“I know where you live. I have keys to your penthouse.”
His smirk was instant. “Youdo, do you?”
Okay, yeah—it sounded creepy out loud.
“I mean—theofficehas keys to your penthouse. For emergencies.”
“Relax.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I was joking.”
I’m never washing this hoodie.
When they arrived at their destination she hung her head and breathed audibly in relief.
Sebastien would have murdered her in cold blood if anything had happened to him.
Cary stepped out of the truck and leaned in and buckled Rory into the passenger seat like he was a VIP client. “There you go, little buddy.”
She shot her dog a cool stare before twisting toward the rear.
“Do you need any help back there?”
“I’ve got it, thanks.” He lifted the bags out of the truck with effortless ease. “I’m buried in paperwork today—might do some writing later.”
He circled around to her side, resting a forearm on the driver’s side window. His smile was slow, warm, and just shy of wicked.
“How about meeting me for a drink later? I’ve got some checks for Sebastien.” He nodded toward a bar across the street. “There’s a place right there.”
“Sure.” She gulped down the air bubble lodged in her throat. “Sounds good.”
Cary flashed his famous smile. “Thanks for the ride. Looking forward to tonight.”
As he walked away, Tyler stared straight ahead.
What did I get myself into?
CHAPTER 2
CARY
“Wow,” Cary muttered as the truck drove away.
When he’d first met Tyler all those years ago, he’d liked her immediately. She was sharp, funny, and utterly uninterested in the fact that he wasCary Kingston.Unfortunately, every time they crossed paths, she kept it strictly business—and seemed completely unimpressed.
He shouldn’t have mentioned the checks for Sebastien. That made it sound like a work thing. And asking someone you work with out for a drink? Risky. Hell, in today’s world, it could easily come off as harassment.
But tonight, he was going to pull out all the stops.
He’d reserve the entire restaurant. She’d seemed on edge at the coffee shop—annoyed by the fans, the interruptions, the eyes. This way, they could actually talk. Just the two of them.
If she showed up.
Cary’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he answered with a warm, casual tone. “Hey, Vegas.”
“The coast is clear,” came the gruff reply. His tour manager didn’t bother with greetings or small talk—never had. Cary didn’t need the details. He knew exactly what that meant.
Emma had been on her way tosurprisehim in Chicago when he—well, when he’d asked Vegas to quietly book him a flight to Vancouver instead. Detour complete. Drama avoided. For now.
Emma Turner, a B-list actress with A-list delusions, was a walking tabloid headline. They’d been on and off for years, but mostly off—depending who you asked.
