Page 38 of Offside Devil

There’s drool crusted to the corner of my mouth and my eyelids are still sealed shut when I yank the door open.

“Mrph?” I grumble. It’s too early to form actual words.

“Nice jammies.”

The deep, satin-y curl of his voice is a lightning bolt down my spine. All at once, I come awake and alive. My eyes snap open and I have a few stunned seconds to register that I’m once again standing in front of Zane Whitaker in nothing but my underwear.

I yelp and dive behind the door, using it like a shield.

“Save the modesty act. I’ve already seen you in less,” he drones, sounding bored.

“Barely!” Technically, he’s right. When we met, I had on black lace panties and nothing else. For humiliation round two, I’m also wearing a bra.

“I appreciate your commitment to the bit, but I don’t think seeing you walk around the condo in that is going to convince Peter Morris I’m not a playboy. Plus, you should cover up for the kid’s sake.”

I peek around the edge of the door and scowl at him. “I couldn’t find the box I packed my pajamas in. This is all I had.”

“You could have asked me. I would have let you borrow something.”

So Zane’s wintergreen fresh scent could leak into my dreams? Ha! No way.

“I’m sorry—is there a reason you’re knocking on my door first thing in the morning?”

Maybe he’s rethinking last night. Maybe he’s back to finish what he started before he decided to be “smart” and walk away.

“Breakfast,” he says simply, scattering my thoughts.

“I’m familiar with the concept.”

He sighs irritably. “Aiden and I are leaving for breakfast in half an hour. You can come with us. If you want.”

“Oh.” As if on cue, my stomach rumbles. I’m starving. I was too busy hiding in my room last night to go find something for dinner. All I ate was the remnants of a protein bar from the bottom of my purse. “Am I going as your fake girlfriend or Aiden’s nanny?”

Zane considers it for a second. “Both. It’ll be good practice for being seen together. As a bonus, you can get to know Aiden.”

I want to say no. I planned on a Zane-free twenty-four hours for my last day before work officially starts. I was going to unpack, dodge all contact with him, and spend the alone time reminding myself why I took this gig and why I can’t afford to fuck it up by… well, fucking it up.

But my stomach is on the verge of consuming itself and I should probably spend some time with Aiden before we embark on eight straight hours together tomorrow.

“I need to shower first.”

Zane nods. “We can wait.”

He’s halfway down the hallway when I lean through the door to call after him. “Wait. Where are we going? I need to know what to wear.”

He turns around and his eyes drop. All at once, I realize how far I’m leaning through the door. And how easily he can see directly down my bra.

I yank myself back into my room, only my eyes peeping around the frame.

“More than you’re wearing now.” Zane sounds a little strangled. “Just hurry up.”

I double-check my door is locked and hurl myself into the shower like the water might have memory-erasing powers. Like I might be able to magically undo the last ten minutes of my life.

Okay, so day one of steering clear of Zane and focusing on the task at hand is not off to the best start, but I can hit refresh. I flip my mental sign back to “0 Days Since Last Sexually Tense Moment” and promise to do better.

I dig through four boxes of unorganized chaos before I settle on a red sundress with a white tee underneath. Zane didn’t give me any hint of where we’re going, but I looked him up online and I saw how many zeroes were on the end of his contract with the Angels. If a casual breakfast for him involves valet service and Michelin stars, I’ll slip the tee shirt off, swap my sneakers for the flats I’m throwing in my purse, and blam-o, instant elegance.

I’m the Bear Grylls of fashion: Adapt. Improvise. Overcome.

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