Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

Hopefully, it would stay that way.

His office was in his condo, and he showered and changed and was on the road well before Nat arrived. As his PA, she had access to pretty much all aspects of his life, and while he sped down Santa Monica Boulevard away from his Century City condo, he wondered just how much she'd figured out.

Did she know about the girls he'd hired over the years? Had she guessed that he was paying Laine for the pretend engagement?

It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Nat was smart and observant--two of the reasons he'd hired her. She was also discreet, and anything she knew or suspected would stay locked in the vault. That much he was sure of.

She also wasn't judgmental, and he was certain that she genuinely liked him, despite whatever of his flaws she'd picked up on.

With all that in mind, he shouldn't care what she knew.

But he did.

The possibility that she knew he'd paid Laine for a night in his hotel, to be his date at the opening, and now to be his fiancee ... well, that possibility ate at him.

Not because of what Nat might think about him, but because he didn't want her thinking less of Laine. He'd already thrust her into the spotlight. And though the public comment was congratulatory right now, he knew damn well that sentiment could turn on a dime. And Laine shouldn't have to put up with any of it.

When he reached Venice he pulled through a drive-in coffee shop and grabbed two lattes. Hopefully that was her drink, because even though they were on the verge of matrimony, he didn't have a clue as to any of those little things. He needed to find out--method acting, after all--and he had to admit he was looking forward to submersing himself in the role.

This time he had to park almost a block away, and he walked to her house carrying her coffee and sipping his. He rang the buzzer at the gate, surprised when there was no answer since it wasn't yet eight.

Maybe she was asleep. Or in the shower.

Or maybe she was pulling your chain last night, thought better of getting up close and personal, and is hiding inside, hoping you'll just go away.

Sadly, that probably wasn't an outrageous theory. Except for the fact that she loved her house, and while he might not know a lot about her, the one thing he was sure about was that she'd do anything to save her home.

He was considering climbing the fence and waiting on her front porch when a dog's deep bark sounded from the end of the block toward the beach, followed by Sugar's familiar laugh, then her gentle chide for the dog to slow down.

"Come on, Lancelot. Time to get you back home so I can shower and--oh! Lyle. Hi."

She came to a dead stop in front of him, the dog still tugging at the leash so that she had to work to stay in one place, the muscles in her arm straining as she held tight to keep the dog from bolting.

"Lancelot? Is he your knight in shining fur?"

"It's a good thing your work is scripted. You'd never make it in stand-up comedy." Her eyes dipped to the coffee. "Is one of those for me?"

"I hope you like lattes?"

"I guess that makes you my valiant knight. I'm seriously caffeine deprived this morning." She took a long swallow, then sighed with pleasure. "At the risk of sounding ungrateful, why are you here?"

"We have business."

"Um." Her forehead creased and she looked a little baffled. "Right. Well, okay. But I need to get him back next door and then I need to shower and then I have to get to Maudie's for the morning shift. So if there's something engagement-y that we have to do, can we do it in the afternoon?"

"Is he yours?" Lyle nodded toward the dog.

Her mouth twisted with annoyance, presumably because he'd ignored her question. "My neighbor's. He pays me to walk him most mornings so he can study. We just finished. I was taking him home."

"I'll go with you."

"Well, okay. Suit yourself."

He followed her to the garage apartment behind the two-story house beside hers. The dog trotted up the stairs, then barked at the door, which was opened by a dark-haired guy in gray sweats and a bare chest, his hair still damp from a shower.

"Hey, Sugar. Hey, Lancie boy." He crouched down and nuzzled the dog. "So I'll see you next on Wednesday, right?"

"It's Laine, Jacob," she said, and Lyle noted her exasperated tone. "And what? You don't need me to walk him tomorrow?"