“Do something nice for her. Something that’s not like buying her a car,” Zoe added, in that “I know everything” tone that magically appeared the day she turned thirteen. “Look out for when she’s tired or hungry and do something to help. It’s the little things,” my pint-size relationship guru assured me.

“That’s not bad advice, squirt,” I told her, impressed even though I knew suggesting to Alba Serena Duarte that she was overdoing it at work would likely get me punched in the nuts. The intercom buzzed, surprising me. Unless I had misread the schedule there wasn’t supposed to be any filming happening until the next day. “Sis, I gotta go, there’s someone here. Love you, smart-ass. Send me pictures of what you do today!”

“’Kay, and don’t make any moves without texting me!” After assuring her she would be in the know of any developments I hustled to the intercom.

“Miss Duarte is on her way up, sir,” the doorman announced when I pushed the button.

“What?” Had I missed an email?

“Is that all right?” the doorman asked, while I unsuccessfully hunted for clues in my calendar app. “She’s got some suitcases with her,” he informed me, and I let the phone drop on the counter. “I offered to come up with her, but she said she didn’t need help.” I didn’t have time to ask more questions, because right then the doorbell rang and my entire body lit up like I’d been plugged into a wall socket.

I looked through the peephole after I got to the door, just to give myself a second to get my shit together, only to realize my mistake too late. The preview of all those curves just got me more riled up. She was fucking delicious in yoga pants and a little workout top that made her tits look amazing, and that was really not at all the kind of shit a man playing the long game should be thinking about.

“Don’t say anything!” she growled, dragging two enormous suitcases behind her as I opened the door.

“Good morning to you too, Alba Luisa.” Fucking with her was likely not the best approach, but this middle name game had been the only thing that had ever gotten under her skin. When she worked with me, there was nothing that fazed her. My demanding ass could send her on errands to the ends of the earth and she’d just smile, nod and say, “Of course, Mr. Ganas,” but the middle name...that always got me a frustrated little growl or a withering glare that I found immensely gratifying.

“I thought you didn’t want to stay here. Did the siren call of the penthouse get to be too much?” She curled her lip at me, but she kept her attention on rolling her bags into the middle of the room.