Avoiding her reflection in her bedroom mirror, she straightened her bra straps, tossed back her hair, and strutted to her front door, swinging it open and fixing a huge, fake smile on her face. “Hi!”

A stranger stood on her doorstep, his lip curled in an insolent leer. “Hi.”

How do I keep forgetting he can act?

Usually, Willow dressed in denim shirts and chinos, plain t-shirts, and expensive jeans. Tonight, he wore sweatpants, a black Palm Angels hoodie, and a backward snapback. The effect, combined with his sneer, made him look ten years younger. And like a complete fuckhead.

“Hey,” she said, trying not to sound confused or impressed.

Willow braced himself on her door frame, a fancy silver watch flashing at his wrist. He looked her up and down like she was a secondhand car. “You’re even hotter in real life.”

“Um, thanks.”

“You gonna let me in?”

Eden stepped back, ignoring her instincts, and allowing this man into her apartment. As he swaggered past, she caught a waft of sharp cologne. Paco Rabanne or some other dude-bro brand. She’d just used the same Tom Ford perfume he’d bought her. She was supposed to be catering to his fantasy but he was showing her up.

Although, she’d thought he wanted to be pathetic. She’d expected him to arrive in a short-sleeved shirt and thick glasses and breathe through his mouth. Though as she watched him strut into her apartment, she realised that maybe to the well-dressed, social media savvy Willow, this was pathetic. A grown man pretending to be young, trying too hard to be cool, utterly unaware of how lame he was. Willow turned, hands in his pockets. “So… this is where you live?”

“It is.”

“I was expecting something better.”

Asshole.

His voice had changed. Not an accent, but a posh modulation that made the back of her neck prickle. But she was aware of something else. Just below the irritation, there was attraction, a new kind of attraction where Willow was concerned. She wanted to impress this pig of a man. She wanted him to like her. She thought back to what she’d said to Kieran about Francis. ‘He activates my daddy issues.’ Well, if that was a three on the ‘daddy issues’ scale, this was an eleven.

She wanted to melt him, overwhelm him, win him over. Her sister’s text begged for mental attention, but it was easy to push it away now. To focus on the mean, sexy man in front of her. Eden threw back her shoulders and smiled at him, a real smile. “I know the place is a mess. That’s why I need money.”

“Sure. Can I get a drink?”

“Is Malibu okay?”