I stumbled backward into the glass shower door and sat down hard on the tile floor. My head spun as I tried to regain my bearings. “What the hell?!” I yelled, clutching my forehead.
A small figure emerged through the mist. The woman looked horrified as the fog cleared. “Oh my goodness,” she gasped. “Luther? What are you doing here?”
“Who are you?” I asked, scrambling to my feet.
The realization of my nudity hit her, and she quickly averted her gaze to the floor. It wasn’t until she looked up and stole a quick glance that I recognized her.
Chad’s little sister, Lilly.
“Damn,” I muttered, wiping the mirror to assess the damage. A swollen bump was forming by the corner of my eye.
Annoyance washed over me. I swiveled to face Lilly, my gaze landing on the skillet she was brandishing. “What on earth made you think it was okay to hit me?” I asked.
She shot me a look of exasperation. “I thought you were a burglar. What else was I supposed to think? I arrived here alone, and then I heard someone in the shower.”
A grin spread across my face despite my annoyance at the unexpected company. I reached for the towel hanging on the small bathroom cabinet, wrapping it around my waist. “Can’t resist a peek, huh?”
Lilly shot me a look that screamed “unimpressed.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m staying here.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not about the money. I’m hiding out from the media. I need to be somewhere they can’t track me.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m calling Chad. I didn’t sign up to share this place with a stranger.”
I let out a chuckle. “Are you paying to stay here?”
“No,” she retorted, her cheeks flushing a deep red. “Are you?”
“I could,” I shot back.
That seemed to hit a nerve. She flung the skillet at my feet, narrowly missing my toes. I shot her a glare as she stormed out of the bathroom.
What was this madness? I felt like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole.
Had I actually smacked him with a skillet? A wave of mortification washed over me like a swarm of creepy crawlies.
I located my phone wedged in the couch cushions, yanked it free, and dialed Chad’s number with trembling fingers.
“Pick up,” I muttered into the phone.
“He’s not going to answer,” Luther called from the kitchen. His back was to me as he rummaged through the fridge.
His shoulders were wide, his waist narrow. I wished he would put on more clothes, but he seemed content in just a pair of sweatpants. Droplets of water trickled down the back of his neck from his shower.
When he turned around, I quickly averted my gaze to the couch. “Darn it,” I muttered under my breath as the phone rang and rang. But on the fifth ring, Chad finally picked up.
“What’s up?” he grumbled. “I’m in a meeting—”
“Why is Luther Whittington here?” I demanded.
Chad let out a heavy sigh. “I forgot to mention—I told him he could stay there too.”
“Chad,” I whined. “You can’t be serious. I can’t live here with him. How long is he staying?”
“Lilly,” he said, his tone laced with annoyance. “I don’t know. If you don’t like it, find somewhere else to stay. My other properties were booked, and he needed a place away from the city. You’re welcome to go stay with Mom.”
Luther was watching me from across the room. I prayed he couldn’t hear Chad’s end of the conversation.
Chad hung up on me. Well, shit. He could forget about his birthday gift this year.
Luther’s deep chuckle echoed in the room. “Did Big Brother let you down?” he asked.
I flipped him the bird and headed for the master bedroom.
“Oh,” he said, stopping me in my tracks. “About that. I think since I’m bigger, I should get the master.”
I threw my head back and laughed so hard my neck popped. “If you think for one second that I’m moving my stuff to another room, you’re sorely mistaken. You can take the guest room. It has a queen bed.
“You’re not as big as you think you are, and you’ll fit just fine. Have a great night, Luther.” I slid the barn-style doors shut, locked them, and then locked my door to the shared bathroom.
Before I could really enjoy the privacy, though, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I fished it out, hoping it was Chad with a solution, but it wasn’t. It was my mother.
I cringed at her name on the screen. I knew I’d have to talk to her eventually, but not yet. Not till I had my life at least a tiny bit together. I tossed the phone onto the bed and flopped down on top of it.
It buzzed once more, indicating she’d left a voicemail, but I didn’t check it. I rolled over, grabbed the remote from the nightstand, and turned on HGTV. Maybe a few hours ogling dream homes I could never afford would be enough to lull me to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up to a crick in my neck and the pulsating beat of music from outside. I squinted, reaching for my phone only to find it lifeless. My charger was buried somewhere in my purse, but I didn’t have the energy to dig for it right now.
The music seemed to amplify as I moved toward the sliding glass doors for a peek outside. There was Luther, shirtless on the back terrace, lifting weights.
As I reached for the door handle, a small, cursive tattoo on his shoulder caught my eye. I squinted, trying to make out the words, but it was too far to read. I had to admit, the view of those muscles was…inspiring.
Suddenly, Luther turned and caught me staring. He shot me a bewildered look, switched off the music, and returned my gaze. “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”
I clenched my jaw, irritation bubbling up. “Could you turn the music down? Some of us were trying to sleep.”
He raised his eyebrows in defiance and cranked it way up instead. “No.”
“Dude,” I shouted over the racket of thumping bass. “You’re not the only one living here. Show some consideration!”
“Dude,” he mocked, not even breathing hard as he resumed his bicep curls. “It’s ten in the morning. Some of us have been up for hours. Shouldn’t you be working? Or are you planning on mooching off your brother forever?”
I spluttered, but between the just-woke-up bleariness, Luther’s smug smirk, and the mouthwatering view of those bare pecs rippling as he started doing dips…I couldn’t think of a snappy comeback.
Maybe after some coffee. Just you wait, Luther Whittington. Soon enough, you’ll regret taking that patronizing tone with me.
I spun toward the house, but a moment later, the music turned down and Luther called after me. “Hey…”
“Hey, what?” I snapped, turning back to glare at him.
“Why aren’t you working? I think I saw on Chad’s social media that you graduated a few years ago, right? I don’t remember what you were studying.”
“Art,” I said shortly. “And I was working till a week ago. Trying to run my own gallery in the middle of a recession. Guess how that turned out?”
He got a thoughtful look, finally putting down his dumbbells to give me his full attention. “So you’re gonna need some fast cash, then, if you want to try opening another gallery.”
I snorted. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Unfortunately, my entire savings went into the first one. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be stuck working at McDonald’s for the next decade before I can try again.”
He laughed. “I haven’t seen your work, but I’m sure you’d be wasted at McDonald’s. What if we could help each other out? I’d be happy to invest in an up-and-coming artist.”
“I don’t need your charity,” I said, a reflex.
“It wouldn’t be charity,” he argued.
My eyes kept slipping down to his shirtless chest, a distraction from this weird conversation. I tried to focus.
“I told you earlier, I’m hiding from the press,” Luther explained. “Partly because of this big scandal with one of my clients, but mostly because, for some reason, they’re convinced I’m hiding a scandal of my own.”
“My business partner suggested I could come out with a fake girlfriend to get them off my back. I don’t like the idea of putting a stranger through that, but if you’d be up for posing for some pictures with me…I’d be happy to pay you for the trouble.”
Part of me wanted to laugh in his face. Publicly fake dating my childhood crush sounded like a recipe for disaster. Besides, I barely knew the guy anymore.
But then…an investment in my art? A lifeline to help me escape my mother’s judgment and my brother’s charity, without having to spend years working some crappy minimum-wage job? And all I had to do was pose for a few photos with a handsome millionaire?
How could I say no?
