by Piper Lawson
Maybe it was an LA thing. Maybe all the sunshine makes them—
“I’ll pick you up at ten.”
My attention snapped up to find Ethan’s level gaze on me. He already had the door open.
“Sure.”
He raised a brow, his mouth pulling up at the corner for a second before ducking out into the hall. The door clicked smoothly behind him.
I let out a groan. I hoped to hell I wasn’t blushing. Because a guy like Ethan Cameron would notice.
And he definitely wouldn’t forget.
4
Ethan
“Holy shit. Did you join the army?”
“It better grow out by the wedding, Dom,” I tossed over my shoulder.
The barber had done the best he could to even out my hair, which meant taking it nearly down to my skull. I resisted the urge to rub the back of my new buzz cut.
I’d managed to rebook two client meetings early this afternoon. My body itched for a workout, but given how far behind I was that’d have to wait until tonight.
Dom leaned against the doorway of my office, sticking his hands in the pockets of his pants. “I forgot your brother’s getting married. How old is he?”
“About a million years younger. She’s a nice girl, though. He just has his shit together.” I realized as I said it that it was true. Dylan might’ve been the youngest, but he’d always known what he wanted.
After high school, the only thing I’d known was that I wanted to be in LA. I’d bounced from one thing to another for a year before I landed in real estate. It might not have been my calling, but I was pretty good at it. I made friends easily, had an eye for property, and could spot bullshit a mile away. Plus, I got off on the challenge of finding the perfect space for someone.
“Thing is, I’m his best man. I need to dish out all this brilliant advice about being a grown-up.”
“You’ll think of something. You’re Ethan Cameron. You’re a fucking legend. The pussy gods are yours to command.”
“First of all, there’s no such thing as a pussy god. That’s crass. But if there were pussy gods,” I conceded, “they’d be spitting on me.”
I explained what had happened with Kia. Dom’s dark eyes crinkled as he laughed, pressing a hand to his face. If we weren’t in one of the top realty offices in the city, he’d have been rolling on the floor.
“Fuck, man, that’s priceless.”
“It’s not,” I grumbled. “Canceling meetings with clients won’t cut it. I want to be one of the top brokers on the Westside.”
“Again.”
“Huh?”
“You meant you want to be one of the top brokers on the Westside ‘again.’ You were, before—”
I held up a hand. “I know.”
Dom groaned. “Well, the way I see it, all that’s keeping you down is chicks. They’re your kryptonite, Cameron. What’re you going to do about it?”
I turned over his words in my head. Dom was my number two guy, the other half of my real estate team for the past year. But we’d met way back when I started in LA. He knew me as well as anyone.
I pulled out my phone and opened my text messages. There were at least a dozen women in my phone from the past month. Half I didn’t remember. The other half I’d had fun with, but I couldn’t tell you their last names or even their drink.
Which I should’ve known because I went out more nights than not.
Most of my clients were reality TV stars. I don’t know why they’re drawn to me, but they are. A side effect of having B-list clients sprinkled with a few A-listers was invitations to every pool party in the hills.
I hit a few buttons on the phone, and a different model sitting on my desk started lighting up with notifications.
Grimly, I tossed the first phone into a desk drawer and locked it.
“What are you doing?” Dom asked, bewildered.
“Kicking the shit to the curb. I have clients and this wedding to get ready for. I already forgot my sister’s birthday this year because I was partying. Until the wedding, I have better things to do than deal with women who fuck up my hair.”
Dom stared at me, incredulous. “I was suggesting you dial it back a few notches, not go kamikaze. So what, you’re not getting laid?”
“No,” I decided on impulse, and a surge of adrenaline spiked through me. “Don’t need the complications.”
“Admirable. And stupid. What about Axe’s party this weekend?”
“I’ll bail.”
“Good luck with that.” Dom shook his head and retreated to his office.
Riding the high of my resolution, I did some research for one of my new clients, a reality TV star looking for an ocean-front place. Then I booked a showing for another client. Did some research for a third. It gave me a high, finding people the place they needed.
Especially because what they needed and wanted weren’t always the same thing.
When I looked up, it was after seven and the office was starting to clear out. I dodged down the street to get a smoothie, checking my phone while I did.
A few notifications, all from clients.
Not a single one called me “baby” or “sexy.”
This was…different. Good. I could breathe. I could think. I could work.
I fired off a text to my little sister with a question that’d been bugging me. A response came back minutes later.
It’s Briggs
I Googled “Jordan Briggs” as I paid for my green dinner.
The search engine told me almost nothing about Jordan, but lots about her dad. David Briggs was a self-made man from New Jersey. Entrepreneur. Married to wife Catherine who’d died more than a decade ago. Started out in small appliances, expanded to other sectors ranging from healthcare to textiles…
And he was now the thirtieth-richest person in the US.
Well, fuck.
I let out a laugh, shaking my head as I started back to the office.
I knew hotshots—hello, Hollywood—but Jordan didn’t seem like the daughter of one.
Compared with the girls I dated or fucked, or even my friends?
She was understated. Plain. Toast with no butter.
