DEAN

I spend the next week looking for the raven-haired woman with the sad blue eyes, but I don’t see her again. I even go down and check in on Landon, but no one answers. I hate to admit defeat, but odds are, Tyler is right. She is probably dating one of the other tenants and just got into a lover’s spat.

I should just leave it there, but I can’t get the mystery girl with no name out of my mind. There was a cloud of sadness around her that was more than a fight with a boyfriend.

Yes, I’ll be the first to admit that I have a soft spot for a woman in need.

My father left when I was just a baby, and Mom spent my entire childhood barely keeping us off the streets. She worked hard to keep me safe, and when I was old enough, I looked after her.

And now that she doesn’t need me to look after her, I try to help others when I can. I know that a man with my wealth and power can do a lot of good. Or cause a lot of harm. That was the main reason I was initially against the budding relationship she started with her super-rich boss. Despite what the movies tell us, those kinds of Cinderella stories rarely happen. But Mom is one of the lucky ones.

Thomas Hart is a demanding, but decent man. And he loves my mom. He indulges her every whim, including her charitable streak. She passed that desire to help others on to me. When I was young, I thought about working for the ACLU or some charity organization, but Thomas convinced me I could do the most good by bringing good paying jobs to our city. So I accepted the position my step-father offered at Hart Properties. Now, Tyler and I are making a big difference by revitalizing the downtown area. It is a win-win for everyone.

Even so, I still like to pay it forward when I can.

But I can’t help someone if they don’t want help—as Tyler reminded me last night while drinking my scotch. The smug asshole is getting far too much pleasure out of winning that bet. I can’t sit in the apartment and listen to him gloat any longer, so I grab my gym bag and head downstairs.

As the elevator doors open onto the gym, I’m surprised to see the woman from the lobby running on a treadmill. The skin peeking out from under her midriff top is slick with sweat, and she’s breathing hard.

I grab my bag and head into the small room, unsure what to say. Should I acknowledge the other day? Or respect her privacy and not bring it up?

I don’t have a chance to decide. As soon as I walk into the room, she hits the button to stop the machine.

“Hey, I was hoping I’d run into you again. I almost called you,” she says, wiping the sweat from her brow. “I want to apologize for the other day. I can’t even imagine what you were thinking. Probably, there’s a crazy person in the lobby of my building kicking the elevator and crying. I’m surprised you didn’t call security.”

She flashed me a smile, complete with dimples, but there is still a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“I just thought you were in trouble and needed help,” I say as I set down my bag.

“I did need help. I left my key, and my brother went up without me.” She frowned and sat down on the bench next to me. “I didn’t have a way to get up to my apartment.”

“Security would have let you in.”

“I know,” she says and looks down at her feet. “But I got into a big argument with the security guy about my parking pass. If I would have had to go back and ask him to let me in the elevator, I would have died.”

Only tenants get parking passes, so Tyler’s theory that she is just Marco’s newest girl had to be wrong. “I didn’t know anyone new had moved in,” I say, checking her hand for a ring. Hart Properties owned the building, and my office processed all sales, but I didn’t keep up on the tenant's personal lives. If someone got married, I wouldn’t know.

“I guess I’m not technically new,” she says and starts to gather her things. “I used to live here a long time ago. I inherited 11C from my mom.”

“Brenna Hamilton?” I ask, hesitantly.

“Parker,” she says and shoves her running shoes into her bag. The empty water bottle sitting on the bench tips over from the force and falls to the floor. “It’s Brenna Parker.  Jon was my step-father.”

“I knew it,” I say under my breath. My asshole brother owes me a thousand dollar bottle of scotch.

“What?” she says and wrinkles her nose. And then I saw it. The resemblance to Landon is striking.

“I’m sorry,” I say and reach down to grab the fallen water bottle. “I mean, I’m sorry about the mistake, and I’m also sorry about Jon and Nicole’s accident.”

“Were you a friend of theirs?” she asks.

“No. I didn’t know them well. They traveled a lot. But I know Landon. He’s a good kid. How’s he doing?”

With a shrug, she takes the bottle from me and packs it in her bag. “I don’t know. He hardly talks to me. I don’t know what’s going on with him. I don’t know what he wants from me.”

“It’s his age,” I assure her. “I doubt he even knows what he wants. Give it some time.”

I squeeze her hand and linger a little longer than is probably appropriate. But when I try to pull back, Brenna holds on.

“Thank you, Dean. I know you don’t know me, but I appreciate the advice.”

I have to fight back the crazy urge to lean down and kiss her. To chase away that cloud of sadness that she can’t hide beneath her smile. I could easily shift my hand across her exposed middle, pull her into my arms, and taste those plump lips.

With a sigh, she pulls back and slips the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Speaking of Landon, I should get back upstairs. It was nice meeting you for real this time. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so,” I say, lamely, as I watch her step onto the elevator.

I pick up my bag and consider going back upstairs to tell Tyler and demand my bottle back. Instead, I head to the locker room and change into my swimming trunks. A few hundred laps are exactly what I need to cool down.

I have to remind myself that Brenna is grieving and isn’t interested in being asked out on a date. Or being ravished in the gym by a virtual stranger.

I close my eyes and let out a deep breath. The image of her running, muscles flexing, sweat dripping down her body, flashes in my mind and morphs into an image of her stretched across my bed.

Maybe after my laps, I need to take a cold shower.