She stepped into the elevator. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that.” She nervously played with the strap of her handbag. “No more talk of bedrooms. We need to meet my father.”

She was quiet on the drive to her place. Easton studied the lines of worry bracketing her mouth.

“Relax. We’ll get this sorted.” Vander would find out what the hell was going on.

She made an unhappy noise.

Easton found a parking space a few streets away from her building.

“You don’t have to come up,” she said.

He got out of the car and shot her a look across the hood of the Aston.

She sniffed. “Bossy.”

When they stepped out on her floor, there was no sign of Charles Carlson. Harlow let them into her place. She plugged her cell phone in to charge, and then disappeared into her bedroom.

When she came back, she paced across her living area, while Easton took a seat on the couch. She kept glancing at her watch. Her father was late.

“I like your place,” Easton said. There were lots of pops of color. Her personality was stamped on the apartment.

“My apartment would fit into your kitchen.” She shrugged a shoulder. “My dream is my own slice of San Francisco. I’d love an old Victorian or Edwardian place to renovate and flip.” She looked at her watch. “I’m going to take a quick shower and change. Can you let my dad in when he rings up?”

“Sure.” Easton watched her disappear again, and spent the next few minutes not thinking about her naked in the shower, water sluicing down—

He cursed under his breath and readjusted himself.

When she’d talked about renovating a house, her face had lit up. And now her savings account was zero, thanks to her father.

She was quicker than he’d expected. She wore a fitted, black dress with a thin metallic belt at her waist. She held a small, gray jacket in her hands. Her golden hair was pulled back in a messy twist.

“He’s not here?”

Easton rose and shook his head.

Her face fell. Then she marched to her phone and stabbed at it.

“Dad, I…” She made a noise of frustration. “It went straight to his voicemail. Dad, where are you?” She slammed the phone down on the counter. “What if something happened to him? What if—?”

“Hey.” Easton cupped her shoulders. “Let’s not start second-guessing. Let’s wait until we hear from him.”

She nodded.

“You’re not alone, Harlow.”

Her gaze met his, and it was drowning in misery.

“I’m right here,” he murmured.

“I don’t think he’s coming. We’d better get to work before I cry or have a meltdown.”

Easton lifted her jacket, and she turned and slipped into it. The damn thing hugged her body and accentuated her curves.