When my plate is empty, I return it to the small kitchen area. I’m lucky to have a tiny oven in here, right next to my very small fridge. All of the counter space is taken up by my microwave. The kitchen opens into the combination living room/bedroom. My twin sized bed is hidden behind a colorful sheet that looks a bit like a tie-dyed shower curtain.
Galen refuses to stay over at my place because of how cramped and tiny everything is, and I try not to take offense because his apartment is much bigger. But he lives with a bunch of other models so it’s not exactly spacious either. I don’t understand it. Galen makes good money walking the catwalk, so he could easily afford to move out. Why he stays in that model apartment is beyond me.
I turn off the TV. It’s not like I’m actually watching it, and the silence overwhelms my studio. I open the window for some city white noise, and the cool air helps liven up my apartment. It gets stuffy given the tiny square footage.
My phone sits abandoned on my coffee table, next to my mug. I pick up both and open Instagram again. Most of the pages I follow are fashion or work-related. Even my own page is filled with designs and style inspiration. Maybe it’s tooting my own horn, but I have over a thousand followers. Of course, once Galen followed me, I saw a huge jump. I’m not complaining because it looks good for a designer to have a lot of followers, even if right now, I don’t have any actual goods to sell.
I scroll past a photo of Galen. But then I do a double-take and stop before scrolling back up. My eyes bug out.
“What the hell?” I say aloud to no one in particular. “What is this?”
In the photo, Galen is down on one knee, except I’m not the woman next to him. What the hell? Is this a joke?
It must be a photoshoot. Sometimes, Galen posts sneak peeks of shoots he has done, and this is probably one of them. I squint at the photo and smile hesitantly. My fiancé is so attractive! How did I get this lucky?
But then I take a quick look the girl in the photoshoot and my heart stops. Only her profile is showing, but the face looks familiar. Too familiar, in fact, because it’s my best friend, Paula.
My coffee mug falls to the ground, shattering and leaving a puddle of coffee on the floor.
Paula is not a model. She’s pretty, yes, but in a normal way. Not in a fashion-magazine type of way.
My heart is racing and sweat breaks out on my brow. This must be a joke or a misunderstanding. Galen’s playing an April Fool’s prank on me. That’s it!
Only, it’s not April first. It’s the middle of May.
Sweating cold bullets, I glance at the caption on the photo.
“Can’t wait to make this beautiful woman my wife,” it says. The hashtags include “#bae” and “#love_of_my_life.”
Oh my god, I’m going to be sick. This can’t be happening. Galen is engaged to me. Why is he posting on Instagram about proposing to Paula?
Vomit swirls in my stomach and a sour taste rises in the back of my throat. Galen never even posted a photo of us when we got engaged. He said it was because he could lose modelling jobs or some other vague excuse.
That obviously wasn’t the truth. Plus, I notice a familiar-looking arch of flowers, and swallow hard again. This photo was taken on the rooftop of Lombardi’s, a restaurant in Little Italy near where Galen lives. He took me there on our first date. It was our place, or so I thought.
Comments flood the feed, congratulating the happy couple. They say things along the lines of “Beautiful couple!” and “Congratulations on your big announcement!” Anger courses through me. I look at the diamond on my finger. Does it even mean anything?
I jump up from the couch, grab my purse, and head for the door. I need to get to the bottom of this. This is such a sick joke, and nausea makes me heady, but there’s no time to waste.
After all, this is a huge misunderstanding. And if it isn’t, I’ll have to kill Galen and my so-called friend, Paula.
* * *
To be continued …
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Fiona
Fiona’s just been dumped, but she gets the surprise of her life when her new boss, Dylan Masterson, is her ex’s twin brother!
* * *
I pull the rearview mirror of my car towards myself, craning my neck so I can see the reflection of my face. A little swollen, but not too bad. Nothing that make-up can’t fix.
