Fuck.
Only I could bang the PT and have my publicist show up straight afterward.
Body temperature rising, I think through how to get out of this. Turning Drew away will look really rude, but she cannot find out about Candice.
The only person who might be proud is Dad, and that’s only because he was a fuckboy, too, when he was my age.
Until he met my mom and became a boy obsessed.
“You left me hanging in Riley’s Bar. We were supposed to meet for an hour before I went to the gym.”
Shit. We were.
“I’m really fucking sorry.”
Drew murmurs something inaudible, and I figure if I can turn her around before Candice emerges from the bathroom, there’s an outside chance I’ll get away with the shit show I’ve created for myself.
“The code for the private elevator is 8825. It’ll bring you right into my apartment.”
A couple of minutes later, I’ve thrown on a white T-shirt, and Drew’s standing in front of my fireplace, looking suspicious.
“I’m curious,” she says, gaze roving the room, which I had decorated in a monochrome finish. It looks fucking brilliant. “But is your private elevator code a combination of your dad’s and your jersey numbers?”
Taking a seat on the gray leather couch behind me, I nod once. “Yeah, same as the passcode on my phone.”
She dips one hand into a fucking huge black tote bag she has slung over her shoulder, and I probably shouldn’t laugh when she fetches out a notepad and pen, but I can’t help it.
“Rule eight: The client won’t make ridiculously easy-to-guess codes in order to access his apartment and phone.Switch them up, William. Before you find a random girl lying naked in your bed or snooping through your phone.”
Too late for that.
As Drew finishes up writing and drops the pen and pad back into her bag, I take in her outfit. “Do you frequently wear knee-high black boots and a gray sweater dress to the gym?”
Drew’s eyes ascend my body, and I get a flush of heat similar to when I answered the intercom.
“Just out of curiosity,” she says, completely ignoring me, “how quickly do you need me to leave your apartment?”
With a sense of dread rising up my throat, I follow her line of vision across the room, and my eyes fix on a black bra slung over one of the floor lamps.
“I’m assuming you already have a random girl in your apartment, and right now, she’s in the shower. Or possibly hiding.”
For the first time in my life, I’m rendered speechless, and I’ve no idea what to do with that or the hot mess I’ve managed to land myself in.
Still, at least Drew doesn’t know therandom girlis actually Candice.
“The bath water is still hot if you want to come join me …”
Eyes ablaze, Drew aggressively points to my PT, who is now standing a few feet away from us, wearing only a black thong, with one arm covering her tits.
“Are you for real right now?!” Drew exclaims. “That’s the team PT, Candice Hale.” She huffs out a despondent breath. “And before you get all nosy and ask me how I know, Dad hada Christmas party for his staff, and I swear to God …” Voice climbing higher, Drew pauses to catch her breath.
“Hi,” is all Candice says, her free hand raised in a small, awkward wave that summarizes the situation perfectly. “I’m going to get going,” Candice adds after a few more seconds.
Then she scurries back down the hallway, and the bedroom door slams shut.
Drew can’t even look at me, and I don’t fucking blame her because now I know why sleeping with Candice was nothing like all the other sexual encounters I’ve experienced before.
It was a selfish, high-stakes move that wasn’t just dangerous for our careers, but for my publicist’s too. And that makes me feel like the shittiest person ever.
