I thought about her suggestion a moment. Brielle would be furious, but this was her best friend. She would know how to get through to Brielle.

  “How long have you known her?” I asked Clara.

  She paused and pressed her lips together. “Uh … let me think … it’s been eight years now,” she said. “We weren’t even legal drinking age when we became friends.”

  “Did you meet in college?” I asked, wanting to know more about Brielle.

  She kept surprising me. I knew so little about her, and she didn’t offer much up. It was clear that she didn’t want me to know her.

  Clara shook her head. “No, I was at a religious private college. It was the only college my parents would pay for, and Brielle was at the junior college she works at now. My mom insisted I get a job. I was so angry about it, but then I met Brielle. It was the best thing my mom ever did for me.”

  “You met her at work?” I asked to clarify.

  Clara nodded. “Yep.”

  “Where did you both work?” I asked.

  “A boutique called Luxe. Brielle was the manager there, and she hired me. Candace, the owner, trusted her with everything. Candace dated the president of the junior college for a time; she’s the reason Brielle got the job there. As much as Candace loved having her as an employee, she wanted more for Brielle, and the college could give her health insurance and pay her more.”

  Clara handed me the last dish in the sink and let the soapy water out, then turned to look at me as I rinsed it and dried it. When I was finished, I met her gaze and realized the flirty twinkle in her eyes was gone. She looked serious.

  “Brielle is special. I don’t care who you are; I’ll hurt you if you hurt her,” Clara informed me.

  “I’m almost twice her age. I don’t intend to do anything to her,” I replied, not sure if I believed my own words.

  There was a good chance I would have done quite a bit to her had Cam not called last week when we were in her apartment. I’d been real close to doing more.

  Clara raised her left eyebrow. “Like hell you don’t. You can’t stay away from her. You hung on every word she said. I don’t blame you. If I were into women, I’d have claimed her and put a ring on it by now. But under all that tough exterior, she has a lot of past pain and hurt. Cam is what saved her.”

  There was that damn name again. A man I had yet to see around, but when people spoke of him, they acted as if he were some fucking hero. Brielle wasn’t that damn perfect. She’d cheated on Cam. Did her fan club know that?

  I was letting a hot piece of ass that had some good qualities cloud my judgment. Sure, Brielle was a good friend and thoughtful, but she wasn’t innocent. She did shit like the rest of us. She should think of being as thoughtful to her boyfriend as she was to the rest of the people in her life.

  “Maybe someone should worry more about Cam getting hurt,” I said before I could stop myself.

  Clara frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  This wasn’t my business. Brielle hadn’t done anything to me. I didn’t need to butt in on her personal shit. Just because I kept getting a hard-on for her didn’t mean I could get nasty and share her dirty laundry.

  I just shook my head. “Nothing.”

  “Oh no. You don’t get to talk about Cam and not explain,” she said, her tone slightly angry.

  What was wrong with her? Damn women were fucking confusing.

  “I don’t know what kind of relationship she has with Cam. I can’t say because I’ve never even seen the man with her. This isn’t my business.”

  Clara stood there in silence for several moments, and I turned to leave, not wanting to get hammered with more questioning. Thankfully, she let me go without any more annoyance. Mrs. Jo was hugging Damar, then Jim, thanking them for their present as they stood at the open door to her apartment.

  Brielle was gone. I was ready to leave too.

  The silence in my apartment seemed like a welcome friend now. I needed it to think and process. To get my head back on straight where Brielle was concerned.

  ten

  brielle

  “Your ass had better be awake,” Clara’s voice called out, and then I heard the front door close.

  I stepped out of the bathtub and wrapped a towel around myself.

  “Seriously! I have to tell you something, and you want to hear it!” she said, her voice coming closer.

  I walked into my bedroom just as Clara entered through the hallway entrance.

  “Good. You’re awake,” she said, looking relieved. “I was probably going to wake you up if you weren’t.”

  I hadn’t expected her back here tonight. After leaving her with Dean to wash dishes, I figured they’d end up together. Maybe they had, and she was coming to give me details. Although I hadn’t been gone that long, so it couldn’t be a lot of details. Either way, I didn’t want to hear about it. There were some things we wouldn’t share. Dean Finlay sex details were one of them.

  “You didn’t leave with Dean?” I asked, trying to sound as if I didn’t care. Because I shouldn’t care. It was dangerous to care.

  She plopped down on the edge of my bed. “No, I didn’t leave with Dean. You’re the only female that man wanted to leave with. Jesus, Brielle, did you not see the way he was watching you? Like, he watched your every move. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

  I didn’t want to believe that because doing so would mess with my head.

  “He’s old,” was my reply. It was a stupid response and something I didn’t care about. Age was just a number—or at least, that was what someone had told me once.

  “Shut up. He’s Dean fucking Finlay. He will be hot when he’s seventy. Besides, fifty-three is not old. It’s just seasoned,” Clara replied.

  I shrugged because I didn’t have the energy to argue against something I agreed with.

  “He thinks Cam is your boyfriend, or you’re in some relationship with him,” she said, grinning brightly, as if this were the best news ever.

  “I know,” I replied.

