“I’m telling you again,” Nate follows me out of the car with that saintly martyr look that always manages to push my buttons, “Julian Heart is not the enemy.”
“No, sure.” I slam the car door too hard. The sound echoes against the quiet street like a gunshot.
Elm Hollow. Small, quiet, fucking full of autumn decorations and people who mind your business with a cinnamon-cookie smile. I pull my hood over my head. The last thing I need is small-town hysteria.
“He’s trying to help you, damn it!”
I stop, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“Oh yeah? Is that why he saddled me with an ‘image rehabilitation program’ run by his daughter?”
“Because she’s good, Cohen. You need this.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He's tired, and I get it. He's been dealing with my crises, my outbursts, and my headlines for months.
“I need an exorcist, not a love consultant.”
“He just wants to help you, Cohen. He treats you like a son—”
“Don’t start, Nate.”
I stop in front of the driveway and stare at him.
Nate huffs and shakes his head, resigned. “I don’t get why you always have to be defensive. Heart cares about you, even if he doesn’t show it.”
“He cares about the team, not me.”
“Don’t be an ass. He defended you to the management, to the press… even after you decked that photographer.”
“That photographer deserved it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“In any case, I have absolutely no intention of staying at his house. That’s out of the question, fuck.”
“We can’t move into the car or stay in a hotel the whole time,” Nate continues, pragmatic.
Yeah, Nate, and you know what? I can’t be under the same roof as Coach Heart. And especially not under the same roof as his daughter. Those fucking lashes and those fucking eyes that I can’t get out of my head.
Not to mention her tits… but I better keep that to myself.
I sigh and gesture toward the house in front of us.
Dominic Voss’s mansion. Huge, modern, warm lights, and film noir silence.
Perfect. The ideal place to ruin my reputation yet again.
“Tell me you’re joking,” he says, pointing at the door.
“I’m not kidding. We need a place to stay, and Dominic has space.”
“He doesn’t host anyone.”
“He’ll make an exception. He owes me a favor.”
Nate gives me a dirty look, realizing I was at the bachelorette party with him. “He shouldn’t have dragged you into that, damn it!”
I roll my eyes and walk up the steps. He follows, reluctant.
I knock once. Then twice.
