by Elle Kennedy
“I would love that,” he said. “I’ll call Suz and see when she’s free, and the three of us could—”
“Dean Colter!”
A shrill female voice interrupted him, and Dean barely had time to blink before a blonde tornado flew up—and slapped him in the face.
His hand shot up to soothe the sting in his cheek as a pair of livid blue eyes glared bloody murder at him. It took him a second to place the pretty blonde who’d attacked him. Katie? No, Kelly. The waitress he’d hooked up with a few months ago at one of the engagement parties DreamMakers had planned.
“Kelly,” he started, but his former flame didn’t let him finish.
“You know what, Dean? It’s bad enough that you didn’t call me after we slept together,” Kelly said angrily. “But then I find out you got with Rachel? What kind of jerk does that?”
Confusion fogged his brain, along with a flicker of panic when he noticed Emma edging closer to the hotel door. The rain had stopped, but a mist still hung in the air, creeping along the sidewalk like fog in a horror movie. And Kelly’s mood matched the weather, her stormy expression focused solely on Dean, as if Emma wasn’t even there.
He shot Emma an apologetic look before turning back to Kelly. “I’m sorry you’re upset I didn’t call,” he said gruffly. “But I thought we agreed it was a one-time thing.” He offered a pointed look. “You said you were okay with that.”
“I didn’t think you were serious!” she shot back, her grip on her foam coffee cup tightening with anger. “But that’s not even what I’m mad about! I’m mad because you slept with my sister!”
Oh shit.
He had?
Kelly scowled at his perplexed expression. “Yeah, Dean, Rachel is my sister! You know, the girl you met at the Frog and Crown and then dated for a month?” Her voice turned shrill again. “I get one night and she gets a month? What happened to your whole I-don’t-want-to-date-anyone speech, huh?”
Emma inched farther away, bringing a jolt of panic to Dean’s gut.
“Kelly—”
“No, I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit excuses,” she interrupted. “You’re a liar and a player, and I’m done with you. So is Rachel, by the way.”
With that, the blonde huffed off, her high heels clicking on the pavement with each furious step she took. Dean watched her retreating back for a moment, stunned by what had just happened. Christ. He’d had no idea that Rachel was Kelly’s sister. What the hell were the odds of that?
Either way, it was time to do some serious damage control. He’d just spent nearly an hour trying to show Emma he’d grown up, that he was someone who merited another chance, even if it was just a chance at friendship. And now thanks to one jilted ex-lover, all the groundwork he’d laid had been stripped away.
Taking a breath, Dean turned around, armed with an apology he never got to voice.
Because he was staring at an empty space.
Emma was gone.
Chapter Eight
It wasn’t gaming the system.
It wasn’t.
Dean ignored the little voice inside his head that insisted he was doing an awful lot of doubletalk these days, but screw it—he was a man on a mission. And in his books, getting the mission accomplished meant any and all means necessary were A-okay.
Which meant taking action. Now. He went straight from the abysmal end to his time with Emma to the DreamMakers office, deliberately going in the back door to avoid their all-too perky receptionist.
Chances of Didi figuring out something was up? One hundred percent.
The older woman was mostly bloodhound when it came to sniffing out topics they didn’t want to discuss. Like the time Parker and Lynn had a fight about Cheez-Its, of all things, and the rest of them only knew Parker was pissed about something. Didi had spotted the orange stain on his fingers and got all the details out of him.
Hell, maybe instead of working the front counter they should hire her to do all their undercover work—she’d have full intel in no time.
But as entertaining as it was to see Parker squirm, Dean didn’t want the same thing to happen to him, not this morning. So he snuck in the back door, waving briskly at Jack and Gillian who were chatting in the staff area before marching into his office and closing the door.
It had been a hell of a long time, but he’d been honest with Emma. If it hadn’t been for her, not only would he have screwed up their date oh-so-long ago, but DreamMakers would never have taken off in such a huge way. Still, staring at the questionnaire they gave out standard issue to their clients brought a strange sensation to his gut. He filled in everything he could. Favorite color: yellow. Favorite food: seafood. Favorite song—
God, the memories were going to kill him.
He’d always teased her about liking the music she did. He wondered how her old enthusiasm for raunchy acid rock had played out as time had passed. He wondered exactly how many of the details he was writing down were even true anymore.
The weird sensation that hit him was a challenge and a right hook to the jaw at the same time.