Because last night I allowed myself to cry and let the disappointment of my breakup with Ricky wash over me, with the resolution of getting up today and getting over it. My face was drawn and pale when I woke up, but with some carefully applied foundation and blush, I looked human and no longer like a corpse.
I’d had my coffee, listened to a cool new album, and dressed myself in my favorite dress and boots - and by now I was feeling pretty fabulous. A new beginning! Having slept on it, I feel like a bit of a fool letting a prick like Ricky upset me like that. Why should I cry over a rude asshole like that? Because he was good-looking?!
No, Fiona. No more, the voice in my head spoke. Ricky was your first hot guy, and if that's how hot guys are, he’ll be the last.
With an air of determination, I open the car door and walk towards the studio. Morning sunshine beats down on my hair, and I take a deep breath because today’s an important day: the president of Karmax Construction will be filming a TV spot at the studio, and it’s my job to do his make-up. It’s not like I’ve never had an assignment for a corporate advertising campaign before, but never one this important. After all, Karmax is huge, and its CEO is supposedly an incredibly charismatic billionaire. If I do a good job today, who knows what could happen afterwards? Maybe we’ll get more jobs. Maybe we’ll get word-of-mouth referrals.
But suddenly, I frown. Didn’t Ricky also work for a construction company? Not that he actually worked, worked. It seemed he frequently overslept and sometimes didn't even bother to show up. But at this point, who cares? It’s not my business. I push that loser out my mind and resolve never to waste another thought on him.
Inside the make-up room, I set up my kit and prepare a small table of refreshments for the President of Karmax, who I’m told will be ready for the make-up chair at 9 a.m. Sure enough, at 8:59 the door flies open with a bang. But this must be some joke because dressed impeccably in an expensive suit is Ricky! My coffee almost drops in shock and I snort, brown droplets shooting from my mouth and nose.
Ricky laughs, a deep, charming ripple that I’ve never heard issue from his lips before.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss at him. “Seriously. What?”
His face drops into a confused, but polite smile.
“I believe I have an appointment with you,” he says in a deep male voice. I’m rooted to the spot, staring at Ricky’s impossibly handsome face. But there’s something off. My eyes practically cross, trying to figure it out. He’s the same, but not the same in infinitesimally small ways. Ricky had a small scar over his left eyebrow – does this man have that? His jaw looks more chiseled if possible, those lips more mobile.
And suddenly, the puzzle works itself out.
“Dylan Masterson,” the man says, reaching out his hand to me in introduction. “Nice to meet you.”
I shake his hand, furiously trying to connect the dots in my head. Masterson? Holy shit. Ricky had mentioned once that he had an identical twin brother, but I’d never met him. This must be him! I can't believe my asshole, deadbeat ex-boyfriend has a billionaire twin brother who’s the President of Karmax!
“I’m so sorry,” I finally manage, blushing. “I thought you were - I thought you were someone else.” I nervously shake his hand and Dylan smiles warmly at me, making my knees go soft. “I’m Fiona,” I quickly add, realizing I haven’t even introduced myself yet. “Please take a seat,” comes my murmur while nervously pulling out the make-up chair for him to sit in.
But the alpha male shrugs it off with careless masculine grace. He settles down and I d
rape my make-up cape over his expensive suit. As I reach forward to tie it together behind his neck, the inside of my wrist comes very close to his face. He glances up at me, his eyes the same piercing blue as Ricky’s, but so much kinder. I meet his gaze and can’t look away - an electric current travels between us. I can feel it reaching into my insides, turning them to mush, and down my legs, before settling into a tingle in my pussy. Dylan must feel it too because he suddenly clears his throat and turns his face away from my wrist.
“Your perfume’s very nice,” he rasps softly. “A lovely floral scent.”
“I’m not wearing any,” I answer sassily, unable to hide the smile spreading across my face.
He looks back up at me and matches my grin. “Just naturally sweet, huh?”
I swallow, smiling at the compliment but also completely tongue-tied. Since when are hot guys actually nice? But I catch myself. This is work. So I start doing his make-up, whipping out my brushes and paints while fidgeting a bit with the lights and mirror.
