Could it be Harrison?
Or Pierce?
Or…
No. No, no. I shove the thought aside. There’s no way a stalker got past this level of security.
“Who?” I ask. My voice stays even, though something tightens beneath it.
Either the doorman or the concierge knows the person.
Or someone flat-out took a bribe.
The concierge tilts his head, polite and faintly amused. “He asked me not to say. It’s a surprise.” He punctuates it with jazz hands.
So now, it’s a he.
I glance at his suit. “Is that new?”
His chest puffs as he smooths his lapel. “Why, yes. Yes, it is.”
So much for the perfect day.
I make my way to the elevator and brace for the worst. Fear’s been my bitch all day, and she’s not winning now.
I wish I could tell my runaway pulse that.
I don’t make it three steps into the suite before I realize the surprise is the good kind.
“Gabe?”
My brother barely has time to smile before I wrap both arms around him and tug him into the tightest hug.
I mess up his hair, smiling. “You’re here.” Then, my smile slips. “Does that mean you figured out who it was?” I swallow. “The creep who got into my dressing room?”
He lets out a tired breath. “Not yet. But soon.”
Then I pull back and smack his shoulder.
“Ay, Dios mío. What is wrong with you?” I demand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
He grins, sheepishly, rubbing the spot. “We wanted to surprise you.” He gestures weakly. “Surprise.”
“We?”
He gestures toward the kitchen.
My stomach drops.
Harrison steps into view.
Crisp white shirt. Perfectly fitted jeans. Like a magazine spread in a bad mood.
Meanwhile, I look like I crawled out of a sewer after losing a knife fight with a rat. And did I or did I not get all the mustard off my face?
Fan-freaking-tastic.
That’s it. I’m killing my brother.
