After what felt like a torturously long ride, they pulled up in front of a wide, golden building in the heart of Fifth Avenue.

“Is this strictly necessary?” He glanced down at his T-shirt and frowned. “I’m a rock star, not a congressman.”

“That doesn’t matter. You need to make a good impression.” With a muttered oath, he followed Gina’s lead as she skirted from the limo, climbed the vast stone steps, and pulled open the Gatsby Parlor’s tall glass doors.

“Why do I feel like I’m walking on diamond floors?” Rory murmured from behind her, his fingers closing over the wide, golden door knocker as he held the door for her and motioned for her to go ahead.

Grudgingly, she stepped inside and grinned at the gleaming racks of Armani and Versace displays. All soft, beautiful fabric. Nothing for him to turn into his newest—and shiniest, percussion set.

Perfect.

But then, naturally, he began to drum his fingers against the white, lacquered walls, all the while beatboxing under his breath.

She sighed, but decided that was one battle she didn’t have the power to face—at least not now.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked, but before she got the chance to answer, a pristine-looking woman in a deep purple business suit stalked toward them, her stilettos clicking out a thunderous beat on the marble floors.

She twisted in front of a rack of belts to find Rory now drumming against a tall, glass showcase housing diamond watches. The rhythm of his fingers intensified, creating a symphony of noise that stole the attention—and a disapproving glare from the straight-faced attendant.

“Miss Saldano, lovely to see you again. Mr. Galveston,” the woman’s gaze swept from Gina to Rory and then focused on him, “It is such a pleasure to welcome you to our boutique. My name is Marsha. How can I help you today?”

Rory looked up, apparently surprised to have been addressed by name. “Hi, did we have an appointment?”

Marsha’s bright smile widened. “No, but of course, I know who you are.”

“Right. Never get used to that. Nice to meet you.” He narrowed his eyes on the woman’s name tag. “Marsha. That’s a beautiful name.”

For the first time all day, he offered her a charming smile—a genuinely charming smile.

“Quite the flirt we have here.” She threw her hand to her chest and smiled.

“You know, I haven’t seen that side of him.” Gina glared at him out of the corner of her eye. “Today, anyway.”

There were now two women standing next to Rory with flushed cheeks. One of them was red because apparently Rory could be charming.

Who knew?

You knew, you big phony, a voice inside her head whispered.

It was true. There had been a time or two that she’d nearly fallen for Rory’s casual, almost understated charm. It wasn’t big or bold like Dev’s, but it crept up on you, like a quiet storm.

Goosebumps rose on her arms and she cleared her throat as Rory scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck nervously. Gina took this as her cue to step in.

“We’re looking to revitalize Mr. Galveston’s wardrobe. Maybe something a little more cutting edge? Could you help us find some options?”

“I’d be happy to. Please, follow me.” The woman motioned and started clacking over to what Gina was sure would be the most expensive section of the store—a saleswoman like that knew a whale when she caught one—and Gina followed behind Rory, taking the opportunity to check her messages as they went.

The first notification was from Cheri and it included a photo of her chugging a large, pink margarita through an oversized straw with the caption, Hope your day is as good as mine, lol.

She rolled her eyes, half tempted to tap out an expletive-filled message back, but her attention was soon stolen by the raucous sound of hangers clattering against a mirror.

She shot Marsha a quick glance before rushing toward the back of the store where she spotted Rory double-fisting hangers and using them as drumsticks against an impeccably clean mirror.

“Rory,” she whispered as she approached him.

She had no problem ripping the first of the two hangers out of his hand. The second proved to be a problem as he pivoted on his foot and twisted away from her.

“If you don’t stop that—”

“What are you going to do?” he taunted her, then took a step closer, boxing her in against the nearest rack as the full height of him made her crane her neck with a defiant glare. This close, she could smell his inexpensive cologne—but for some reason, nothing about the smell made her want to hit the next aisle for an upgrade.

It was practical and fresh and clean. All Rory. And, also not unlike Rory, she loathed…and strangely liked the woodsy scent all at once.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to tie your hands behind your back.”

“I could say the same to you.” His eyes gleamed with a dark challenge and she surveyed the slight tick of his jaw as his gaze roved over her. “Say, do you think any of your carefully curated girls are into stuff like that?”

“Off the top of my head?” She rolled her eyes, trying to break herself from the spell his proximity had cast on her. “I can’t remember.”

He crossed his arms and moved even closer, making her heart skip a beat. “I bet Miss Sowers would like it,” he teased.

Then, apparently not taking the hint, he went on, “How much research did you do?”

“I didn’t watch her videos if that’s what you’re asking,” Gina hissed.

