Page 57 of Hard Rock Heat
I pointed into the box. A box that contained black mesh t-shirts, leather pants, and spiked, studdedbelts.
Katherine covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a giggle. "I think maybe he misunderstood the point ofthis."
After sorting through the box to confirm that, no, there were no collared shirts or slacks hidden in there, I grabbed my phone from my desk and jabbed in Damon'snumber.
"Hey sweetness," heanswered.
"You're an idiot," I told himflatly.
"What did I do thistime?"
"Leather pants? Spiked belts? Are youserious?"
"Oh, the clothes. Yeah, what's wrong withthem?"
"It's supposed to be professional work attire!" I said, throwing my one hand up even though he wouldn't see it. "We're donating clothes so the kids can go on jobinterviews!"
"What if some of those homeless kids have a dream of being a rock star just like me and my brother did?" Damon countered. "Wouldn't they appreciate these kinds ofclothes?"
I growled. "Notfunny."
"I'mserious."
"Don't you have anything appropriate to donate?" I asked. "You wore nice clothes at the first meeting at myoffice."
"I don't know," he said doubtfully. "My walk-in closet is the size of my living room and it's a mess. Who knows what else I've got hiding inthere."
I let out a sigh of long suffering. "Do you want me to come help sort through your clothes to findsomething?"
Damon paused. "Sure," he said eventually. "I'll text you myaddress."
Grumbling, I hung up and began packing up my bag and laptop. "Apparently grown men don't know how to organize their own closets," I toldKatherine.
"You're going over to his place?" she asked,startled.
"Yeah, why?" I asked, stuffing my laptop into it'scase.
A slow smile crept across her face. "Nothing."
I hefted my bag onto my shoulder. "I'll still be available on my phone. Call me if anything blowsup."
"Will do. Have fun!" Katherine said with a cheery wave. I glanced at her suspiciously as I headed toward theelevator.
I drove to Damon's place, following the directions on my phone. I shouldn't have been surprised when I pulled up to a tall, fancy looking condo building, all marble pillars and plush foyer rugs. I made a bet with myself that Damon had the top penthousefloor.
Sure enough, when I entered the elevator I saw that the floor number he'd given me, thirty-three, was indeed the top floor. When I stepped out of the elevator I noticed two numbers doors, one on either side of the long hallway. Only one of them was the apartment number Damon had texted. Okay, so he didn't own the entire top floor, only the left side of it. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Flashy, rich, show off rockstars.
Then again, compared to the two other rock star mansions I'd seen, a condo apartment was downrightfrugal.
Damon answered before I could make more than two knocks on the door. His mouth quirkedupward.
"I thought girls usually waited until they officially moved in to start rearranging their boyfriend's apartments," were the first words out of hismouth.
My brain fizzled out at the word boyfriend. I stood in the doorwaydumbly.
"Although I guess you're not rearrange my furniture so much as cleaning out my closet," he continued blithely. "I really don't know what you're expecting tofind."
"A few collared shirts and ties would be adequate," I managed to say. "Just enough to say you donatedsomething."
