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  I’m being a bitch because I’m hurt.

  Hurt that he slept with someone. Hurt that he replaced me.

  But most of all, I’m hurt because he thinks that I’m nobody.

  “She’s nobody.”

  Those words keep ringing in my ears. And they shred me to pieces every single time.

  I thought I was something to him. I thought I was his friend.

  Clearly not.

  “No, I couldn’t wait.” His voice is as firm as his stare.

  So, I give him a pissed off look back, and I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, what exactly is it that you want?”

  He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, putting him closer to me, and I instantly smell the whiskey on him.

  He has been drinking.

  I don’t know why, but that just pisses me off even more, fueling the hurt and ire in my belly. “You’ve been drinking?”

  He gives me an awkward look. “A little. On the flight.” He lets out a sigh. “Look, Andressa, I just—”

  “How did you know what room I’m staying in?” I cut him off, the thought out of my mouth the second my brain thinks it.

  Discomfort flickers through his eyes. Then, he straightens to his full height, his arms coming across his chest, confidence filling his gaze. “Do you really want the answer to that?”

  I stand up straight, mirroring him. “Yeah, I really bloody do.”

  Putting his hands on the doorframe, he cockily leans forward. “Because I’m Carrick fucking Ryan, and I have a fuckload of money. Those two things can buy me pretty much anything I want, including the number of the hotel room that you’re staying in.”

  Not me. You can’t buy me, Carrick.

  Aargh! I’m so ready to slam this door in his arrogant fucking face. This isn’t him. Not the real him. Not the Carrick I’ve spent the past month getting to know.

  This…I don’t know who this version is, but he’s a complete tosspot, and I really want to punch him in his rich pretty face.

  I take a step forward, poking a finger in his chest, forcing him to drop his hands and move backwards. “What the hell is this? This isn’t you! You don’t say shit like that—especially not to me! And coming up here like you own the place, finding out my room number, waking me up at the butt crack of dawn—you have no right! You know some would call that illegal or maybe an invasion of privacy or fucking stalking!” I all but scream the last part.

  He at least has the decency to look contrite. He retreats back a step at the force of my anger.

  “Jesus.” He shudders out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “This is not going how I wanted this to go.”

  “No? How did you think it was going to go with you turning up here out of the blue, drunk and acting like an arrogant prick?”

  He steadily meets my eyes. “I might have been drinking, but I’m not drunk.”

  I drag a hand through my bed-tangled hair, withdrawing into my room. “Look, I’m tired, and I’m not in the mood to fight with you.”

  I start to shut the door, but he puts a hand against it, stopping me.

  “Please, Andressa. Just wait…”

  I let out a sigh, lifting my eyes to his. “What?”

  “I texted you.”

  “I know.”

  I can see from his expression that he wasn’t expecting that reply.

  “Why didn’t you text me back?” His words are soft. He sounds wounded.

  Good, because so am I. Deeply fucking wounded.

  “Because I didn’t have anything to say.”

  He looks like I’ve just told him that his favorite car has been crushed to smithereens.

  He moves back, looking like he’s going to leave, but then he stops. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

  The words are spoken so softly that I wonder for a moment if he’s actually said them.

  Oh.

  The sense of relief I feel at hearing that is immense. And it’s wrong because I shouldn’t feel anything, especially not for him.

  His eyes lift to mine. There’s desperation in them, and I feel it deep inside, like an ache in my bones.

  “Why are you telling me this?” My voice is cold, devoid of emotion.

  “Because…I thought…I don’t know what I thought.” He shakes his head. “I just want you to know that I’m not the complete bastard you think I am.”

  Just half a bastard then.

  “And I’m sorry. So very fucking sorry.”

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. You’re a free agent. You can do whatever you want with whomever you want. It’s none of my business. I’m nobody, remember?”

  That hurts him. I see it flicker through his eyes.

  Good. Now, he knows an iota of what I’ve been feeling since he said it to me.

