Page 102 of House of Lies

Okay, don’t panic. Ethan was just trying to scare me, anyway. This guy can’t be as bad as he’s making out to be, otherwise he wouldn’t be introducing him to me.

Right?

Damn it, now my hands are sweating.

I hurry into Ethan’s walk-in closet, my jaw shifting to the side as I stare in faint horror at all the men’s clothes around me. Maybe if Ethan wasn’t a fucking giant, I could have gotten away with wearing some of his gym clothes, but I’m not going out there with his sweats rolled up at the ankles and a belt to stop them sliding down my ass.

Unless…

As reluctant as I am to leave the bedroom, it’s better to get this over with. So after giving myself a quick, critical stare in Ethan’s full-length mirror, I scrounge up what little courage I have left and leave.

Faint voices greet me as I make my way down the hall. I hesitate as soon as Ethan and his guest come into view, taking a moment to run my hands down the white cable-knit sweater I found in Ethan’s closet.

It’s so big on me it ends mid-thigh, but once I rolled up the sleeves, it didn’t look half bad. If I had a pair of leggings, this might even pass as a cute fall outfit. The only problem is that the wide neck keeps slipping off my shoulder, and the fabric is a bit clingy, especially around my ass and boobs.

I stand in the hallway in bare feet, toying with the neckline of the sweater as I study the man standing beside Ethan.

This must be Myles.

He’s dressed in a bespoke royal blue suit with subtle silver pinstripes, and I can’t decide if the way the color offsets his tanned skin and deep blue eyes makes him look too pretty… or so handsome that my mouth runs dry. Like how some male fashion models are so hot you keep questioning if they’re straight.

The man lifts a hand to smooth back his hair, hiking up the brilliant white cuff of his button-down shirt and revealing the edge of a dark, faded tattoo peeking out from under his wrist.

Fuck. He’s hot.

I prefer Ethan’s ruggedly handsome features, especially since Myles’s almost a foot shorter, but I’m sure every girl he walks past gets a crick in their neck.

“If I’d known you were all coming, I’d have arranged for dinner,” Ethan says, sounding vaguely uneasy.

“Nah, we already ate,” blue-eyed Myles says, before turning back to the entrance. “You guys just going to stand there or what?”

Curiosity gets the better of me, so I slowly emerge from the hall with another nervous pluck on the sweater’s hemline. I don’t want to piss Ethan off—if he doesn’t like what I’m wearing, I’ll have to find something else. But he’s looking at Myles, not me.

“Ethan,” I whisper, but he doesn’t seem to hear. “Ethan!”

He frowns as he glances over his shoulder, and then his face sets like stone.

Shit.

I give him a quick shrug, tugging on the hemline of the sweater as I mouth, “Is this okay?”

He looks at Myles, then past him at whatever other guests are arriving, then back at me, shaking his head.

“Who’s your friend, Ethan?”

My body locks up, only my eyes moving to the blue-eyed man. From the curious smile on his face, it’s obvious he wasn’t expecting to see me standing here like a badly dressed statue.

Ethan clears his throat. “This is Cassidy Monroe. Cassidy, Myles.” There’s a beat of expectant silence before he adds reluctantly, “She’s a…well, I guess you could say a friend.”

He guesses he could call me a friend?

Myles laughs at the incredulity on my face, but before anyone can say another word, three more men walk into Ethan’s penthouse.

I don’t know what to make of them anymore than I do of Myles. The first to swagger in behind him looks like he doesn’t take anything seriously until I realize his smirk is caused by a scar distorting one side of his mouth.

The man behind the scarred guy is all business. Tightly buttoned up in an impeccable suit as expertly tailored as Myles’s, but leagues more subtle. Charcoal—almost black—as if to match the dark eyes shielded by a pair of thin-framed spectacles. I don’t normally think guys wearing glasses are hot. But he could be a model posing in one of those posters in an optometrist’s shop.

Then comes the guy keeping up the rear. He moves with precision, eyes scanning the penthouse like he’s checking the exits. He seems dangerous before I even spot the pistol on his belt.

---