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She blinks.
“What?”
I stride past her.
But not before I slap that gorgeous ass and toss my button-down shirt—the one I hung on the hook with my keys a couple of days ago—at her.
“Put that on.”
Her mouth falls open.
“Alessio!”
“I'll get the door.”
“You are crazy.”
“Crazy about you? You bet that sweet ass, I am.”
She yelps dramatically and catches the shirt while I head to the door.
Look, I know I'm insane.
Sue me.
This woman makes me crazy.
I open the door expecting takeout.
Instead, I get a surprise.
“Oh! Hi. Is Amanda here?”
Brielle.
The costume manager.
Standing there, holding a garment bag.
And beside her—a guy.
Late twenties.
Blond.
At first, he’s smiling. Then he sees me and freezes.
Immediately, I dislike him.
Deeply.
Profoundly.
Probably unfairly.
But still.
Brielle smiles brightly.