Still, when I’d been sitting across from her at the café, I’d noticed her eyes. One was green and one hazel.
“I’m about the job. There’s not much else to know.”
Bullshit. I know people, and that girl had something going on. She wasn’t like my sister, crazy and creative. Or even Dylan’s fiancée, smart and serious.
Jordan was something else. And I was going to find out what.
I moved my notebook computer to the standing desk by the window and scoped out some options for places Jordan might like.
She’d also said something about Ava sending a brief.
But I didn’t need a brief. I know people and I know real estate, and those two things are my superpowers.
I thought back to my time with Jordan earlier today. Now I got why she’d been indifferent to my car. The girl was used to being around money.
But when she’d seen the view out the window of her apartment? The shield had fallen away, and she was just a girl admiring something we all admired.
No matter how hard she was to impress, I was going to blow her away.
After two hours of making notes on files and arranging to see a few places, the phone rang with a number that was both business and personal.
“Axe.”
“You coming to my party Saturday?”
Axe and I were somewhere between client–realtor and friend status. Aside from the odd party, I saw him occasionally when he needed my services, plus once a month for golf and whenever I turned on Channel 9 at eight pm on Thursday nights, where he played a cop on an Emmy-winning TV drama.
“What do you have this time? Elephants and tigers?”
He didn’t pick up on my joke. “No elephants. I think we ordered some dolphins. And lots of ice. Maybe an iceberg for the pool… Wait, how big does a piece of ice have t
o be before it’s an iceberg?”
“Dunno, man. But seriously. I don’t think I can make this one.”
He laughed, his loud tenor booming through the phone. “You have to. I have an idea. It’ll be good for you.”
I knew he meant for my career. I drummed my fingers on the desk. I didn’t want to throw myself into a party given my resolution, and I had more than enough clients to keep me busy. But, I couldn’t resist the promise of something new…
“Yeah, all right.”
“Good. So who are you bringing?”
I rubbed my fingers over my temples. Twelve hours ago I’d have said Martina. Or Kia. Emily, a model I’d gone out with a few times, was hot but she wouldn’t stop texting me pictures of her ears.
I hadn’t realized until today that my social life might be an actual problem. But the hair cut, coupled with Jordan’s interrogation at the café had me wondering.
Maybe I should cut back. Not because there was anything wrong with hook-ups—but I was paying for the fallout in terms of my career. If I could find a girl who didn’t get clingy the second her panties dropped? It’d be fine.
Until then…
“We’ll see.”
“Ethan, you’re too pretty to show up without some chick on your arm. The rest of them won’t leave you alone all night. Then my boys will complain there’s nothing left for them. So for their sake, bring a damn girl.”
5
Jordan
“I think I need to go to the hospital.” My lungs squeezed, straining to get oxygen to my muscles.
“Uh-huh.”
“This is your fault, you know,” I panted into my headphone mic. “’Run with me, Jordan. It’ll be fun, Jordan.’”
Lex laughed.
“You’ll thank me later.”
Lex had sucked me into her habit, and now we went twice a week in Central Park. I’m not a workout kind of girl but I went to this presentation at Columbia’s medical school a couple months ago about the importance of not sitting on your ass all day. Something about hormones and lymph pooling. It was enough to gross me out of my task chair.
Though I’d never confess it to Lex, the habit was comforting.
“But seriously, why the call. I’ve been here less than a day. You checking up on me?”
“A girl’s not allowed to call her roommate? How was your first night in LA?”
I reached up to wipe the back of my hand across my sweaty face. My running shoes slipped in the sand.
“I’m drowning in sunshine and organic tacos. I’ve seen more kale in twelve hours than in my life to date.” My feet wobbled as they carried me off the sand and back onto the boardwalk.
“So…you love it,” Lex deadpanned.
It was hard to stay grim with the sun beaming down on you like you were worth something. Surrounded by palm trees that waved gently in the breeze.
As I navigated back toward corporate housing, I found myself unable to look away from the guy in eighties clothes and pink hair on the gold bicycle, or the skinny mom with the child on the harness and the child, in turn, walking a tiny dog. Or the women in bikinis who looked like models.
Unlike New York, where everyone buttoned up to their throats, here it seemed like there was a requirement to let everything hang out.
“Are you going to get some time to relax?” Lex asked.
“I’m so relaxed right now,” I wheezed, still trying to catch my breath. “Today I’m going to scope some stores. Tomorrow I’m meeting Kent and visiting the local boutiques that carry Travesty. Get to know them, see what I can learn that might help with our store. Oh, and don’t worry, I got that email you forwarded about that shipment that went to Malawi instead of Michigan.”
“Customs is holding it hostage. They’re saying it’s going to cost a ton to get it back, but it’s more than two hundred pieces, so we can’t leave it. You’re better at that crap than me.” She sighed. “I hope you and Kent have time to meet up for drinks and not work. Getting to know each other might be nice. He’s really cool.”
Something in her tone had me suspicious. “Are you trying to set me up?”
“No. I just think you need a bit of fun.”
