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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.