A slow smile spread over his chiseled lips. “Damn shame if you ask me.”

“If you don’t mind, this is a high-end establishment.” She grabbed him by the shirt, caught a glimpse of her reddened complexion in the mirror behind him, then pushed him away. “An establishment that I have a reputation in, so if you could please stop talking about—”

Marsha approached, clearing her throat once she came to the silver-lined couch in front of them.

“Everything all right, Miss Saldano?”

Gina’s lips folded into a polite smile as she turned to the attendant. “Fabulous.”

She clasped her hands together in front of her, glancing from Rory to Gina and back again. “Anything I can do to help?”

When nobody answered, Marsha eyed them up and down, scratched her fingers against the bottom of her pointed chin as she calculated. “Right then, time to get back to business.”

She pointed at Rory. “Thirty-inch waist, thirty-two-inch hem.” She turned to Gina. “Why don’t we start with the pants?”

“I trust your instincts.”

“Feel free to look around while I gather some options.”

Gina watched Rory carefully. He was still watching Marsha as she slung one pair of slacks over her shoulder and reached for another.

“She’s kind of cute,” he mused out loud, nodding toward the other woman. “In a sort of take control, ice princess kind of way.”

“Are you kidding me?” Gina said. “I hand you a plate of some of the most desired women in this industry and you can’t be bothered, but Marsha…?”

Though, to be fair, she could see the appeal. The other woman must have been a size two at the largest with a statuesque sort of frame like she’d once been a model. And, given the types of people who shopped in a store like this, it wasn’t so unusual to think she might have been.

“Take it easy. She’s not sexy like you, so no need to get jealous,” He laughed and stepped toward a circular rack housing clearance designer pants.

“Jealous? I knew you were difficult, but delusional—” Gina spluttered.

But his words hit closer to home than she liked, even though she was fairly sure he was just yanking her chain.

“…sexy like you.”

His words replayed in her head and her cheeks flamed, but, luckily, Rory seemed oblivious.

He pulled a pair of black slacks off the rack and held them at his waist, not caring that the bottom of the very expensive pants were brushing against the floor. “What about these?”

Grateful for the distraction, Gina grabbed the hanger and placed the pants back onto the rack. “Firstly, these are straight-legged and relaxed fit.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that these are tailored for older men.” She pushed hard against his chest to force him backward until he was lined up with the couch. “Men of sophistication and class who can’t be bothered to be fashionable. You’re a rock star, not a stockbroker. Leave this to the professionals.”

“And you’re a professional?” He arched a brow.

She took a seat on the couch opposite him and crossed her legs.“I know my way around a nice fit.”

He sunk deep into the couch, his gaze moving to her legs. “I’m sure you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh nothing…” His words trailed off, and she stared at him, internally hating herself as his meaning clicked inside her head. He was definitely yanking her chain now, and damned if it wasn’t working. Pure chemistry had nerve endings firing off inside her left and right as she tried to ignore her body’s response to him.

Before she had the chance to answer, though, Marsha approached with three pair of pants and a fitted white shirt. “Here you go, Mr. Galveston. Try these on and let me know what you think.”

“I’ll take these,” Gina said, intercepting the pile of clothes before Rory could get to them and ruin everything just like he’d done this morning.

“Call me Rory,” he said with a devastating smile as Marsha twisted the key into the lock of the dressing room.

“Right.” She held the door open as Rory and Gina stepped inside. “Let me know if you need anything else, Rory,” she murmured, practically giggling.

“I most certainly will.”

Gina used her foot to shut the door behind Marsha.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rory asked.

“You can’t be trusted to pick out your own clothes. So I’m staying,” she said with a tight smile.

“Any excuse to see me naked, is it?” he replied, and she rolled her eyes.

“Move it. I’m not arguing with you today.” She stepped past a befuddled Rory to place the clothing on a rack that hung on the opposite wall.

“What’s the matter?” she questioned, her hands on her hips. “Never been in a dressing room this big?”

“Why is it so big, anyway?”

She shrugged as she dropped down onto a cushioned wingback armchair in the corner. “Who knows?”

The large room was lined with mirrors at all points with an armchair on either end, another in the center. There was a TV on the wall opposite her, the station turned to a news entertainment channel, but she tuned it out.

She pointed toward the clothing now hanging on the rack. “Might as well get started. Shopping at this place can be an all-day experience and I’m tired already.” She spun her finger in a circle, gesturing for him to begin. The quicker they got this over with, the better.

“I’m a pro at getting in and out of clothes.”

She couldn’t help but sigh again as her eyes drifted to the whitewashed, wood-planked ceiling.

