I roll my eyes. I wake up at six every morning to do yoga, so being ready by that time isn’t a big deal for me.
“I’m sure I can manage that,” I say, glancing back down at my book. When Vinnie makes a sound of amusement, I lift my head again and send a threatening look in his direction. “What now?”
“Nothing,” he murmurs, still grinning.
I look into his brown eyes, lighter than my dark ones, and demand, “Tell me.”
He scrubs a hand down the stubble on his cheek, then points to my book. “I know the author, is all. It still amazes me how popular her books are.” He pauses. “And that she writes them.”
I take a deep breath and try to curb down my inner fangirl. “Are you trying to tell me that you personally know Zada Ryan? No bullshit?”
I want a signed book.
No, I need a signed book.
No. I need all her books signed for my signed bookshelf.
With a personalized message.
“No bullshit,” he replies, searching my eyes and frowning. “What’s wrong with you? Your eyes are all wide and crazy, and you’re squeezing the shit out of the book in your hand.”
I drop the book on my lap, trying to act cool. “I’m fine,” I say, tucking my hair back behind my ear. “So, just how are you friends with Zada?”
This is huge.
“On a first-name basis are you?” Vinnie asks, smirking. He taps his fingers on the arm of the couch, and I stare at the tattoos covering his knuckles as I answer.
“I love her books,” I admit, shrugging. “Aren’t I allowed to be curious?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Tell you what, you behave yourself for the next week, listen to everything I say, and stay out of trouble, I’ll introduce you to her.”
My eyes flare. “Behave myself? I’m twenty-four, not a damn child.”
Could he possibly look down on me any more? I’ve never met a man so infuriating in my life. It makes me want to act the way he’s accusing me of just to give him a hard time.
He shrugs his broad shoulders flippantly. “You know what I mean. Don’t be a brat. Make my time here a little more pleasant.”
How have I not been pleasant so far?
Gritting my teeth, I stand up and leave the room without a word. Yeah, he is good-looking, with those brown bedroom eyes framed in thick lashes, his sensual lips—even if they’ve mainly been pursed in a tight line in my presence—and the delicious body I know is hidden underneath that black T-shirt, but he is a dick.
He wanted me to behave?
How old is he? A couple of years older, at the most, and he’s acting like I’m a kid and he’s in charge. I walk upstairs to my bedroom and lie back on my bed, the white sheets soft against my skin. As I stare at the ceiling, I think over everything he’s said to me today.
He thinks I’m a brat?
A plan forms in my head.
I’ll show him just how bratty I can be.
I think it’s time to teach Vinnie a lesson.
* * *
The next morning, after yoga, I take a shower, washing my long dark hair, then toweling it dry. By the time I’m dressed in my jeans and a white top, and my hair and makeup are sorted, it’s only 8:00 a.m., so I clean my room to pass the time. When it’s spotless I grab my Chanel bag and head downstairs. I come to a standstill when I look outside and see Vinnie doing push-ups outside by the pool. It’s like a view from a movie. Gorgeous pool, beautiful sunny day, and a man too sexy to be real. Where did this guy come from? I need to go there.
His body is even better than I’d imagined.
His back is perfectly muscled and covered in tattoos, a sheen of sweat glazing his skin. I press myself against the sliding door for a closer look. Who knew a man doing push-ups could be so sexy? I watch as his arms flex with each movement, mesmerized. I continue to hover by the door, just staring at him like a creep.
Why are the good-looking men always egotistical jerks?
When he quickly stands and looks up, straight into my eyes, I mutter a curse under my breath. I’m standing, body pressed against the door, perving on him, and he caught me. Just great. Trying to cover up, I open the door and call out, “I’m ready when you are,” then walk away to the kitchen, mentally cursing myself. A few seconds later I hear the sliding door close before he joins me. He doesn’t comment on the fact that I’m up early and ready before him. Instead, all he says is, “Enjoy the view?”
I open the fridge and look inside, avoiding having to look at him for as long as I can. “What view?”