was the biggest problem we had.

  I was going to have to talk to Presley.

  Shit.

  Presley

  CLUB HOURS WEREN’T conducive to regular sleep patterns.

  I went to bed between four and five, and slept till about noon. Which meant mornings were not my friend.

  So when my phone went off sometime before lunchtime—me, the idiot, believing turning it to silent was for suckers—I knew it couldn’t mean anything good. Groaning, my hand reached out blindly, grabbing it off my nightstand and bringing it to my ear. I couldn’t face opening my eyes, keeping them scrunched tight as I coughed out, “Presley Tibbs, this better be an emergency.”

  “Presley, it’s Scott Collins. How are you doing?”

  Oh Lord, give me strength.

  I peeled one eye open, checking my phone display for the time and saw it was only eleven. Cursing him and his movie star dad—and anyone else who had anything to do with him—I shuffled up the bed.

  I’d assumed I’d be hearing from him today, Hank giving him my card before he left. But he couldn’t have waited an extra hour? The missed sleep mourned as I tried to be pleasant.

  “Scott, hi. I assumed you’d have an assistant call me.”

  “Yeah, and miss out on a chance to talk to you? No way. So tell me, Presley, you been thinking about me as much as I’ve been thinking about you?”

  Apparently, I hadn’t made myself clear last night, the inference that I wasn’t interested in flirting or whatever the hell he was attempting to do, I thought pretty fucking obvious. But it seemed Scott needed a refresher, and since I hadn’t had my required eight hours sleep, I was positive it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  “Scott, Scott, Scott,” you poor beautiful, boring, and soon-to-be dead man, “I know you probably don’t hear this a lot, but I’m really not interested. I assumed when you said you wanted to discuss business with me, you meant actual business. Not sure what kind of business that would be, but I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I do that, Scott, not because I have a kind heart, but because that’s what businesspeople do. We listen to people who talk shit because there might be something in it for us. But trust me when I say that you aren’t the first—and will not be the last—guy I blackball from the club for wasting my time and misappropriating my phone number. And, it won’t just be my club. You’ll suddenly find yourself persona non grata to a long list.”

  At Diablo I made an effort to be diplomatic. I wanted return patronage and to keep my ledger healthy. But in my own time—not so much.

  “Wait. I promise I’m legit. Just hear me out.”

  It gave me a warped sense of pleasure to hear a man beg. I liked it, especially when I knew the man would rather swallow glass than submit. Which was the only reason why I hadn’t hung up.

  “Tick, tock, Scott. What have you got for me?”

  “It’s about a club. Here in L.A. I mean, there in L.A. I want to talk to you about a partnership.” He stammered through most of it, the cool Hollywood heartthrob he was in interviews, sidelined with the flirting.

  “Elaborate,” I breathed into the phone, not convinced I still wanted to listen.

  “Can we do this in person? Set up a meeting?”

  “Not until I know this is going to be worth my time. What club in L.A. and what does it have to do with me?”

  It
had been a while since I’d visited the west coast, and I was okay with that. I wasn’t fond of palm trees, and all that sunshine wasn’t good for my skin. So how I fit into the equation was still a mystery.

  “I want to buy a club, okay, and I need someone to run it. I want it to be you.”

  And silence.

  On both sides of the phone. Because I still wasn’t sure he wasn’t deploying a new tactic. “Hey baby, come run my club,” meaning something entirely different. And he probably was preparing for me to tell him to go fuck himself.

  Which I would.

  Once I worked out what he was saying.

  The measured breath slipped silently from my lips as I kept my tone unemotional. “Thursday, one in the afternoon, at Diablo.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your meeting. Be prepared, Scott. And don’t ever call me before noon again.” I hung up the phone, not waiting for his reply.

  He was either going to turn up at the appointed time or not. And while I had an itching curiosity to know what Scott had to offer, I wasn’t going to advertise that to him. Nope. I never showed my cards. It was the quickest way to get taken advantage of. And if I wanted a long and successful career, I could not be making stupid mistakes. Ones that would probably be forgiven if I didn’t have a uterus, but have me vilified for the same reason.

  It was unfair, but that’s the way it was. And I wasn’t going to cry about it. So instead of thinking about what I couldn’t control, I turned my attention to what I could.

  Diablo.

  The new site for expansion.

  And Jared.

  Okay, so two out of three I could control.

  It had been hard to tear my mind away from him when he left, my body still feeling the aftereffects, but I didn’t have time to dwell. Of course, time was no longer an issue since I was awake earlier than I wanted to be and didn’t have a chance at getting back to sleep.

  My hand scrolled on my phone, my social media apps left unopened as I hovered over my contact list. I wasn’t tempted to call him, knowing nothing good could come from it when I was annoyed and sexually frustrated and he was at work. And as moody as I was, he really did have an important job. The heroic aspect and that uniform somehow made him more attractive. And I’d seen my brother in the exact same outfit a million times and never batted an eye, which confirmed what I already knew.

  Jared Leighton was hot.

  Sigh, if only that was where all his virtues lay, then it wouldn’t be so hard to resist him. But he was sweet, and kind, and thoughtful, with such a great smile it made my insides squirm. And I didn’t squirm for anyone, which just made it more perplexing. He was smart too, and ridiculously loyal, the kind of guy you could depend on even if the world turned to shit. Which was why when he drove me home, his concerned look telling me he would follow me inside to make sure I was safe, I couldn’t help myself.

  I kissed him.

  Kissed him like I’d wanted to and had no regrets.

  And wow, what a kiss it was.

  “This is so not helping, Presley.” I shook my head, annoyed I was daydreaming about a guy who I couldn’t have when there was a city overflowing with available men right outside my doorstep. All I had to do was walk out there, find someone suitable, and lose myself with a guy who might be just as wonderful.