It took him twenty minutes to go through the form as best he could, filling in a few current-day tidbits he had gleaned from searching online and his brief moment in her suite. But it wasn’t enough. Not if he wanted to do a complete job of impressing her.
A smart man knew when to admit he needed help, and right now he needed all the help he could get. Who better to get it from than the number-one assist for clueless men in the Bay Area?
He stuck his head out his door and double-checked where his partners were before casually sauntering over to Colby.
“How’s your workload look this week?” Dean asked.
Colby didn’t bother to glance up from the computer screen. “Out-of-the-office stuff? I’m booked this afternoon, and I haven’t even looked at tomorrow’s list yet.”
“I’ll clear your schedule.” Dean passed forward Emma’s folder. “I’m putting you on this one as of tonight. It’s a new case, confidential client, but I’ve cleared him.”
Colby whistled softly as he took the file. “Damn, we’re getting a lot of these hush-hush jobs lately. Is this another royalty gig?”
From the far side of the room where she was working, Gillian’s voice rang out. “Don’t take it…” she warned.
The guys grinned at each other—they’d heard all about her little mishap.
“Nothing nearly as exciting as that,” Dean assured him. He laid his hands on the computer desk and moved in closer to Colby. “Keep this one on the down-low, even around here. He’s willing to pay extra for complete confidentiality.”
“No prob.”
“You report straight to me. Anything you get that’s important to act on fast, let me know.”
If there was a hint of suspicion in Colby’s eyes Dean managed to ignore it, instead waving jovially at Parker as the other man exited the boardroom, guiding a client back to the front hall.
Jack gestured for Dean to join them, and the three friends ended up in Parker’s office, where Parker leaned back in his chair, fingers linked behind his head, satisfaction on his face. “I’ve been checking our financial statements. Assets continue to grow.”
Jack was tossing a ball with one hand, not even looking at it. “Didn’t we have this conversation not even three months ago?”
Parker shrugged. “Hey, I figure it’s important to report good news as often as we can. We’re doing okay, guys. And so far so good in terms of positive media reports.”
“Positive?” Dean laughed. “Let’s use a few bigger superlatives there, bro. Glowing, extraordinary, fucking fantastic.”
“We’re amazing,” Jack agreed. “So what are we going to do to celebrate?”
Parker stared off into space for a moment. “The options are pretty endless. And I definitely want us to do something, but let’s also think long-term here. We’ve got the new hires, and they’re doing great. Do we need to add anyone else to the roster?”
Jack and Dean glanced at each other. “It seems strange to think that we’ve already got a staff of six,” Jack remarked.
“Seven, if you count Pepper.”
Jack raised a brow. “She’s not staff, not according to her. She’s Supreme Overlord and Queen of My Ass.”
“If we hire more people it means we can work less hours…” Parker offered the suggestion as if it were a steak-and-lobster dinner. “I mean, I love what we do, but it’s kind of nice to be able to sleep in and not have to see oh-dark-hundred very often anymore.”
“You getting old, Parker?” Jack taunted. “Need us to start buying you Viagra by the case?”
Parker smirked. “Fuck off. I don’t need help getting it up. I’ve got the cock of an eighteen-year-old. If anyone needs some extra assistance, it’s—” He stopped abruptly, his expression becoming pained. “Nope, can’t do it. Damn it, Jack, why’d you have to go and hook up with my sister? Now sex banter is completely off the table.”
“You can still sex-banter with this guy.” Jack hooked a thumb at Dean. “In fact, I think we should. Now. Because either I’m dreaming it, or Colter hasn’t been late for work in days, and you know what that means.”
Parker grinned. “He’s not getting any.” Those mocking green eyes shifted in Dean’s direction. “We’re right, aren’t we?”
Dean stifled a groan. Of all the men on their Rangers unit, why the hell had he decided to bro up with these ones? Parker and Jack gossiped more than a gaggle of old ladies in a Florida retirement home.
“Ha!” Jack crowed when Dean didn’t respond. “Oh yeah, he’s totally striking out in the sex department.”
“No, I’m just taking a sabbatical,” he said through clenched teeth.
That had them laughing even harder. “A sabbatical?” Parker echoed. “Is that code for you figured out casual sex sucks ass?”
Dean rose before Jack could pipe up in agreement. Ever since Parker and Jack had met the respective loves of their lives, it was like they’d forgotten all the sexual shenanigans they’d gotten into in the past. They’d climbed on their high horses and were starting to get way too preachy for Dean’s liking. Most times it was all in good fun, but something about their matching smirks rubbed him the wrong way today.