I couldn’t trash her meddling because she was looking out for me. “You sound like Ava. I’m fine, really. What happened with Colton is in the past.”
I pictured her leaning back on the couch. “I wish you’d tell me what went down between you guys.”
“It’s a waste of breath. Trust me. How’re the wedding plans going?”
Lex was silent and for a moment I thought she might argue. “Ava’s doing final alterations on the dress. We might need to order it its own seat on the plane. She won’t let them stow it.” I pictured Ava fighting with TSA. My money was on Ava. “And she’s keeping me in suspense over the bachelorette party. I can’t believe it’s next weekend. All I know is it’s in Vegas, same as Dylan’s bachelor party. And we’re staying at the same hotel.”
“Yeah, Ava wouldn’t tell me a thing either. But speaking of guys, I should go. Ethan’s picking me up in—” I checked my phone “—shit, I’m already ten minutes late. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”
I clicked off as I rounded the corner of the building just as a familiar car pulled up front of the doors. An equally familiar figure, clad in jeans and an orange dress shirt, again rolled up at the sleeves, leaned on the driver door.
“Sorry, I lost track of time,” I panted, stopping next to him. “And also, whoa. Your hair…” Ethan expression darkened. “…is good. It looks good.”
Shorter than the eighteenth green at my dad’s favorite golf course, but he did look good. His jaw seemed even more square and those aqua eyes leapt out of his face. The preppy desk jockey was gone and he looked like a fighter…
Which was not the least bit attractive, because words solve problems. Not fists.
Ethan’s gaze scanned my body—including my running tank and shorts—before returning to my face with a concerned expression. “Do you get any sun in New York?”
“No. You took it all.” I wiped a drop of sweat off my neck. “I’m going to change. I’ll be quick.”
Instead of staying behind, Ethan followed me into the building. After four miles of running in sand, there was no energy left in me to argue.
We went up the elevator and I pulled out my key card as we walked down the hall. Ethan lifted it from my hand.
I stopped, hands on my hips. “Um. What are you doing?”
He turned. “Getting the door. It’s called acting like a gentleman.”
“You’re acting like a mugger.” I caught up, grabbing the card back.
I could feel his smirk over my shoulder as I unlocked the door.
Normally it takes a lot for people to get under my skin, but Ethan managed it without trying.
I took a deep breath as I kicked off my sneakers inside.
“Make yourself at home. You want coffee? There’s a Keurig on the counter. I’ll be five minutes.”
I shut the door between the bedroom and the living room and stripped out of my sweaty clothes. After showering, I flipped through the closest and chest where the clothes I’d unpacked last night occupied hangers and drawers. I might be part-owner and one-third of the Travesty team, but it didn’t mean I put on pastel tops and cute skirts in the morning. Today I landed on skinny jeans—covering up my pasty skin—plus a pale blue bra with racerback straps and a yellow tank top. I took my hair out of its ponytail so it covered my back.
Thinking of some of the crazy street style I’d seen earlier, I dug around for the tiny pouch in my suitcase. I pulled out straight, gold earrings ending in arrowheads that grazed my collarbone.
Satisfied, I grabbed my favorite flat sandals that looped around my ankles and padded back out into the living room.
Ethan was reclining on the off-white leather couch, one knee crossed over the other. The coffee table was covered in magazines I’d brought—Time, Fast Company, Wired—but it was Style his face was
buried in.
“What’s got you so riveted?” I asked, glancing over my shoulders as I laced up my sandals. “Did Emma Scott change her hair color again?”
He frowned, not looking up from the magazine as I straightened. “It was still blond when I saw her at a party last week.” A slow smile spread across his face as he caught my expression. “Ooooh. Are you impressed?”
“Are you trying?”
“If I was trying, you’d know it.” He stood and stretched, flashing a grin bright as the sun and just as dangerous.
Irritation flashed through me. Smug seemed to be Ethan’s default expression. I hated to think what he’d look like when he actually accomplished something.
We made our way downstairs and my eyes landed longingly on the BMW. It was a gorgeous car. The only thing better than looking at it would be driving it.
“Ask me,” Ethan’s voice said from behind me. I turned, my heart starting up in my chest.
“Can I drive?”
He barked out a laugh as he slid into the driver’s side. “Not a chance.”
“Then why…” I stood rooted to the spot, staring after him.
“I wanted to hear you ask me for something.”
What the hell?
I slid into the passenger side. Before I could think of a retort, Ethan reached over me and into the glove box. He passed me a folder from inside. “We’re going to see three places. You’re going to love them.”
I opened it as he put the car in gear. My annoyance dissipated as I flipped through the pictures before dropping the stack back on my lap. My attention was drawn to the palm trees and stores flashing by my window.
“I recognize this neighborhood. From TV?” I asked as we parked behind a row of stucco stores and palm trees.
“Probably,” he agreed. “This is Beverly Hills.”
Once we parked, I followed him down the sidewalk to the store, passing Prada and Burberry. Ethan swiped a card to get us in the front door of what looked like a shoe store.
“They’re not open yet. I got us in early.”
