Chapter 3
Holly
“Good morning, Sunshine! How’s my favorite party planner in the whole tri-state area?”
I balance my phone between my shoulder and ear, tugging one boot up as I dig through my closet for the other.
“Good morning, Clementine,” I say, keeping my voice a little frosty.
It’s too early for her brand of sunshine.
“And I’m assuming I’m your only party planner in the tri-state area?”
She laughs, bright and unbothered.
“Technicalities. Now tell me—how’s everything for the gala? Are my teen volunteers being helpful? No one burned down the ballroom yet or ruined your reputation with any of the vendors?”
“Not yet,” I mutter, pulling out my favorite stretchy knee-high sweater boots and dropping onto the bed to zip them up.
“But ask me again after the caterer tries to swap out the holiday cookies from around the world dessert table I have planned for a tray of his favorite store-bought kind.”
It’s Friday, and my to-do list looks like Santa’s naughty roster—long, chaotic, and slightly terrifying.
The Drew’s House Holiday Gala is in just a couple of days, and today’s schedule is jam-packed.
Site checks, vendor drop-ins, menu tasting, and the most recent guest list updates.
I smooth down my black, high-waisted faux-leather skirt—professional, polished, and, okay, maybe a little daring—and button up the crisp white blouse I’d ironed last night with the big collar and deep v that emphasize my bust rather than my belly.
The boots add height, the wedge heel kind enough to my feet to survive Manhattan sidewalks.
The red wool jacket draped over my chair is the perfect festive finishing touch.
“Wow! Seriously, Holly.” Clementine gasps through the phone. “Where are you going? Are you getting dressed up for Noel?”
I freeze mid–button.
“What? No! Why would you say that?”
“Because you look hot, Holly. Like, better than our last Yoga class’s bar night mingle kind of hot. Maybe even accidentally on purpose seducing your bodyguard hot.”
I groan. “What? I always dress like this.”
“Do you?” she teases. “Because I’m thinking it has less to do with the holiday spirit and more to do with a new muscly shadow following you around. Tell the truth—it’s for him.”
I roll my eyes and snort—yes, I am that cool and ladylike, don’t be jealous.
“You know what, I don’t know, Clem. I’ve worn this outfit before. Besides, how exactly does one dress for coffee with her bodyguard?”
“I’d say exactly like that,” she snorts. “But honestly, you might not make it out the door if he sees you first.”
“Clementine!”
“Hey, I warned you. The man’s got serious brooding-hero energy. You sure you’re safe in that tiny apartment with him prowling around?”
I laugh, shaking my head as I walk out of my bedroom coat in hand, phone anchored to my ear now with my shoulder as I dig through my pockets, removing old receipts and change.
“He’s not even here yet, he stayed outside all night. And he’s not prowling. Noel’s a professional.”
There’s a low rumble of sound behind me. A throat clearing.
I freeze.
The phone slips from my shoulder, landing on the floor as I whirl around—heart leaping into my throat.
Noel Kane stands right behind me.
Black t-shirt. Jeans. Boots. And a tool bag slung over one arm like it weighs nothing.
His hair is slightly damp, and there’s a smear of dust across his forearm that somehow makes him look even more unfairly hot.
“Actually,” he says, voice rough with sleep and gravel, “I’ve been in here for about an hour. You were in the shower.”
Clementine’s voice crackles faintly from the phone. “Holly? Hellooo? Did I lose you?”
I bend down and snatch the phone.
“I’ll call you back!” I squeak, hanging up so fast I nearly drop it again.
“What do you mean you’ve been here for an hour?”
He looks around the room and shrugs, unbothered.
“I had a courier drop off the rest of the equipment around two a.m. Waited for you to wake up. Figured it was faster to get the basics installed while you were showering and getting dressed. That way I’d be done before you started your day.”
“Installed?” I repeat, watching as he sets the tool bag down and gestures toward the window.
“Camera at your front door. Motion sensors along the hallway. Panic button by the bed. You’re welcome.”
My jaw drops. “You were in here—while I was naked?”
He shrugs. “You were in the bathroom, Tinsel, I didn’t peek. I did your bedroom first. And by the time I finished the interior sweep you were already getting dressed.”
“Oh my God.” My voice goes up half an octave. “Do you just—do this everywhere you go?”
“Only when my client forgets to lock the door.”
I glare, cheeks flaming. “I did not forget to lock—”
He holds up a small silver key, twirling it between his fingers. “Spare hidden in the fake plant by your stairs. Ten bucks says half your neighbors know it’s there.”
I blink, mortified. “You went through my—fake fern?”
“I go through everything,” he says simply, his gaze steady on mine. “That’s the point.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. He’s impossible. Infuriating. And unfairly, ridiculously attractive when he smirks like that.
“Next time,” I manage, “maybe give a girl a little warning before you break into her apartment.”
“That wasn’t breaking in. That was preventative entry.”
“Preventative—” I throw my hands up. “You’re unbelievable.”
He grins faintly. “You’re welcome, Tinsel.”
I narrow my eyes. “Still with that nickname?”
“Still fits.” His gaze sweeps over me, slow and deliberate, and I swear my knees wobble.
“And for the record, Clementine’s right.”
I frown.
“About what?”
He smirks, stepping past me toward the kitchen.
“You do look hot.”
My brain short-circuits.
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
I think I hate him.
Well, I absolutely—okay, I definitely can’t stop thinking about him.
And from the way he glances back with that infuriating glint in his eyes, I think he knows it.
Dang it.