I tear my gaze away from the feisty woman and shift my attention to my brother. I know that look. His lopsided grin is also a dead giveaway.
Yes, I have eyes. She’s smoking hot.“I’ll catch you later, Slate.”
“Why don’t I hang around? You might need a referee.”
“I got this.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“You never know––”
“Slate.”
“Okay, okay. I’m gone.”
He closes the door behind him in slow motion, his eyes taking in every inch of the woman dressed in a stunning hot pink dress.
I shake my head.
He grins.
“Here you go.” She flings her driver’s license on my desk.
I pick it up, study it, verifying both her age and her identity. “YouareMichaela Knight.”
“Told you. Care to explain why you’re dead set on fucking up my life?”
Her surly tone is borderline rude.
I drop the driver’s license on my desk and inhale a calming breath. I close my fists and anchor them against my desk. From this vantage point, I get an eyeful of the swell of her tempting breasts. The neckline of her dress is sexy and classy. It commands attention without ever being trashy. The hot pink shade isn’t as defining as red, but it still means business.
She looks up, fixing me with a pair of huge, green eyes in a breathtaking shade I’ve never seen before in my life. Her barely there makeup is flawless and those damn black lashes are a mile long. Her perfect pale skin suggests she hasn’t been in LA for long.
She clears her throat and takes a step back.
She squares her shoulders. “I asked you a question and I expect an answer.”
I glance down.
My desk is an annoyance, a barrier I could do without.
I circle it and come to stand right in front of her. My eyes trail down the length of the pint-sized spitfire glaring up at me.
I approve of how beautiful she looks in this form-fitted dress that hits her above the knee. I’m also quite partial to those sexy as fuck white high heels with a strap circling her delicate ankles. The immaculate white offers a flawless finish.
She crosses her arms over her chest, revealing more than a hint of cleavage. It’s an effort not to stare.
“Well?” She has the audacity to tap an impatient foot on the floor.
My eyebrows rise to my forehead. “You have some nerve,” I say. “You trespass––”
“Newsflash. It’s a hotel. I’m not trespassing.”
Her voice doesn’t match the rest of her. It’s all expensive, smoky whiskey, while her look is all diamonds and champagne. If she wasn’t snapping at me like she is right now, I’m sure I’d enjoy listening to her talk for hours.
Focus.
