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Riley swallowed against the bitterness of that mental image of Sam with someone else.
Her hand went to the doorknob as she weighed her options. If it was unlocked and she entered, she’d be facing Sam’s outrage over her intruding on his private space uninvited.
Then she pictured Camille’s face when Riley told her she wouldn’t be able to write the Stiletto article for the anniversary issue.
She imagined telling the world she couldn’t
write a personal article about Stiletto’s influence on her life, because the brand she’d built for herself was based on …
Nothing.
Her wrist twisted.
The door was unlocked.
Really, Sam? No alarm system?
Riley was more than a little surprised to find herself not in a musty back storeroom but in a cozy living space. A sloppily made bed was pushed over to one side, while the other held a rustic, basic kitchen.
It was tidy, if not pristine, and Riley entered the small kitchen space, glancing over her shoulder before opening the fridge.
The hazelnut coffee creamer was a dead giveaway. The man didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but he’d been a sucker for hazelnut ever since Riley’s mom had introduced him to Nutella when he was twenty.
Next up was the tiny wardrobe in the corner. There was his favorite gray hoodie, an endless supply of functional button-down work shirts, and a suit she’d never seen.
A quick survey of the dresser drawers confirmed it when she spotted at least a half dozen familiar T-shirts.
Sam didn’t just stay here occasionally.
He lived here.
Riley had had no idea. She’d always assumed he still lived in the apartment building up the street from Liam in Williamsburg.
Not that it mattered where he lived, but the surprise caught her off guard all the same. She’d always been so sure she knew Sam Compton.
But she didn’t even know where he lived.
Not that he would have thought to tell her that he’d moved. He didn’t think of her at all.
Things definitely weren’t looking good for her plan, but she’d come this far. What was the worst he could say—no?
Actually, that would be pretty bad. Really bad.
Come to think of it, she’d probably have to leave the country …
Her fingers traced the steel picture frame on his dresser, recognizing it as the picture of Liam and Sam that her mom had given them both for Christmas the year before. It was an almost obnoxious display of great masculine looks. Liam with his jet-black hair and bright blue eyes so like her own, and Sam as the perfect blond foil. In some ways, Riley could probably blame her older brother for her current predicament. Had he really needed to pick the most gorgeous man on the planet as a best friend?
It probably wasn’t fashionable for a grown man to have a picture of his best friend on his dresser, but then again, Liam and Sam weren’t just friends. They were practically brothers.
She remembered when it was taken. It had been a horribly hot summer day in her parents’ backyard. Sam had just bottled his first batch of whisky, and the McKennas had insisted he bring it over for a tasting.
One of Liam’s arms was hooked awkwardly around Sam’s neck, while his other hand proudly held up the first ROON whisky bottle.
Sam’s expression was equally happy, if a bit unsure.
She remembered he’d been horribly embarrassed by the attention, which didn’t make sense. The whisky itself had been fantastic, and he’d sold out of the first batch, to friends and family, almost immediately.
But instead of being proud, he’d been … weird. Maybe Liam was right about Sam being modest.