  Then, surprisingly, his pain turns to anger. And that pisses me right off.

  “You don’t think I did anything wrong? I kissed you, dry-humped you on that fucking sofa, and then a few hours later, you found me in an elevator with another woman, who I was readying to fuck.”

  I really don’t need a recap of one of the worst nights I’ve had in a long time. Is he trying to get a reaction out of me? Because if he is, then he’s going to get one—big time.

  “But that’s just a standard night for you, isn’t it?” I bite, only just getting started with him.

  It was a low blow, and that was exactly what I was aiming for.

  What I wasn’t planning on was how much the look of hurt on his face hurts me.

  I step away from him, needing the distance. “Look, I’m tired and angry, and you’ve been drinking. We shouldn’t be having this conversation right now. We’re getting nowhere.”

  “Yeah…you’re right.” He lets out a defeated sigh. “Before I go…I just want you to know that I am sorry. Beyond sorry. You deserve better than the way I treated you. I was so fucking out of line. What I said…God, Andressa, you’re not nothing. You’re everything. Aside from my dad, you’re the best person I know.” Raking a hand through his hair, he drags his eyes back to mine. “And not that this is an excuse for my behavior, but I just don’t…deal well with rejection.”

  Clearly.

  “She didn’t look like she was rejecting you from where I was standing.”

  “Jesus, Andressa. I meant you.”

  Looking away, I hide my pain and wrap my arms over my chest. “What do you want me to say, Carrick?”

  He moves before me. Earnest eyes stare into mine. “Just tell me that I haven’t fucked this up.” His voice is close to a whisper, a desperate whisper. “I don’t want to lose my friend. I don’t want to lose you.”

  I swallow past my own bitterness as a hand of pain wraps around my heart and squeezes. “You haven’t lost me. We just…screwed up, and we’re working through it. We’ll be fine.”

  And I ignore the little voice in my head asking me how the hell any of this can be fine when I clearly feel for him like I do.

  I’M IN SPAIN, and it’s late and hot. I’m still at the track, finishing up after today’s practice sessions. I’m here on my own as I told the guys to head back to the hotel. They were dying to go out for a drink, and I was too tired to even consider it, so I told them I’d finish up.

  Now, I’m finally done for the day and so ready for my bed that it isn’t funny.

  Things have been on the up with Carrick and me since China and Bahrain.

  We tiptoed around one another while we were in Bahrain. Then, when we saw each other in Korea for that leg of the tour, after having a few days apart, we just fell back into our old ways. But even for the time we’ve spent together, we haven’t spent any time alone. We’ve always been with the guys and Petra.

  Whether that’s a conscious move on his part or subconscious on mine, I’m not sure. I’m just glad that we’re friends still.

  But the image of him with that woman in China is still seared into my mind. I wish there were some way to expunge it from my brain.

  “I need a favor
.”

  My head whips up at the sound of Carrick’s voice.

  It’s weird to be thinking of someone and have that person just appear like that.

  “A favor?” I raise a brow at him, watching him walk toward me, as I wipe my grimy hands on my overalls. “And what are you still doing here?”

  “Meeting with Dad and Pierce.”

  “Oh. So, this favor?”

  “Hmm.” He’s looking at me with a sexy smile growing on his face.

  “Well, what is it?” I’m suspicious because Carrick’s favors usually involve me doing something that potentially puts my job at risk.

  Stopping in front of me, he lifts his hand, and he sweeps his thumb over my cheek.

  I part my lips on a breath as my skin ignites on a blaze of flames.

  “Oil.” He shows me his thumb.

  “Oh.” I rub my arm against my face. “So, this favor?” I step back, away from him and over to the workbench.

  “I need a date. More specifically, I need you to be my date. I have to go to this sponsorship event tomorrow night. It’s our biggest sponsor, so it’s kind of a big deal.”

  “And you want me to go with you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to go alone. And because you’re awesome.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “I meant, why me?”

