Susan
Chapter
One
“Hey!” I hissed, keeping my voice low. I didn’t want to startle the people who’d interrupted my dinner party by setting off fireworks and making a racket on the communal rooftop garden. All four of them were balanced precariously on the wall, facing away from me, looking out over the city—and, weirdly enough, wearing what looked like Lord of the Rings elf cosplay.
Models, of course. Three jaw-droppingly handsome men, and one stunning young woman. All of them stood on the wall, posing perfectly, surveying the skyline of San Francisco like superheroes.
My heart thudded; one little slip, one stray gust of wind, and they would plunge fifty floors and hit the pavement like a Renfaire tote bag filled with minestrone.
“Get down from there,” I stage-whispered, mindful that they were probably filming. “Do you have any idea how high up we are?”
One of the men had already turned slightly; his eyes flicked towards me, one hand on his dagger.
I almost snorted. Method actors. Young people thesedays were so dramatic. “Listen, I don’t want to ruin your shoot, but get off the wall,” I told them. “It’s dangerous. Someone might get hurt. This has got to be an OSHA violation.”
It was safe to assume there was a producer or director hiding somewhere. They clearly had a massive budget, with the actors wearing impressively realistic battle leathers and loaded with prop weapons—gleaming long swords strapped to their backs and jeweled daggers at their hips.
They were obviously using our apartment’s communal rooftop garden to do a photoshoot—possibly illegally and without permission, since it was the tallest privately-owned apartment building in Lower Nob Hill, but that was none of my business. I just wanted them tonotfall to their deaths. And be a little quieter, if possible.
I knew they didn’t live in the building; I’d definitely remember them if I’d seen them before. Two of the men looked to be in their mid-twenties, one with dark skin, a shaved head, and the muscles of a bodybuilder, and the other one more lithe, with shoulder-length tousled blond hair.
The last one was slightly older, I thought, and taller. He was blessed with the most perfect warrior proportions, with long dark hair pulled up into a messy topknot.
The woman was younger than the others—a raven-haired beauty, barely out of her teens, with the longest legs and tightest butt I’d ever seen in my life. She quickly turned her head and glanced towards me. Her glass-green eyes were shockingly bright, and they widened in surprise when they fell on me.
I stifled my groan and waited for the rest of them to turn around and call me a “Karen” for ruining their shoot.
One of the worst parts of getting older as a woman these days was being dismissed as a “Karen” if youcomplained about anything. It was so unfair. Sure, there were lots of entitled women who needed to mind their own damn business, except the name was thrown around like confetti and used as a pejorative to dismiss and belittle any woman who complained aboutanything.
It wouldn’t bother me so much if there was a male equivalent to a Karen, but there wasn’t.
Well, there was. He wasn’t called a Karen, though. He was called an “active shooter.”
The tallest model—the one with the insanely beautiful proportions—shifted on his feet, turning slowly to face me, so graceful for such a big man. He moved as smoothly as oil on water, effortlessly, like it was nothing, but his movements hinted at an explosive power coiled inside him, simmering just beneath the surface of his smooth tanned skin. I felt like I was watching a huge, terrifying predatory cat turn to size up his prey.
I caught a glimpse of his profile and swallowed roughly, totally unprepared for how shockingly, brutally handsome he was. High cheekbones, the darkest emerald eyes, a carved, masculine jaw with a hint of rough stubble, perfect curved lips…
Get a grip, Susan. You’re a strong, confident, mature woman.
I pointed at him sternly. “Get down from there. Someone will get hurt.”
The younger two men and the woman immediately jumped off the wall and stood in a line facing me. The shockingly handsome one didn’t move. He stood, staring with an inscrutable expression, looking at me like he was trying to crack my skull open with those sparkling dark emerald eyes.
Well, three of them were off the wall and safe now; I would chalk that up as a win. I backed away, opened the roof access door behind me, and scuttled backwards into the hallway. “Stay off the ledge. And keep it down, okay?”
I shut the roof access door, turned ninety degrees left, opened my own door, and walked back inside my apartment.
“Sorry about that.” I bristled slightly, trying to shake off the strange, unsettled feeling the tall model provoked in me.
Bart Montgomery-Litchenstien, my work colleague, best friend, and my only guest for dinner, nodded graciously from the table, saluting me with his wine glass. “No problem, Susan. I know it can get a little loud up here.” He beckoned me to sit down again. “So, what were you saying about that weasel, Richie Curran? I knew he’d applied for the same promotion as you, but I assumed you’d get it easily.”
“Oh, that’s what I was talking about. Okay. So.” I took a deep breath. “Richie Curran threatened to expose me.”
In retrospect, it might have been better to wait until Bart swallowed the sip of red wine in his mouth before I dropped this particular bombshell. He coughed, spluttered, gulped, and turned a little red himself.
“I’m sorry,” he finally choked out, wiping his lips with the napkin. “He threatened towhat?”