  Like Lewis? my subconscious asked, my last mistake lingering like a bad smell.

  He hadn’t always been bad, especially not at the start. He was impulsive, wild and creative, and seemed to love me for who I was. That right there should’ve been the tip off it was all an act, his support and adoration for my demanding high-powered job tossed to the wayside when I didn’t help launch his career. Not that he knew how hard I’d tried. Calling in a favor or two, and asking a producer to give him a shot. All because I loved him and wanted him to succeed. But he just didn’t have what it took, his talent highly exaggerated, and in the end, I wasn’t willing to put my name on the line. Not when he wasn’t even trying to find a gig, too comfortable living rent free in my apartment and mooching off my goodwill. And in the end, the gloves came off and I knew all I’d been was a meal ticket.

  Hurt like absolute hell—not that I’d ever let him see it—hiding my feelings and embarrassment and kicking him out. I didn’t even know he had a gun, let alone think he’d ever pull one on me. The shock when he did excruciatingly real.

  So yeah, maybe finding a guy wasn’t such a good idea.

  Which left . . .

  My finger had hit the call button before I gave it another thought, leaving lingering doubts and mixed feelings exactly where they belonged. In the past.

  “What?” Raelle groaned into the phone. “I thought we had a deal, no conversations before noon.”

  Her response made me smile, a little too glad I wasn’t the only one who’d been subjected to a rude awakening. “We did, but Scott Collins had other ideas. I just got off the phone with him.”

  “Why are all the cute ones so dumb? You know if he just shut his mouth and didn’t say anything, I’d totally do him.” She was lying of course, but I didn’t care enough to point it out.

  “You sleep with whoever you want, Rae, but I was hoping you might meet me for lunch.”

  And unlike Scott, Raelle wasn’t stupid enough to think my lunch invitation was anything other than business. She sighed knowing better than to say no. “Fine, and I’ll have what you asked for by then too.”

  As predicted, she didn’t need a reminder on why we were meeting. “Good, I’ll see you then. I’ll make reservations at that new Japanese place near Diablo. I’ve heard great things.”

  “Send me the details. I’m going to go back to sleep. Bye.” Unlike me, Raelle could fall asleep on a park bench. All she needed to do was close her eyes and she was gone. So I had no doubt that once I’d heard that click she’d probably waited maybe four seconds before she was blissfully back in dreamland. Definitely a skill I envied.

  With my plans made and no hope of crawling back in between the sheets, I decided I’d get in the shower instead. It was worth the rent I paid on my midtown apartment for the bathroom and closet space alone. The loft was mostly open plan, the interior not wasted with barriers and doors. It allowed the light to flood the apartment and make it feel bigger. Didn’t give you a lot of privacy if you had company, but considering I’d been living alone for the last few months, it was no longer an issue.

  But the only exception was my huge bathroom. It was tucked away from the main living area behind a frosted glass wall. The only “room” with a door and lock, it was a hidden eutopia of white tile, mirrored surfaces, and silver fixtures.

  My eyes closed as I tipped my head under the warm cascading water. The waterproof Bluetooth speaker provided the soundtrack, competing with the spray of the shower as I washed my hair and body.

  It was the one place in my apartment where I refused to be stressed, the powerful jets pounding my muscles as I allowed my mind to wander. As the steam fogged up the room, I let out a slow, extended exhale.

  I’d never once had sex in my bathroom despite the room being sexy as hell. Sure, Lewis had suggested it, jerking off in front of me and trying to entice me to bend. But I’d always refused, not wanting my sanctuary tainted. Guess I knew even back then that eventually our relationship would end, and I didn’t want the peace and tranquility of my shower taken from me for a cheap orgasm I could’ve given myself.

  Which had me thinking . . .

  I’d barely slipped my fingers between my legs when I heard my phone ringing. I hadn’t brought it into the bathroom with me—no business or stress allowed—my ringtone overriding the music on my speaker.

  “Fuck,” I cursed, annoyed that for the second time that morning I’d been disappointed. It was turning into one-of-those days, and I hadn’t even had my coffee yet.

  Grabbing a towel, still dripping water I sprinted to my phone which was sitting just outside the door. In a perfect world I would have ignored it, but I was still waiting to hear from the
police about Lewis. And while I was fine to do the bravery thing while I was in public, I allowed myself a small amount of grace in my private space. It was the bathroom, it definitely brought out my vulnerability. And since I had no idea what he wanted when he broke into my apartment, I was hoping the NYPD might have some answers for me.

  I didn’t have time to check the call ID, answering the phone before it kicked over to voicemail. “Presley Tibbs.”

  “Presley, it’s Lorena. How are you this morning?”

  Oh fuck, I groaned internally, knowing the call didn’t mean good things.

  “Hi Lorena, I’m fine,” I lied. “How are you?”

  Lorena was David Cheng’s personal assistant, which sounded much less important than it was. But the owner of Diablo didn’t do regular. He was progressive and aggressive in business, not subscribing to the traditional rules which had seen his father almost run the company into the ground. Instead he went against his conservative upbringing and culture, conducting meetings and dealings with zero fear. And he expected the best from his team, which is why his personal assistant not only had a Harvard law degree but could speak five languages.

  “Fine, busy day. I’d continue with the small talk but it bores me, and I know you don’t have time for it.” She was also incredibly direct, with no soft edges at all. Like none.

  “Of course, Lorena,” I agreed, not wanting to continue the charade either. “I’m assuming you’re calling about my request to meet with David.”

  Before my ex-boyfriend was trashing my apartment, and I was making questionable—though I’d never regret Leighton—decisions about who shared my bed, I’d called wanting to set a date to pitch my expansion idea. I was even prepared to fly to Hong Kong, my passport anxious to have its first international stamp.