  “Because you’ll make what is guaranteed to be a boring-as-fuck night a million times better.”

  His compliment flushes through me, all the way down to my toes.

  “And I want to spend some time with you. Just me and you. As friends…” he adds at my expression. “I miss hanging out, just us.”

  I miss hanging out, just us, too.

  “Okay.” I smile.

  His face lights up, and I like the way it makes me feel. I like making him happy.

  “What time does it start?” I’m thinking of the practice sessions tomorrow—if I’ll be able to slip away for an hour to get an outfit and have time to get ready after.

  “It starts at seven thirty. And don’t worry. I’ll speak with John, let him know you’re coming with me and get him to let you off early.”

  Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go down well. “Let me talk to him.”

  “You sure?”

  I give him a look. “I’m sure.” I walk over to the basin to wash my hands. “So, what should I wear?”

  “It’s black tie, so a dress.”

  “Dress. Got it.”

  Shit. I have nothing to wear and no clue what to buy. I’m a jeans-and-T-shirt kind of girl. I’ll have to ask Petra. I’m sure she’ll come shopping with me. She loves shopping.

  Carrick reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a credit card. “Take this.”

  Reaching for a paper towel, I dry my hands. “What is it?”

  “What does it look like? It’s a credit card, you dope.” He chuckles.

  “Your credit card?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And why are you giving it to me?”

  “So you can buy a dress.” He shoves it into my hand.

  “Erm, nope. No way am I taking your money.”

  I push the card back at him, but he holds his hands up, refusing to take it.

  “Take it. You’re doing me a favor by coming with me. You shouldn’t have to drop a shitload of money on a dress that you’re only buying to help me out.”

  “How do you know I don’t own a dress already?”

  He folds his arms. “Do you?”

  I fold my arms, mirroring him. “No, but that’s beside the point.”

  “It’s the only point, so take the fucking card and buy a dress.” He walks away before I can get another chance to give it back to him. “See you tomorrow.” He throws a wink back at me.

  The minute he’s gone, panic mode sets in. How in the hell am I going to buy a dress and make myself look pretty by tomorrow night?

  I’ve reached high-level dread, wondering why the hell I agreed to go to this event with Carrick by the time I get back to my room, and I’m surprised to find Petra here.

  “I thought you were going out?”

  “Changed my mind. Thought I’d have a night off and hang out here with you.”

  I drop down on my bed and turn onto my side, facing Petra. “I need some help.”

  “Okay.” She takes her eyes from the TV to look at me. “Is this about Carrick?”

  My head jerks back. “What do you mean?”

  “Come on. I know there’s been some weird tension thing going on between the two of you. You left China all weird, and you’ve been the same since.”

  “No, I haven’t. And there’s no tension between me and Carrick.”

  “Sure there isn’t.” She rolls her eyes.

  I pretend not to have seen her, as I don’t want to get into my Carrick problems with anyone. I know Petra, and I like her, but I don’t know her well enough to trust her with my Carrick crap.

  “Anyway, this is Carrick-related, kind of. He’s asked me to go with him to this event tomorrow night—as friends,” I add when I see her brow rising. “And I need a dress.” I won’t tell her that Carrick is paying for the dress because she’ll think for sure that something is going on. “But I have no clue what kind of dress to get or where to get it from here in Barcelona, and I need your help because I’m crap at shopping.”

  She claps her hands together with glee. “Of course I’ll help.”

  She glances at the clock, and I follow her gaze, seeing that it’s seven thirty.

  “Lucky for you, we’re in one of the best cities for late-night shopping. The shops are open till nine.” She gets up off the bed. “What’s your budget? Because Passeig de Gràcia has the best designer shops, but they also have Zara and Mango.”

  “Well, I don’t want to spend too much.” I can feel Carrick’s credit card burning a hole in my pocket. “But I want to look good.”