  Her smile fell. “You do?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Yep. He walked in on me talking to Cam on the phone. He assumed I was talking to some guy I was dating. Cam hadn’t called me during his drive to camp. I had told him to check in every two hours. I was panicking. Dean made a snide comment about my being controlling or something. It annoyed me. I disliked him on sight.”

  Clara was staring at me like I was crazy. “Okay, wait. First off, you’ve known about Dean Finlay living in this building since the day Cam went to camp, and you didn’t tell me? And why didn’t you tell him who Cam was?”

  I shrugged and walked over to my dresser to get a nightgown. “I didn’t know he was living here that day. He had a meeting at the college. And, no, I didn’t see a reason to explain my phone call to him.”

  “Okay, we will get back to that whole meeting Dean Finlay and not telling me bit. But for now, let’s focus on the important stuff. I see a reason to tell him about Cam. The man is into you. He’s not sure if he likes how you’re treating your boyfriend, but he’s almost to the point that he doesn’t care. He wants your hot ass. I can see it all over his face.”

  I took out one of my favorite nightgowns and slipped it over my head. “You’re reading way more into this than is there. He’s Dean Finlay. He can have any woman on earth he wants. I am a college admissions assistant. There’s nothing special about me. He does not want me.”

  Clara growled in frustration and stood up, throwing her hands in the air. “For the love of all that is holy! Would you listen to me when I tell you that you’re gorgeous, smart, thoughtful, kind, tough, the best mom I know, and you’ve got a fantastic personality? Why wouldn’t he want you?”

  I walked over and hugged her tightly. “I love you too,” I said, then let her go. “But right now, I want to get in bed. I have work tomorrow and a date with Gavin tomorrow night. I called him right after I got off the phone with Cam. I decided I needed to date someone this summer. You’re right about that.” Because I was fantasizing about Dean Finlay, and that was a slippery slope.

  “You’re going out with a cute construction worker when a hot rock star is interested in you? Seriously? Is this real life?” She seemed so deflated.

  “You go out with Dean Finlay if you think he’s so great,” I told her. Even if, deep down, I didn’t necessarily mean it. Because then I’d have to hear about it, and I wasn’t sure I could do that.

  “Oh, I went at it full force. I used all my skills. I thought he was just hard to get until we walked into the kitchen and I realized the man was interested—just not in me. He’d been smart enough to lock in on my hot best friend,” Clara told me.

  “You’re wrong. Doesn’t matter anyway. Now, I need sleep. Go home,” I told her gently.

  She sighed loudly, stood up, then turned and headed to the door. “Fine. All my dreams of being the best friend of Dean Finlay’s girlfriend are dashed. You’ve taken them from me. You should be ashamed. I am but a broken woman now. Shattered beyond repair,” she said dramatically as she walked into the hallway.

  “Tomorrow is another day,” I told her. “Perhaps you can make friends with some other rock star’s girlfriend.”

  I started to mention that Kiro Manning visited Dean sometimes or that he had the one time I went up to his penthouse. However, I decided that was a bad idea. She was just now soaking in that Dean lived here. I would do that another day.

  “Do you have ice cream in your freezer?” she asked me.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Good. I’ll lock up when I leave. But I need ice cream to move on from this,” she said, then headed down the hallway.

  I figured the ice cream would lead to her watching Netflix, too, so I went over and closed my bedroom door before crawling into bed.

  Sleep didn’t come as quickly as I had hoped, but when it did, the dreams came too. Dean Finlay showed up in all of them.

  Managing not to think about Dean the next day at work was easy since I’d been given the task of taking the paper files and converting them to digital. The computer crashed twice because it’d needed to be replaced five years ago. There were incomplete and missing files. My right heel broke. I started my period and had forgotten to bring a tampon, and to top it all off, it was eighty-three degrees in the filing room.

  When I walked into my apartment, where the air conditioner kept the temperature at a lovely sixty-eight degrees, I dropped my bag on the floor and basked in the cool … until my eyes landed on my sofa.

  No. Not my sofa, but a sofa.

  Slowly, I walked around to the other side of the sofa and stared down at it. The cushions were so big and full that it appeared you could sink into it. The square armrests were wide enough to set things on, and the color was closer to a slate gray than a blue. One single yellow chenille throw pillow was in the center, brightening the piece up. I didn’t move. I just stared. It was brand-new and the nicest thing I had in this apartment. The other living room furniture looked sad in comparison.

  After the initial shock wore off, the anger set in. He’d come in my apartment when I was gone. He’d taken my old sofa and replaced it without my permission. Just because he owned the building didn’t mean he got to decorate other people’s homes. I paid him rent for this apartment. It was mine. He had no right, coming in here when I wasn’t home. He could see things. Pictures. Cam’s room. This was my private place. He shouldn’t have been in my apartment.

  I stalked toward the door and slammed it as I headed to the elevator. He was going to bring my sofa back and take this … this … very luxurious replacement away. When I got in the elevator, I realized there was no button for his floor. The penthouse floor required a special code to make the elevator go to that level.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket to text him.

  I need to talk to you. Now.

