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“You didn’t think it’d be like this.”
“Not even a little. And now what’s worse is that it’s a work thing. Stump’s already pissed off enough at me already for god knows what reason.”
Mavis cocked her head to the side. “You don’t think…he knows?”
Did I think he knew I’d been planning on leaving the Circus Maximus for the last few months? No. That was my little secret. Plan was to save up some money, get a loan, and open my very own spa. Top-secret info as far as Stump was concerned. He already didn’t like me for some reason, despite being easily one of the best employees he had. If he were to find out that I was planning on not only ditching, but becoming the competition with money that he was paying me…I didn’t even want to think about it.
“No reason he should. Guy simply doesn’t like me. At least that’s the best explanation I can think of.”
“Can’t imagine it,” said Mavis, getting up. “Someone not liking you?” She strolled past me, giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Anyway. I’ve got a facial at eleven and need to get the room ready. Good luck with Stump. And…the Club.”
Seconds later she was gone, and I was alone. I dropped in front of one of the mirrors, taking in the sight of me in my ridiculous Roman Goddess outfit or whatever that thing was supposed to be.
Right in the pit of my gut sat an ice cold truth I couldn’t ignore—my life, as of that moment, had gotten a hell of a lot more complicated.
Chapter Three
SEAN
I was still in something of a daze by the time the Uber brought me back to my pad in the Hills.
What the fuck had happened?
One second I was lying on that table, my face in that weird hole, the next I was buck-ass-naked jumping from the thing, my cock flopping around between my thighs for everyone to see.
Well, not everyone—just her. Shania freaking Simms.
The sight of my glass-walled, ultramodern home made me feel a touch more at ease—home sweet home and all that. And barricading myself in my house and not talking to anyone sure sounded like a good idea.
I slipped the driver a tip and hopped up. Matt had already brought my bags by and left them on the patio, and after dragging them in, I was back right where I needed to be.
“Fuck!” I said once the door was shut, my voice carrying through the house.
Hell of a welcome back to the city, huh?
I hauled the luggage a little further into the house and plopped onto the couch, trying to actually relax.
Of course, the second my ass was on the fabric my phone buzzed in my pocket. I sat up, my shirt stuck to my back from the abortive massage. A shower was definitely going to be in order later. Maybe even a soak in the Jacuzzi.
I took out my phone and saw that it was Noah.
“Yo!” I hopped up and started into my usual pacing which on the phone. “What’s up, man?”
“Hey, bud!” said Noah, sounding especially high-energy today. “Welcome back!”
“Thank you, thank you.”
“How was the flight?”
“Usual private-plane thing. Mostly glad to be back.”
“Nice. So, I know you probably just sat your ass down, but…”
“But?” I asked.
“Just that Pepper’s getting a little stressed about the wedding.”
The wedding. I hadn’t forgotten about it, but with the tour it’d fallen a little out of my periphery. But now that I was back in town, I realized it was going to be here before I knew it.
“Stressed?” I asked. “How?”
“Wanting to make sure everything’s just so, you know? And with you being out of the country…”
“I get it. But no—you can put her mind at ease. I’m back and ready to help with whatever you guys need.”
“Awesome. Not sure exactly what that’s going to be yet, but good to know you’re on board.”
“On board?” I asked with a smile. “I’m not only on board, I’m on the damn ship like Jack in Titanic.”
Noah chuckled.
“So long as long as you’re not screaming that you’re king of the world at the wedding. Pepper might not like you stealing the spotlight like that.”
“I guess that depends on whether or not you’re planning on open bar or not,” I said with a grin.
Noah laughed again. “OK. “I’m getting off the damn phone before you suck me into a world of shitty jokes. Talk to you later, bud. And welcome back.”
“Thanks.”
With that, I hung up and sat down on the back of the couch. I became aware of the massage oil against my shirt—sticky, gross, and uncomfortable. Getting clean was the thing to do next.
I stepped into my bedroom and glanced out the window overlooking Hollywood and downtown LA. I yanked my shirt off, the fabric pulling against the oil. I looked it over, noting that the amber color of the oil had soaked through.
