“It’s No-Shave-November.”

Snorting, I clutched my robe together. “It’s a good thing I’m not home, then. I’d have to break into your apartment to shear you.”

Walking backward toward the door, he pointed his finger at me. “By the way, Gemma, I still don’t buy half of what you or Pen have told me this weekend.” But regardless of his words, each step lightened the pressure I’d felt the last few days. “Actually, I don’t buy any of it.”

He wouldn’t, and I felt like crap for lying to him, but what the hell was I supposed to say?

Oh, remember that evil beyotch I told you about— the one who was married to my dad? Well, I’m working for her now because your sister hacked me into her company’s security system.

Curling my toes into the paisley-print area rug, I scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be harassing your sister instead?”

“Yeah, I could, but the thing is—” Bending, he scooped up his bag and slung it over his body. He yawned and turned around to look me square in the eye. “—your lies are obvious, and she’s not here for me to harass. See you in a couple weeks, Gemma.”

With my fist pressed to my mouth, I nibbled anxiously on my fingernail, pacing from the couch to the armchair for close to a minute to make sure he didn’t come back. Finally, after checking the peephole only to see one of my neighbors leaving his apartment for work, I went into my bedroom to get dressed.

Fifteen minutes later, I raced out the front door, sliding the stack of stolen paperwork into my purse. I’d read over the legal documents, but the language was so thick I couldn’t understand the importance of what I had trudged through. I’d turned it over to Pen.

*

Locking my car door with the key fob, the first thing I noticed was the Jaguar F-type coupe—the same cherry red as my Mini Cooper—parked in front of the garage at Margaret’s place. It boasted temporary decals, and I couldn’t resist giving it a second glance over my shoulder when I walked up the steps as quickly as my plaid pencil skirt would allow.

If there was one thing I was drawn to—aside from men I had no business wanting—it was a sexy car, and that Jaguar was an orgasm on four wheels.

Turning the dials on the lockbox, I reached for the key, but before I was able to unlock the door, it flung open. Finley, looking like she’d just stepped out of the dressing room at Neiman Marcus, stood in the doorway.

“Lizzie, what a—”

“Good to see you again,” I interrupted sharply. When I’d received Margaret’s text, I hadn’t even considered that she might still be here—I was too excited at the prospect of getting back inside the house. As the tall brunette stepped aside to let me in, my chest tightened. “Margaret asked me to stop by and grab some things for her.”

The front door closed, and I faced her. Resting her shoulders to the stained-glass behind her, she looked at me expectantly, her short hair falling perfectly without her trying, just like that damn Bruno Mars song Pen was obsessed with.

Was she waiting on me to say something about her calling me last week?

Or did she think I was too stupid to figure out it was her?

“How’s the apartment search going?” No matter how much Margaret adored this woman, I couldn’t see the stepmonster allowing her to stay very much longer.

“I’m actually on my way out now to do a walkthrough of a townhouse in Brentwood.” Fluffing her sleek mahogany bob, she lifted her hazel eyes to the ceiling in what I guess was supposed to be cute exasperation. “Daddy and Mason went on a camping trip over the weekend.”

“How exciting,” I said dryly, instantly feeling sorry for her brother.

She smoothed her hands over the ruched midsection of her black cap-sleeve jumpsuit and lifted her shoulders until they touched the diamonds winking in her ears. “Oliver suggested the place—said one of his friends lived there—so it must be fantastic.” She fingered her left ear, intentionally drawing my attention to her earring, and I could almost guess what she was going to say before the words even left her mouth. “Obviously, he has good taste.”

“Obviously,” I said, my voice emotionless. “Good luck with the apartment search, Finley.”

Stalking to the laundry room located near the back of the house, I heard Finley’s brown suede platform wedges clacking on the floor right behind me. “I know when I mentioned Ollie’s party to you last week, you seemed surprised. I took the liberty of telling Margaret I have no trouble planning the entire thing. I’d hate to take you away from your work.”

"Perfect.” I turned the corner, letting my childhood memories of this place guide me in the right direction. “I’m sure you’ll do a much better job.” If I stopped moving, there was a good chance she’d get the reaction out of me she was hoping for when she called last week, and I’d lose my job.

I strode into the state-of-the-art laundry room, discovering it was more organized than most people’s closets with the Fisher & Paykel washer and dryer stacked in the center of a massive shelving unit complete with wardrobe racks.  Immediately, I spotted the Alexander McQueen suit Margaret had sent me for.

Snatching the garment bag from the rack, I twisted around to see Finley waiting in the hallway outside the laundry room, fussing with one of the earrings that were, without a doubt, a gift from Oliver.

She was blatantly throwing it in my face, and if I hadn’t disliked her after the phone trick, she had definitely cemented her place on my shit list.

“Is there something the matter?” she asked innocently, staring into my brown eyes, and though I tried, I couldn’t help but narrow them.

“You called me last Friday, pretending to be Margaret,” I said between my teeth, “I’d say we’ve got a pretty big issue.”

Her mouth fell open and for a moment I thought she’d deny it, but then she shook her head indifferently, her cap of mahogany hair swinging around her face. “It was a little joke, I figured you’d pick up on it because of the forced accent.” She picked at a piece of lint on the front of her jumpsuit, raising both eyebrows. “Apparently, you didn’t.”

I tossed the garment bag over my arm and walked by her, clenching my fingers as I continued down the hallway. “I don’t joke when it comes to my job. And I sure as hell don’t find a high school-esque prank amusing. I’m—” I took a deep breath in order to separate Lizzie from Gemma. “—I’m twenty-five. Not fifteen.” And she was thirty-one, which made it even more unnerving.

Once again, she was right on my heels, and my nostrils flared. “No, and that was so wrong of me, I—”

Spinning around to face her in the foyer, my neck and shoulders tensed. “When I was a kid, my dad always told me I shouldn’t apologize for things I wasn’t sorry for. That I was better off not saying anything.”

Unintentionally, my attention flicked to the family room, pushing the memory of the time I smeared finger-paints all over the cream-colored walls to the front of my mind. I’d found my antics funny—I was five, after all—and when I’d given my father the obligatory “sorry” he had knelt down beside me and shook his blond head, telling me the same thing I just said to Oliver’s ex.

Studying Finley’s triumphant expression, I smiled and reached for the doorknob. “Since we both know your intention was to get me in trouble, I’m just glad it didn’t pan out the way you hoped.”

“Ollie was my first love,” she blurted out. “I’ve loved him since I was fifteen, and I panicked when I saw him disappear with you to the balcony.”

She’d seen us? Keeping my grip on the knob, I looked back to see her leaning against the bannister, her long legs crossed at the ankles. “Whatever you thought you saw, I hate to disappoint you, but—”

She laughed and waved her hand, rejecting what I was going to say. “If Ollie sets his sights on something new and shiny, nothing stops him from getting his rocks off.”