As if he knows what I’m thinking, the smug bastard smirks at me. That’s all it takes to remind me why I hate the man before me. He broke my sister’s heart and has probably left a trail of them across Los Angeles.
“I said the button won’t work unless you have this.” He adjusts the gym bag on his shoulder and holds up a sleek black card. He reaches in front of me to swipe the card over the keypad. His delicious masculine leather scent fills my nose, and the heat of his body brushes against my skin, making me shiver.
I step back, putting space between us, and hold up my white card. “I did that.”
“That card won’t work once I call the elevator,” he says with a husky chuckle. When he presses the button for the top floor, my heart leaps.
Of freaking course he’s my neighbor.
I knew the gorgeous, reasonably priced penthouse apartment was too good to be true. Why didn’t I ask Talia who lived next door when I had the chance?
I think back on the facts I so obviously missed. The inside scoop on an unlisted apartment and the “friends and family” discount on rent. The cars. His absence. The signs were all there; I just didn’t see them.
“What floor?” he asks politely, waiting for me to answer.
“Same as yours.” My response comes out harsher than I intended, but I’m pissed.
Mostly at myself. The one degree of separation between us has always been there. I knew that working with Talia came with the colossal risk of running into him eventually. But this?
Nico shifts his body to face me as I keep my gaze on the elevator doors. Taking a few slow breaths through my teeth, so I don’t breathe in anymore of his intoxicating scent, I silently pray for this ride to be over as quickly as possible.
I turn to face him and glare. “You’re staring.”
“Hmm” is all he says.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him run his thumb over his thick bottom lip. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to stare?”
“She did.” Without another word, he goes back to staring at me.
The seconds drag as the blood in my veins begins to simmer. He’s barely said a word, and yet his mere presence is infuriating.
“What’s with the special card?” I can’t help but ask.
Nico shrugs with a grin, like he knows something I don’t.
I mimic him and shrug my shoulders. “That’s it? I don’t get an actual answer?”
“What kind of answer would you like?” He crosses his arms coolly. His biceps bulge against the bunched fabric of his sleeves, which are rolled to his elbow. I’m met with the perfect view of his thick, inked forearms.
Oh Goddess, help me. Why does he have to be so hot?
I force my eyes away from his arms and back to his chiseled jaw. “An honest one.”
“Because I’m special.”
I bite back my laugh at his answer. “Special? Really?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” he asks.
That plump bottom lip of his pops out into a pout as his forehead crinkles. I bet that lip has gotten plenty of women’s panties to drop.
“Catching baseballs doesn’t make you special,” I quip.
“I like that you know who I am,” he says with a cocky chuckle.
I roll my eyes at his arrogance. “Everyone who’s anyone in LA knows who you are. Still doesn’t mean you’re special, baseball boy.”
Nico scoffs at my dig.
