My beloved brother looks at me with warmth in his caramel eyes. “Just know, Zoester, I’m always here for you.”

“Thanks,” I say, clasping his hands. “I know that.”

My voice trails off. Trying to stave off a wave of sadness, I absently play with my chopsticks. My eyes stay riveted on Brandon. I watch as he stands up and rounds his table to help Katrina out of her seat. With her heels on, they’re almost the same height. He tilts her head back with a thumb and plants a kiss on her lips.

Jealousy spreads through me like a raging wildfire. Every organ inside me is burning to a crisp. Katrina saunters away—she must be going to the restroom. I wish she was going to burn in hell.

Brandon buries his face back in his menu and completely ignores me. My heart sinks like the Titanic. Game over.

Jeffrey, who’s witnessed the kiss, reads me like a magazine. “You’re too good for him.”

I twitch a small, woeful smile. No, he’s too good for me. He’s way out of my league.

Jeffrey reads my mind. “C’mon. Let’s get the check and get out of here.”

Despondently, I ask him if I can sleep at his place.

“Sure, honey.” He squeezes my hand and right now, that’s just what I need.

Brandon

I have a restless night’s sleep. No matter how much I try, I can’t get Zoey’s boyfriend out of my mind. The prick is movie star handsome and a damn good dresser. That slick suit he was wearing was no off-the-rack rag. It easily cost a couple thousand bucks. And he was really into her. I had to mentally chain myself to my chair when he kissed her. I wanted to take him by his collar and throw him out the front door. And make it loud and clear to him to never touch my property again. That’s right, dickwad. I own Zoey Hart. She’s my paid assistant. Hands off!

And as if having to put up with their lovey-dovey shenanigans wasn’t bad enough, Katrina and I had a huge fight. Over dinner, I told her that she and her mother were spending way too much money on the wedding. Seriously… five hundred thousand dollars—and that’s just in deposits. And that doesn’t include Katrina’s hundred thousand dollar gown. I asked her—is it studded in diamonds?

Some kind of exorbitant crystals with a name I can’t remember. But that’s not what made me almost spit up my meal. The real clinker was she told me she bought a dog. Using my credit card! And not just any dog. Some designer mutt—a Maltipoo—that cost ten thousand dollars. A bargain next to the twenty-five grand Paris Hilton plunked down on two teacup Pomeranians. She’s already told the press the pup is a pre-nuptial present from me. By the time I dropped her off at her condo, it was all over the Internet¸ Instagram, and Twitter. The dog’s name is Gucci. Gucci the poochie. America’s “It Dog.” I need a fucking dog like I need another hole in the head.

And it gets worse. When I got home, I had a splitting headache. Just my luck, I was out of Advil. So I texted Zoey to run out to the all-night Rite Aid and pick me up a bottle of the painkillers. She immediately texted me back.

Can’t. At my boyfriend’s. Downtown. Plus don’t have my car.

Simmering mad, I texted her back.

Borrow his car.

And she replied.

Can’t. We’re busy right now.

Doing what?

Use ur imagination.

Ending the conversation, I almost threw my phone across my bedroom. And then I wanked off…well, tried. Zoey’s damn boyfriend got in the way of my imagination. I couldn’t stop thinking of him ravaging her. The asshole stole my fantasy!

So given my night, it’s not surprising I feel like shit this morning. It’s the butt crack of dawn. My head still hurts. My cock aches. And I’m full of piss. Stark naked, I roll out of bed and, after my bathroom routine, stagger into my walk-in closet. I yank one of my dozens of swim briefs off the built-in shelves, trying to push the events of last night out of my mind. Today’s my first day back on the set. I need to get it together. Maybe a couple of extra laps in the pool will help.

The swim is just what I need. It clears my head and releases my stress. Revitalized, I hoist myself out of the pool and as I get to my feet, a beaming Zoey appears. Barefoot, she’s wearing the same outfit she wore last night—a clingy little black mini dress—and her wild chestnut hair has that bedhead look going on. My stomach muscles tighten. I can feel it in my gut. Oh, yeah. She got laid. Big time.

“Hi,” she says brightly, heading my way with a Starbucks bag in her hand. “I had my boyfriend stop at Starbucks and picked up your coffee.” She sets it on a table while I towel dry myself.

“You’re welcome,” she chirps.

I hate when she does that. She never gives me a chance to say thank you. It’s not like those two words don’t exist in my vocabulary.

She takes my coffee out of the bag. Surprisingly, there isn’t one for her. Hmm. Maybe she already had one with Jeffrey. Though he looks like the British tea-drinker type.

Wrapping the towel around my waist, I grab my iced Americano and take a sip. While my lips suck up the drink through the straw, my eyes soak in my assistant.

“Is that the dress I bought you?” The body-hugger is so short she should be arrested for indecent exposure.

“Actually, no. It’s something Jeffrey bought me.”

I cringe at the sound of his name on her lips. And at the thought that he buys her expensive, sexy presents. My eyes travel downward.

“Where are your shoes?”

She laughs. “I left them at his house.”

An unsettling thought smacks me. Is she going to move in with him? I falter trying to make more conversation.

“How was the rest of your evening?”

She sighs dreamily. “Fabulous.”

Seething inside, I fake a half-smile. “That’s good.”

No need for details. “What does your boyfriend do?”

“He’s in finance. He does really well.”

She’s seriously pissing me off. I take another sip of the coffee.

“Where does he work?”

“He’s a consultant. Self-employed.”

“What kind of car does he drive?”

“A Mercedes 560 SL convertible. Oh, and he also has a Range Rover.”

So, he’s very good looking and rich. And he dresses really well. Kill me now. Me, the sexiest man in the world, feels threatened by some no one.

“How long have you been together?”

“We met just before your accident.”

I do the math in my head. They’ve been together for only a few weeks. And she’s already sleeping with him.

She chimes into my thoughts like a mind reader. “It was love at first sight. You know what that’s like.” A hand flies to her mouth. “Whoops! I forgot you don’t remember meeting Katrina.”

I detect sarcasm in her voice. Anger rising, I press my lips tight together.

“What’s his last name?” I’m going to google the bastard. Find out everything there is to know about him.

“None of your damn business.”

Well, scrap that plan.

Without warning, she changes the subject. “Are you excited about your first day back on the set?”

Her question takes my mind off Jeffrey. “Yes. Very.”

“Are you cool with your lines?”

Once again, that memory of showering with her flashes into my head. I have the burning urge to shower with her again. But this time, clothes off. I want to caress her velvet flesh and savor all her sexy curves. I want to feel her skin against mine. All of it. Everywhere. My cock’s telling me to rip off her dress. Brain to Brandon: Get a grip! I tell her I’m good.

She quirks a smile. “Great. You’d better get going. Your call time is at eight. You don’t want to be late on your first day back.”

“Right.” My gaze stays fixed on her as she sashays toward the guesthouse. It’s like my eyes have X-ray vision. I can see that big, adorable heart-shaped ass right through the fabric of her skimpy frock. My cock twitches. It’s shouting out to me again. I silently give it a piece of my mind. Hey, buddy, lay off; taking off her clothes is someone else’s good fortune. Besides, I’m committed to Katrina. But I can’t silence my cock. My insatiable need for her pulses through my body. What the hell is wrong with me?