But at the same time, I’m intensely aware of Dylan in a way I’ve never been aware of a client before. The way his skin radiates heat as I lean forward to brush his bronzed skin with setting powder. The way those shoulders are so broad, his massive form hulking in the make-up chair. And I can’t get over Dylan’s physical similarity to Ricky – after all, they’re identical twins, although also different in subtle, idiosyncratic ways. Because Ricky was lazy, rude, and vain. The bad twin was arrogant, and commanded no respect.
By contrast, I’ve only known Dylan for about two seconds and already I can tell that he’s totally different. His straight posture makes him look taller than Ricky, even though they should be the exact same height. He’s gentle and kind, yet commanding, without having to do or say much.
Oh god. My attraction to him is making my hands shake. I hope he doesn’t notice! But I can see from the corner of my eye he’s keeping his eyes on my face as I work. The fact that I’m into him must be obvious as day. I bet Dylan can walk into any room and make women swoon, falling over themselves like idiots. But for him to be into me? No, that’d be a pipe dream. Ricky may have been hot, but he was still a loser, whereas Dylan is clearly nothing of the sort. He’s an alpha prime. What would a man like this want with a brunette with a couple extra pounds?
Suddenly, I’m jolted from my thoughts.
“How do I look?” asks Dylan in deep, gentle voice. I allow myself to meet his gaze and notice that he’s smiling, those perfect lips molded beautifully. His blue eyes are warm and kind, and not cold like Ricky’s. Butterflies flutter in my stomach.
“Um, handsome - very handsome,” I stumble, holding the make-up brush in mid-air, my hand trembling. He smiles and suddenly his hand is on mine, gently enveloping it within his. Even his grip is different - purposeful and confident, not clammy and sweaty like Ricky’s always was. My breath stops in my throat.
Because I have to be careful. Things didn’t end well with Ricky. He was so charismatic in the beginning, but then quickly turned into a prick and dumped me. Why would Dylan be any different? Only this morning I’d sworn I wouldn’t go out with a guy that hot again, and yet here I am, flirting away like a nincompoop.
But Dylan seems so different from Ricky. The good twin seems genuine and sincere in his interest in me, and there’s a charisma that radiates from this male form, pulling me in like Ricky never did.
All this flashes through my mind in the split second after he takes my hand, making me freeze. I must look like a startled rabbit, because Dylan abruptly lets go of my hand, looking at me with a sudden concern in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” he growls. “I didn’t mean to shock you.”
But I interrupt him, saying in a hoarse voice thick with emotion.
“No it’s no problem. You didn’t shock me. In fact, I want it,” comes my dulcet murmur. His blue eyes flare.
“Oh really?” comes that low growl. “You want it?”
I blush. What are we talking about here? But somehow, the language between men and women is universal no matter the setting. We both know what we’re talking about as the electricity crackles between our forms so bright that heat sparks in my heart.
“I do want it,” I confirm softly, looking deep into those blue eyes.
And my words are true because I do want it, despite my previous relationship with his twin. Because there are good twins and bad twins, and maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time, Dylan could really be interested in me despite all my faults and foibles, despite all my idiosyncratic tendencies and extra curves. Maybe this time things will be different … and I’ll get lucky.
* * *
To be continued …
#BABYCRAZY is LIVE! Pick up your copy here.
About the Author
Cassandra Dee is a bestselling author of dozens of hot and steamy contemporary romances. She started out writing erotica but transitioned to romance after falling for one too many book boyfriends.
When she’s not tapping away furiously at her laptop, Cassandra can be found drinking gallons of coffee and watching lots of reality TV. She also enjoys taking the neighbor’s dog for walks, aimlessly wandering the local grocery store, and of course, reading too much about the lives of her favorite celebrities.
Cassandra is living her own HEA with her husband and a beautiful baby boy.
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The Neighbor Next Door Page 9