A belt buckle clattered against the floor and her eyes dropped to find Rory standing in tight, black boxers. He wasn’t lying when he said he was a pro at getting in and out of clothing. And though he wasn’t facing her, because of the mirrors she could still see his expression as he shook the first pair of slacks in front of him.

She swallowed a lump in her throat as she saw, for the first time ever, exactly how muscular and strong he was—his contoured abs with their well-defined grooves and the tattoos that stretched from his chest to his shoulders.

His dark eyes were brooding and stormy, a match perfect for his burnt tobacco-colored, tousled hair. He pulled the slacks up over his long legs, fastened them, and then turned to Gina with his arms stretched to either side, still shirtless.

“You look a hundred times better already,” she said, though she wasn’t sure she meant it. As much as she thought it was the right choice for him, for the band…a part of her already missed his low slung jeans and faded, beat-up denim.

“Really?” He arched a brow and modeled the designer black slacks for her. “I feel like an idiot.”

“Well, you look pretty good for an idiot.” She grinned.

“Wait…is that a compliment?” He hooked one finger into the pants and unbuttoned them with haste, pulling the zipper down just enough to expose his black underwear again.

She swallowed a groan. She could’ve sworn she saw the outline of his cock underneath the tight underwear. Wetting her lips nervously she averted her gaze, but in the well-lit room filled to the brim with mirrors there was no escaping him.

She gestured for him to pick up the pace and try on the next pair.

To force herself away from watching him dressing and undressing, she fixed her gaze on the TV opposite her. Just coming back from break, the anchors at Hollywood Tonight promised that the next story was one that was going to make everyone in America happy.

And then she saw him.

Musician Peter Ebon still held power over her, though she’d be loathe to admit it. Maybe not the kind of power he used to, but she couldn't deny the burn of acid roiling in her gut at the sight of him. And though seeing him on the television screen threatened to make her ill, she reached for the remote on the nearby end table and cranked up the volume.

“In today’s flash update, Peter Ebon of Ebon Steel has announced his engagement to actress Daphne Ferrel. His reps have exclusively shared that the wedding will be happening soon and is expected to be the social event of the year.”

Gina drew her thumb to her lips and chewed her nail. The burning in her stomach morphed into a dull ache. It had only been a year since Peter told her that he wasn’t the marrying type and a little under a year since she had caught him cheating with his now-fiancée.

Gina clicked the power button and threw the remote onto the nearest chair. In one of the many mirrors before her, she could see the anger on her face. Concerned that Rory might catch a glance of the discomfort, she forced the widest smile she could muster—

At the exact worst time.

Rory caught her gaze just as he bent over in front of her to slide on his jeans. He stopped in place, his body frozen as he cocked his head slightly. “What are you smiling at? Like what you see?”

“Oh my God,” she scoffed and directed her attention elsewhere. But again, those damn mirrors were everywhere so she forced her eyes closed and cursed herself under her breath. Because, despite her anger at the announcement of Peter’s engagement, she did like what she saw, and that was the last thing she needed right now. Peter’s news was the perfect reminder of why she needed to stay away from rock stars except when it came to work. That included Rory Galveston. “Can you just put some pants back on?”

“In the process.”

She could hear him zipping his jeans and that’s when she figured it was safe to open her eyes again. Once she did and noticed he was now dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing when he walked into the store, she grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder.

“That’s it? You’re done?” she asked.

“Yup. Those pants fit. Let’s get them and a bunch like them. What’s the point of trying on a dozen more pairs when those are fine? And shirts are shirts. Come on, Gina. Have some mercy.”

She hesitated and then shrugged. That was fine with her. They’d get the black pair in gray, navy and tan and a bunch of dress shirts and call it a day. She was more than ready to leave. Seeing Peter was bad, but being in close quarters with Rory was doing things to her she didn’t even want to consider. Better to call this battle and live to fight another day.

“Fine. Let’s go, then.”

“Excellent.” His mouth split into a grin and then faded as he eyed her speculatively. “By the way, that thing on the news…That wedding?” Rory questioned softly. “That’s exactly the type of social event we’re looking for, right?”

She twisted to face him fully with a tight, half-smile. Of course, now he would be interested in playing the part assigned to him.

“I mean, I guess…”

“Well,” he chuckled, “better work on finding me a date, right?” He nudged her with his elbow on his way out the door before pausing to look back at the clothes on the rack. “Do we need to take those with us?”

“Yeah, we should probably do that.”

But she was far more preoccupied with this new challenge. Old “Operation See if She Could Wrangle an Invite to Her Ex’s Wedding for the Guy She Was Developing a Crush On”.

If Karma was a bitch, Gina had clearly slept with her boyfriend, because this was going to be a living hell.