Page 39 of Mr. Perfect

My phone rings just as I’m drifting back off.

Dammit. I roll over again and look at the caller ID.

Heath.

Which is not Heath, obviously. It’s Mac. I tab answer and say, “What?”

“Are you sleeping?” he asks.

“Good guess, Einstein. It’s seven o’clock on Friday.”

“Exactly. Why aren’t you here? Your personnel file says you work from seven to four.”

“Well, my personnel file probably hasn’t been updated since I was twenty-two.”

“You’re not twenty-two?”

“Mac, what do you want?”

“I want you here.”

I can’t stop myself from cracking a smile because he says it kind of sweet. “I don’t start until nine. I’ll be in then.”

“I’m coming over.”

My sleepy eyes fly open. “What?” But it’s too late, I get hang-up beeps. I call back on Heath’s phone.

“Ten seconds away.” And more hang-up beeps.

I just stare at the phone and then someone is ringing my doorbell. “What the fuck?” I jump out of bed and grab my short summer robe, cinching the belt tightly around my waist as I rush down the hallway. The doorbell is ringing repeatedly when I unlock it and swing it open.

Mac is leaning against the door, huge lopsided grin on his face. His eyes start in the right place but they drift down—all the way down—then slowly make their way back up to my face. “I like this look. It says fresh.”

“It says, ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’ You can’t just show up at my house. Or call me at night, for that matter.”

“Why not? You quit, right? Who cares if we get caught?”

“I’m not worried about getting caught.” Especially since Ming and Adeline already know and they are the only ones who count. They grilled me good last night. Which is why I came home so early. I couldn’t answer any more questions. Not that I didn’t want to. I literally know nothing about McAllister Stonewall and couldn’t answer a single thing about him when they started giving me the third degree. Then Ming was stalking him online and Adeline was calling “her people” to try to dig up dirt.

But McAllister Stonewall is suspiciously missing from the online search pages and no one Adeline called knew anything more than he’s the older son of Alexander Stonewall.

That just made them even more curious. Adeline even called her private investigator. Personally, I think the fact that she has a private investigator in her contacts is kind of creepy.

And so is the fact that Mac is missing from searches. Who has that power? I know when I search my name online I come up all over the place. I’m in a ton of celebrity photos for one. And I’ve been to all the awards shows that Stonewall Entertainment has been nominated for over the years.

Ming was immediately suspicious and even though I didn’t agree with them last night, I am too.

Something about Mr. Perfect is not-so-perfect.

“So what’s the problem?” Mac asks.

“The problem is I was sleeping. Both times you’ve overstepped the boundaries between work and personal life. I enjoy my sleep, Mac. Stop ruining it for me.”

“You want me to leave?” he asks, showering me with another sideways smirk. “I’m fine with leaving. But I need you at work, Ellie. Now. So get yourself together and be in my office in thirty minutes.”

I open my mouth to tell him what I think about that, but he turns away and walks down the hall before I can think of a good comeback.

I settle for slamming my door instead.