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It had been Marcus who had sought out the senior living center on Merchant Boulevard. It had been his sunroom design he’d been sure Margaret Beckham would choose—his suggestion to add five hundred square feet to the sprawling grounds of Sunny Acres Retirement Home. It should have been his winning account…in theory.

But when Margaret had stopped in to ask about extra costs, Marcus’s idea for the sunroom redesign fell flat. Lily had swooped in and suggested a koi pond and a greenhouse instead, insisting that fish and plants would enrich the residents’ lives. And just like that, boom, Margaret’s heart had been won.

Lily had locked down the contract, and Marcus had been left with his dick in his hand. Although now that he thought about it, she might have saved the whole damn contract. Margaret had been ready to scrap the redesign after reviewing the bid.

Still. That account had been a tick in her column, and had landed them in a tie. He’d done what he had to do when he’d called his cousin. But her saying he’d “cheated” to win Hawaii was almost as outrageous as believing she’d stay the whole night in the mansion and then take the trip from him.

Not. Happening.

“Suit yourself, Black. For the record, I think you’re wasting your time.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Clive made it halfway down the hill before whisper-yelling, “Let me know how it goes!”

After his friend lumbered to where he’d parked the car and reversed down the street, headlights extinguished, Marcus unzipped the bag at his feet.

He wasn’t worried about being stranded on the grounds with no way home. Once he boogeymanned Lily from the house, he was fairly certain he could charm her into giving him a ride. She understood the nature of their battle better than anyone. She probably expected him to do something juvenile to win.

He smiled. Challenge accepted.

He’d have to try not to rub in the fact that she’d be on his arm at the design dinner this year. She might do it with a look of contempt on her face, but she’d do it. Lily McIntire wasn’t the type of woman to renege on a bet.

He was also looking forward to being seen with someone as smart and savvy as her. He was aware of his playboy reputation and the assumption that he relied heavily on his charisma to make his way in this industry. But while he’d never had a problem landing a date, having just any woman warming his arm for the evening didn’t hold the appeal it once had.

No, this year he wanted Lily at his side. And the no-panties thing wasn’t really a requirement, though if she agreed, it would sure as hell be a plus. God, that’d drive him insane, her sitting next to him at the table and him knowing she was wearing nothing under her short dress.

He’d bet she had never, not once in her life, eschewed the common decency of wearing undergarments. And her doing it for him? That was worth fighting for even if he hadn’t wanted that trip.

If pressed, he’d admit there was more to it than getting her out of her panties. Her ease in social situations would put him at ease. Especially this year. How the hell was he supposed to graciously accept a Designer of the Year award while surrounded by hundreds of designers more qualified than him? He could hold a pencil and talk anyone into anything, but…Designer of the Year?

He wasn’t sure he deserved it.

Part of him wondered if this awards dinner was the ultimate practical joke—payback for the pranks he’d played over the years. But the committee had picked him and somehow that was worse. Because now he’d be expected to give a meaningful speech about his early influences, his process, his⁠—

God.

The speech.

Just picturing the podium at the center of the room, white-hot lights beating down on him, caused his brow to bead with sweat. He pulled at the collar of his favorite T-shirt and imagined a noose-like bowtie knotted at the front of his neck. How was he going to stand in front of five hundred colleagues and not die on the spot when just thinking about the acceptance speech made him break out in hives?

A hooting owl snapped him back to the present. He could worry about the speech later. Right now, he had one mission. He knelt and dug through the costumes until his hand landed on a mask. He pulled it on and listened as his breath echoed from behind the plastic.

His mission was simple. His target clear.

Scare Lily McIntire out of the house and win the date he’d wanted since he’d first laid eyes on her.

CHAPTER FOUR

Lily folded the cover over her iPad and strained to listen beyond the silence hanging in the room. She swore she’d heard something.

A voice.

Not necessarily, she thought with a shiver. She’d spent the last half hour streaming an episode of Friends. Maybe she’d confused a voice on the show with the voice echoing in her ears.

She turned to face the staircase. The room was swathed in darkness save for the circle of light her lantern cast around the bed. In front of her, the grainy shape of the stairs rose up to the ominous upper floor, but the ceiling kept her from being able to see the landing. She’d looked up there earlier, though, and she had seen nothing beyond the top step except a yawning, cavernous opening. Just imagining what lay in the murky darkness made her want to curl up in that warm puddle of lantern light and scrunch her eyes closed.

Maybe you imagined the voice.