“Aha,” he winked at me. “Let’s go watch. Maybe we could make friends with them.”
Like me, Bart loved beauty in all things—in art, in decor, in people, it didn’t matter. If it was gorgeous, Bart would admire it.
“I’m afraid I might have Karen-ed myself out of making friends,” I sighed.
“Understandable. Well, I should head off anyway,” he said, draining his wine. “Bobby just texted me; he’s on his way to come and shout at me again.”
“What did you do this time?” Bart’s on-again-off-again boyfriend was one of the best food critics on the West Coast.
“I was supposed to join him at Cloud this evening.”
A warm feeling bloomed in my chest. Cloud was the hottest restaurant in the city. If you wanted to dine there, you had to make a reservation six months in advance and provide two years’ worth of tax returns to prove you could afford it.
I smiled. “And you turned him down for my ham-fisted attempt at sheep’s milk ricotta with sage and browned butter ravioli?” I hadn’t eaten any of it myself; I was savingit for my lunch tomorrow. It was lucky that budgeting was in my blood because at the moment, I couldn’t afford to eat more than twice a day.
He grinned at me. “Your company was much better.” He inclined his head graciously. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Susan. And don’t worry about Richie Curran. You’ll figure out something. Nobody could ever get you down, so don’t let that slimy creep be the first.”
“Thanks, Bart.” I hugged him and plastered myself up against the wall so he could exit my apartment.
It didn’t really matter that my apartment was no bigger than a shoebox; as soon as Bart left, it felt big and empty. One of the hardest things about my new life was adjusting to being lonely. For fifteen years, Vincent had always been right there next to me; we were twin stars, peas in a pod, soulmates—Vincent, the gorgeous, blazingly talented painter who set the art world on fire, and me, the vice president at Orwan Bank, occasional board member, the corporate hotshot on her way to senior vice president status.
Vincent and I had everything. There was only one thing we didn’t have. And I couldn’t give it to him, so everything else crumbled into dust.
Now, I was barely the team leader at the call center of a shitty insurance company, and Vincent was in our bed, in our house, with his young, pregnant intern.
Stop it, Susan.I gave myself a stern talking to as I gathered up the dinner plates and washed them in my tiny sink, trying—and failing—to resist the temptation to chug the rest of the wine right out of the bottle.You’re a strong, capable woman. You can rebuild your life.
Despair punched me in the chest for a second. Rebuilding would be a whole lot easier if I could have escaped San Francisco to start my life afresh where nobodyknew me. I couldn’t, though; it was a condition of my release that I stay in a familiar location.
The rooftop access door banged open; I exhaled, relieved. The models were leaving. Now, I could wallow in misery, in blessed silence.
There was a knock at my door.
Chapter
Two
Ifrowned. What did they want? It was obviously the models from before; my afterthought apartment wasn’t as carefully insulated as the others. I could hear them as clearly as if there was no door between us, arguing amongst themselves about whether or not this was necessary. One of the men spoke in a low, gruff tone—a too-sexy voice that sent shivers down my spine. “Waste your time if you wish, Cress. You have my permission.”
Ah. The girl was coming to have it out with me for interrupting their shoot, and the men were still in character. Well, I was in the mood for a fight. Taking the three steps from my kitchenette towards the front door, I yanked it open.
All four of them stood in the hallway, taking up every inch of space, and my breath hitched in my throat. Maybe I was conditioned to appreciate beauty more than the average person, but these four were jaw-droppingly stunning. Their warrior-elf cosplay only made them seem more beautiful, more otherworldly. Or maybe it was their eyes, which were obviously some sort of new contact lenses that made their eyes glow.
The young woman stood in front; her eyes were the biggest and flashed light green. Good grief, she was beautiful, with smooth, dark tan skin, so bouncy and firm I itched to suck every little bit of collagen out of her like some sort of deranged vampire with a plastic surgery addiction. She had high cheekbones and a pointed chin, along with silky raven-colored hair framing her features perfectly. Long arms, even longer legs, both wrapped in what looked like alligator leather.
I eyed it carefully. It must be faux, although the variation in texture was impressive. I met her eye, resisting the urge to look at the men behind her. “Can I help you?” I asked sweetly.
The girl lifted her chin, meeting my gaze fearlessly. “Susan Moore?”
Oh, shit. They’d gotten into my mailbox. The last thing Ineeded was to get hit by a lawsuit for interrupting an expensive photo shoot. My income was already being severely depleted by alimony and restitution payments. I shook my head and grinned at her. “Nope.”
She frowned. “You are not Susan Moore?”
“No. Sorry.”
She glanced into my tiny apartment, looking behind me. “Molinere is not with you?”
“I’m sorry?”
