A flash of skin, slick and gleaming under the spray.
And by the time he stepped out of the shower, he was clean—but I was feeling very, very dirty.
But there was no time to act on the impulse humming low in my core.
My phone lit up just as Damien tugged a shirt over his head.
“She just parked,” I said.
“Shit,” he muttered, pace quickening. Cologne. Styling gel. Beard oil. The whole damn ritual.
The elevator chimed as we stepped into the foyer. The doors slid open to reveal Candace’s bright face—arms full of four takeout boxes in a vibrant, glossy red. The steam hit first: spicy, sweet, comforting.
And then another scent drifted in behind it.
Cologne.
But not Damien’s—none of the expensive, dark, smoky notes that I loved.
No.
This was sharper. Cheaper. Overapplied. The kind of scent that belonged in a high school locker room, not our penthouse foyer.
My blood turned cold as Garrett slithered out behind Candace, wearing the same skin-tight pants Damien had mocked days ago.
My vision tunneled straight to his smug face.
Candace was talking—I could see her lips moving—but the words drifted past me, muffled under the rising buzz in my ears.
Emma.
Garrett’s lips curled into a smirk.
Emma.
He rolled his eyes.
“Emma!” Candace snapped, grabbing my arm. “Are you okay?”
I forced air in, shaking my head once to clear it. “Yeah.”
Damien’s arms slid around my waist—a reminder that he was here beside me. “Welcome to my home, Candace,” he said evenly, polite on the surface. Before turning his attention to Garrett. “I wasn’t aware you were bringing company.”
She offered a sheepish grin, the takeout boxes wobbling dangerously in her hands.
“Careful there, hun,” Garrett drawled, fingers clicking on his phone screen.
Damien shot him a flat, unimpressed look and reached forward, taking the boxes from Candace before they spilled.
“Thanks,” she exhaled, relieved. “I guess I should’ve given you a heads up about Garrett. He insisted on coming to apologize for last weekend.” She smacked his arm lightly. “Right, hun?”
Garrett jerked, the phone nearly slipping from his hand. “Uh—of course,” Garrett stuttered, stretching a smile across his face that didn’t come anywhere close to his eyes.
“Tonight was supposed to be about Emma,” Damien said. No warmth. No pretense.
“The timing was too good to pass up,” Candace offered quickly, trying for lightness that didn’t quite land.
For the briefest flicker—barely a heartbeat—Damien looked like he might rip her head off. But he swallowed it down, smoothing his expression into something socially acceptable. “We appreciate the food,” he said, each word clipped clean. “Emma, would you help me grab some plates?”