  “Hot on a budget. Got it. Come on, chick.” She pats my leg as she passes by. “We’ve got some serious shopping to do and limited time to do it.”

  And that’s how I find myself in the fitting room at Mango on Passeig de Gràcia.

  Petra yells for me, “Have you got it on yet? You’ve been in there for ages!”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  I run my hand down the dress again, looking at myself. I just…I don’t know. I think I look okay, but it’s a little risqué for me. It’s red satin, floor-length, strappy with a plunging neckline, so you can see definite cleavage. But that’s not the risqué part. It’s the split up the side. Granted, it’s not skintight, but you can see definite leg when I walk, like up-to-the-thigh high.

  “Jesus…your legs go on forever.”

  I flush at the reminder of Carrick’s words to me that first day in the garage.

  Would he like me in this dress? Would I care?

  I think I already know the answer to that last question.

  “Andi?” Petra calls, impatience in her voice. “If you don’t come out in the next three seconds, then I’m coming in.”

  “Okay. I’m coming out.” Taking a deep breath, I pull the curtain back and step out.

  “Holy fuck,” Petra says, getting to her feet.

  “Is that a good holy fuck?”

  “It’s a very good holy fuck.” She grins. “You look amazing, not that you look like shit normally, but you’re always in those god-awful overalls or jeans and a T-shirt. All this time, you’ve been packing this under there.” She waves a hand over me. “Carrick is gonna come in his pants when he sees you wearing this.”

  “Nice.” I grimace at her choice of words. “Seriously, you think it’s okay?” I turn to look at myself in the mirror. “It’s not too…red?”

  “Not at all. And with your coloring, you can carry it off, no problem.”

  “So, you think I should get it?”

  “I definitely think you should buy it and maybe wear it every day.” She smiles, coming to stand besi
de me, looking in the mirror. “God, I feel so like a bloody midget next to you.” She pouts.

  Petra’s only five-five, which is a good height. I’m just so bloody tall.

  “I think we should go minimal on the jewelry,” she says. “Maybe just some earrings. Don’t want to take the emphasis off the dress. Oh, shoes. You definitely need some heels. Maybe black or nude. We’ll have to scout some out.”

  Heels? “Er, Petra, I’m not used to heels.”

  “We’ll go low.” She pats my arm. “Three, maybe four inches.”

  Three or maybe four inches? “I was thinking more like one inch. Seriously, I won’t be able to wear them. I’ll fall over and make an arse of myself. And I’ll look like a giant. Can’t I just wear flats?”

  She looks at me like I just asked for coffee on my cereal. “No, you can’t bloody wear flats! It’d be an insult to this gorgeous dress. I’ll teach you how to walk in them. And you won’t look too tall. You’ll look like a freaking supermodel. Now, go get changed.” She ushers me back into the fitting room with a pat to my behind. “We haven’t got much time left, and we need to get you those heels.”

  I’M STANDING OUTSIDE THE HOTEL’S BEAUTY SALON, wondering what the hell I’m doing here. This isn’t me. I don’t do this girlie stuff. Sure, I go to the hair salon for a trim when my hair needs it. But getting my nails done? Hell, no. It’s too embarrassing.

  I glance down at the text I got from Petra this morning. She was already up and out before I woke up as she had to get an early start on breakfast for some meeting that Pierce and the rest of the management team were having.

  Hotel salon. 4 p.m. I made you a nail appointment. Be there. See you back at the room afterward, so I can do your hair and makeup.

  I look at my hands. They’re all dry, and the skin is rough. Oil stains are around my cuticles, and my nails have been bitten down. Ugh. The nail technician is going to take one look at my hands and run screaming.

  “Can I help?” says a heavily accented voice.

  It’s then I realize the door to the salon is open, and a woman is standing there, looking at me.

  I must look like a crazy person, just standing out here staring at the place.

  “Oh, um, yes, I have an appointment…to get my nails done.” I hide my hands behind my back. “My friend made it for me.”