  I sent it and waited. It didn’t take longer than a minute before he replied.

  You don’t like it?

  Damn him. Anyone would like the stupid sofa. It was fabulous. That was not the point.

  Now, Dean.

  Go to the elevator. Press 3, 2, 1, then press 3 twice very quickly. I trust you’ll not share that with anyone.

  I pressed the numbers the way he had said, and the doors closed immediately. When the elevator began to rise, my hands fisted at my sides. He was so high-handed. I didn’t care about his stupid fame. I didn’t need his money. My sofa was fine! I hadn’t asked him for a new one. No insurance would pay for that kind of replacement. He’d been in my home without me there. So many things were wrong with this situation.

  The elevator doors slid open, and there on the other side stood Dean, at his open doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. His chest was bare. All of his glorious tattoos and his pierced nipple on display.

  I would not be distracted.

  I started in his direction, not looking any lower than his eyes. I was angry, dammit. Not here to see him half-naked.

  “I tried to go with a pearl or cream-colored one, but Clara insisted that you couldn’t do a light color,” he said with a shrug.

  I paused and placed a hand on my hip. Clara? She was in on this? Dang it!

  Now, I couldn’t be completely mad at him. I had to share that anger with my best friend, who had meant well but crossed a boundary. Which didn’t shock me. She was always crossing boundaries. She should have known I wouldn’t want him in my apartment. That just made sense. Privacy and all.

  “I’ll deal with her next,” I said to him. “She didn’t pay for it, and she didn’t help herself into my apartment without my permission.”

  His eyebrows rose, and he made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Ah, not exactly true. She used the key you’d given her and was there for the people who picked up your sofa and the people who delivered the new one. I’ve personally not seen inside your apartment. You’re a tenant after all. I respect your privacy.”

  I cursed under my breath. “I’m taking my key back,” I muttered.

  Then, I was relieved that he hadn’t been in my apartment. That Clara had handled it all even if she stepped out of line to do it.

  Dean chuckled. “Can I offer you a soda? Slice of some fucking delicious cherry pie that Mrs. Jo made me? Or perhaps a beer?”

  I dropped my hand from my hip and ran the other hand over my hair with a sigh. Right now, all I could think was that Dean was guilty of buying me a sofa I hadn’t asked for. It seemed my best friend was the one who should be the receiver of my anger. At least most of it.

  I was supposed to meet Gavin in two hours at Carmines.

  I shook my head. Going inside that penthouse with a shirtless Dean was a bad idea.

  “I have to go. But the sofa is too much. Just … can you take it back? Get your money back? I know insurance didn’t cover that.”

  Dean gave a slight shrug. “Guess I could. But then you wouldn’t have a sofa at all. Your other one fell apart at the base and was broken before they even got it on the truck. It is currently in several pieces at the dump.”

  Crap. I bit down on my lip to keep from groaning. Of course it had fallen apart. It had been close to crumbling under the weight of anyone sitting on it. The thing belonged in a dump.

  “Okay, then maybe you could get a less expensive sofa that insurance will cover? Or I can find one at a secondhand shop and bring you the receipt, and you can reimburse me?” Either of those ideas sat better with me than the fabulous sofa in my living room.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said, then straightened from leaning against the doorframe. “But first, you need to come inside and get a drink and some pie. We will talk about it then. I think Maegan filled my wine rack yesterday. I forgot about that. I’ll even let you choose the bottle. We can have a glass.”

  I should leave, but there was a part of me—the stupid, not thinking clearly part of me—that wanted to go inside. He’d said I wasn’t his type. He could have meant that.

  I glanced back at the elevator.

  “Just twenty minutes, max,” he said.

  Twenty minutes. I could do twenty minutes. Then, maybe he’d get me a less luxurious sofa, and I wouldn’t think about him every time I sat on it. That was probably unlikely either way, but I had hopes.

  “Twenty minutes,” I agreed.

  He grinned at me, and I wished it weren’t attractive. I wished he looked like an old guy. I wished he weren’t my landlord. I wished a lot of things, but none of them were coming true.

  Dean stepped back and let me enter. It smelled good. Almost like the ideal beach scent. With fresh ocean air, coconut, it was very tropical. It hadn’t smelled like this the last time I was here.

  “I’ll show you the wine rack,” he said and began walking in the opposite direction of the living area.

  I followed him down a hall I hadn’t seen before that led to a large dining room. The table was big enough to sit sixteen guests with a giant black chandelier hanging over it.

  There was a corner with a floor-to-ceiling built-in wooden rack, stocked full of wine bottles. He sauntered over to it with his jeans hanging on his hips. The muscles on his back moved as he walked. His wide shoulders were more noticeable when he was shirtless. His narrow waist was also on display. I tried not to admire the view, but it was hard. Especially with the Slacker Demon tattoo covering most of his back. It was well known that all the members of the band had the same tattoo. I had once seen all their tattoos in a photo on the cover of a magazine in the grocery checkout.

  It was a reminder that he was famous. Not just in America, but also worldwide. He was legendary. He had been deemed the greatest drummer of the century by Rolling Stones magazine. There was no younger band that had come close to their fame.