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There’s a deafening silence after those words and my body pulls taut. If I were a cat, each of the hairs on the back of my neck would be standing at attention. “You…?”
“Sorry. I choked on some water and had to mute you for a second so I could cough.” He clears his throat one more time. “I need you to come to my house and help me with something. It’s important.”
My shoulders droop. With relief! And no other reason. Definitely not disappointment at his wording mishap. “Oh. Sure. Yeah. Whatever you need. Should I plan to come by tomorrow around—”
“Now,” he says in that sharp demanding tone I’ve already heard from him too much.
I look at the clock. It’s already six, which means traffic going anywhere in L.A. will be horrendous right now. More than that, I just got home from work and haven’t eaten dinner yet. Ice cream doesn’t count because my stomach is already growling again. I’m one of those people who eat eight small meals a day (read: medium to large), and I need every single one of them or my chipper turns into a chip on my shoulder. And when I have a chip on my shoulder…well, no one knows it because I’m not great at expressing frustration, but still! I feel rough internally.
“Are you sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”
He barely waits for me to finish speaking before he replies curtly. “Are you my agent or not?”
I blink and grip the phone tighter. “Yes. You know I am.”
“Then you’ll have to act like it. I need my agent to be available tome 24/7. If that’s too difficult for you…” I hear the arrogant smile in his voice and instinctively know that this entire agreement is one big trap. I see it now for what it is. He’s going to be as annoying as possible until I quit. Maybe he never really planned to let me be his agent in the first place. I can feel it in my cheery little bones that this is going to be our next competition.Who can outlast the other person.
“Of course that’s not an issue. I was only thinking of how tired you might be at the end of the day. I will always keep my client’s very best interests at heart.” And make him eat crap when I’m the best damn agent he’s ever had. Which is why I’m running to my cupboard to shove my half-empty box of cereal into my oversized purse and steal my keys off the counter. “Text me your address, Dere-Bear. I’m on my way.”
“Never cutesify my name again,” he says and then hangs up without another word.
Well, now a new nickname pops into my head.Derek the Dickhead.At least this attitude of his will help me get rid of these pesky feelings I’ve been carrying around for him.
But first, I change his contact in my phone to Dere-Bear.
I pull up to Derek’s gated community and check in with the very serious-looking security guard. This neighborhood is known for housing some of the most elite celebrities and athletes in L.A. It’s highly guarded and no one is getting in here without special access. Which is why I’m really hoping Derek added me to the list as I hand my ID over to the guard. A few seconds later, he buzzes me through and I’m driving past the most jaw-dropping homes I’ve ever seen.
Not a single house in this neighborhood goes for under eight million dollars. And as I pull into Derek’s curved driveway, cresting the small privacy forest planted strategically in front, I get a good look at his enormous home and know exactly how Elizabeth Bennet felt pulling up to Pemberley. There’s no way he bought this thing for under twelve million.
This is where Derek lives.
Too bad he’s a meanie now.
I park my car on the designated guest parking slab, and then just sit here and stare for goodness knows how long, taking it all in. Themonstrosity is built in an L shape and the exterior is a mix of gray stone, charcoal siding, and black iron trim around all the windows. There’s some sort of lion statue in a little pond off to the side shooting water from its mouth. And the windows are so large I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they’re the same size as an entire wall of my apartment. This place is easily ten thousand square feet.
Why does he live here? It seems like too much house for one man.
Or…oh shoot. Maybe he’s not one man. Maybe he has a girlfriend right now and she lives in there with him? Maybe he has a girlfriend that he’s deeply in love with and only seconds from popping the question to! Maybe I’m about to interrupt a proposal!
Maybe I need to put a lid on my imagination and set my burners to simmer.
I give myself a stern look in my car’s rearview mirror. “Now, listen up, you. Derek Pender doesn’t matter to you anymore. Even if you interrupt a proposal, it has no bearing on your life. He’s free to marry whomever he wishes. You can do this. You are a strong, smart, sexy muffin of a woman and you can do this.” One firm nod, and I’m out of the car and walking under the stone portico that leads to his front door.
I ring the doorbell and wait for him to answer. I wait, and I wait, and I wait. Finally, as I’m about to get my phone out to call him, the door opens.
“Took you forever to get here,” Derek says in lieu of a greeting and gestures for me to come inside.
I don’t know why I was expecting aDownton Abbeybutler to be on the other side of that door, but I definitely wasn’t prepared for the sight of Derek in athletic shorts, sweating and chest heaving under a white, sweat-soaked L.A. Sharks T-shirt. It’s clinging scandalously to his body, and I can see a perfect outline of each ripped muscle on historso. He’s got tattoos under that shirt too. They’re dotting his pecs—though I can’t make out what they are.
I want to pause and admire the ones on his arms, but I don’t dare let myself stare long enough to identify them. My gaze has already been lingering on his massive shoulders too long.
“Yes, well, all of L.A. decided it was a good night to take a drive. And the sunset was gorgeous, so they weren’t wrong.”And you also didn’t give me any heads-up about this impromptu drive.
Ripping my eyes away from his body, I find his face. That’s no better. It’s honestly unfair that any human can look this sexy. I always thought Derek was manly and grown up back when we dated in college. This version makes past Derek look like a little baby boy in a diaper. I mean, holy crap. The forearms on him. The muscles at the base of his neck. He has crowbars for collarbones. If I lock myself out of my car, I’ll just have him ram those bones of steel into my window and it’ll break in an instant. But it’s the sheer heftiness of his muscles that are the most shocking. Last I heard, the NFL used weights in the training facility, but I think they’re lifting cars.
Everyone who’s ever cracked open a magazine knows that Nathan Donelson is the most beautiful man in the NFL. He’s got Clark Kent Superman looks. A pretty smile and dimples and dark eyes. But Derek Pender is attractive in a different way. He’s just so…well, he’s virile and dangerous-looking. His masculinity rolls off him in waves, making me want to bite my bottom lip and then his. It’s a desire that I haven’t felt in a long time.
Speaking of bottom lips, that mouth of his is turned down into a serious frown and I assume he knows I’ve been ogling him.