Hell, he was already way ahead of them in the love department. Parker and Jack had never even had serious relationships until they’d found Lynn and Pepper. Dean had understood what long-term commitment meant ages before these two boneheads.
“I have work to do,” he announced. “So if there’s nothing else to discuss…?”
He didn’t miss the alarmed look that his buddies exchanged. “We’re just joking, you know that, right?” Parker said slowly.
“Yeah, I know. And I still have work to do, so…?”
After a beat, Parker sighed. “Yeah, the meeting’s over.”
Nodding, Dean strode out the door and left them in Parker’s office. Shit. He hadn’t meant to be rude or defensive, but Emma’s reappearance in his life was stressing him out. He wanted… Damn it, he still had no clue what he wanted.
He just hoped he figured it out soon.
“So how’s Lou working out?” Emma balanced the phone on one shoulder as she rearranged a stack of sketches, bracing herself for Stella’s response. The bodyguard-slash-handler-slash-monkey-wrangler she’d hired to act as Enzo’s keeper had started that morning, and she was praying there hadn’t been any snags today. It boded well that Stella hadn’t called even once, and it was already six o’clock on the East Coast.
“Lou is a godsend!” Stella blurted out, her relief echoing over the extension. “I don’t know where you found this guy, Em, but he’s…holy St. Christopher, he’s like a drill sergeant!”
“I should hope so,” Emma said dryly. “Because he’s a retired army sergeant.”
After every executive assistant agency had informed her that “baby-sitting an egotistical asshole” wasn’t something their temps were trained for, Emma had been forced to explore other avenues. The security company she’d hired consisted of former military personnel who served as bodyguards for the rich and famous, and the company head had assured her that her very specific requests would be met, no questions asked.
“He hasn’t let Enzo out of his sight all day,” Stella revealed. “And when Enzo tried to bail on the French Vogue interview, Lou said the gun in his holster wasn’t for show and therefore Enzo shouldn’t eff with him. Lou could shoot him, bandage him up, and still deliver him to the appointment on time.”
Emma burst out laughing. “I bet Lorenzo loved that.”
“Trust me, he’s been moping like a six-year-old all day, but Lou doesn’t mess around.”
Good. That’s precisely why Emma had hired him. “And you’re okay staying in New York?” she asked her assistant. “I really want you handling the business end of things while I’m working on these designs.” Because she didn’t trust Enzo with that kind of responsibility, not as far as she could throw his big, stupid ego.
“Yup, yup, I’m all good,” Stella assured her. “Now I can concentrate on actual work instead of dealing with that spoiled, arrogant jer— Hey!”
A squeak flew over the line, followed by a rustling, and then a male voice roared in Emma’s ear.
“Is that you, Emma? What the hell game are you playing?”
Lorenzo’s incensed demand raised her hackles. She was so fucking sick of hearing his voice. And seeing his face. And watching him destroy everything she’d worked so hard for.
“Don’t you dare talk to me about games,” she snapped back. “You’re the one who’s showing up drunk at photo shoots and bailing on interviews and driving poor Stella crazy. Enough is enough, Enzo.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!”
His accent always seemed to grow more pronounced when he was angry, and Emma knew it wouldn’t be long before he started unleashing a string of Italian expletives.
“Then don’t act like one!” she yelled, then forced herself to draw a deep, calming breath. She exhaled slowly before speaking again. “You’re the public face of this company, Lorenzo. You can’t keep doing stuff like that.”
“I can do whatever I want because I’m the face of the company.”
His mocking tone slid through the phone and chilled her spine. Shit. This was even worse than she’d thought. Enzo had let the fame and success go to his head from the moment Fire and Ice had exploded onto the fashion scene, but now that misplaced sense of entitlement was coming dangerously close to ruining Emma’s livelihood.
“Do you think Ralph Lauren shows up for every interview?” Lorenzo went on. “Do you think Marc Jacobs sits at home twiddling his thumbs? And Lagerfeld? McQueen? What do you think they’re doing, Emma? They’re screwing models and spending their oodles of cash, and why shouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t I?”
“Why?” she echoed quietly. “Well, because the difference between you and Jacobs and Lagerfeld and the rest of them is simple—they actually design the clothes. You don’t.”
“Who fucking cares.” He laughed harshly. “To the world, I am the designer, and that’s all that matters. And I don’t appreciate you trying to leash me like I’m a disobedient dog who needs to piss on your command.”
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 lu
nch 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?