I cleared my throat, trying hurriedly to work some moisture into it. “Some friends are at a club near here. I’m going to meet up with them now.”

I had to forcibly pull my eyes from the tribal band tattoo of stylized ocean waves that seemed to ebb and flow around his bulging bicep. Lord, he was beautiful. No wonder the models all wanted him.

He shifted his stance, shaking his head. “Nope.”

It took me a minute to pull myself from the mental drooling. I jerked my eyes to his, frowning. “Wait, what?”

He waved a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Weiss, come in, Weiss. You’re staying here and helping me with this.”

“But you didn’t—”

“I didn’t have to. I’m the boss. What I say goes. Got it?”

My jaw dropped. What a. Fucking. Fucker…fucktard.

Oh my God. I hated him so hard right now. “But my friends are waiting for me.”

He stood back, widening the door but not backing down. “Your friends don’t write your business school recommendation.” My stomach dropped and my shoulders slumped. He won—before the battle had even begun.

I stepped into his beach house and followed him to his living room. I could see the shimmering water of the Pacific Ocean out the sliding glass door that led directly onto one of the most famous beaches in Southern California. The waves pounded relentlessly and there were surfers out, riding beneath the last rays of sunlight. Jordan’s board was propped askew against the back wall on the small patio. That explained the swim trunks.

The house was not big—most of the ones in the Wedge weren’t—but it came with a price tag well into the millions. Jordan gestured for me to stay put while he went out to the covered back porch, grabbed his surfboard and stuffed it up on a ceiling rack alongside a standing paddleboard and a kayak. I watched the muscles in his back roll under his skin as he performed the action.

My throat was constricted, dry. I ordered my lust to calm down. The prettier they were, the more dangerous and detrimental they could be. I forced myself to remember Gunnar. He’d been like that. Not as gorgeous as Jordan, but still a catch and the envy of most girls on campus. Until he’d utterly humiliated me in more ways than I could count.

There would be no more trusting those warm, wiggly feelings I got in my lady parts when laying eyes on a hot man—particularly a half-naked one. I was over the pretty boys. Never again.

Chances were that my mystery man, Falco, also of the hot bod and rock-hard abs variety, was a sweet, mild-mannered and nerdy Draco employee. Maybe he was a playtester or a programmer. Definitely not a playboy like Jordan with a fast lifestyle.

Jordan adjusted the surfboard and reached up to straighten the paddle for the kayak. Clearly the man liked his watersports, and judging from his body, he actively engaged in them. I looked away, irritated with myself, and pulled out my phone to text my friends that I wouldn’t be coming. I hit send about two seconds before he came back inside and gave me an insolent stare.

“Did you text your boyfriend and tell him you weren’t going?” he asked in a flat voice.

I tucked my phone away with shaky hands, trying to contain the helpless fury and rage I felt at that moment. I had to give up a semi-fun evening with the girls to do this jackass’ bidding all night. He could have been a little nicer, at least. “I don’t have a boyfriend. But I did text my friends.”

“Ah. So he broke up with you over the sex video?”

I blushed. “I believe you have ordered me never to discuss that—whatever it is you’re referring to.”

He raised his brows. “Very good. You do listen.”

“Will that be going into my business school recommendation?”

“It might be.”

I shook my head and peered up at him. “You really thought I had a boyfriend? And that I’d cheated on him with Falco the Bounty Hunter?”

His features were unreadable. “You’re a nice girl, Weiss. Exactly the kind that should never be trusted.” Then his square jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed with some renewed fury or slight. “Make yourself comfortable. You’re going to be here a while. And I’m going to put some clothes on.”

“Oh, thank God,” I muttered quietly to myself.

“What was that?” He spun before hitting the stairs.

“Oh, nothing…nothing. Just talking to myself.”

He frowned, shook his head and left.

With a long sigh, I leaned back against the big, white couch. I looked up at the cathedral ceiling, complete with airy skylights. The room was decorated beautifully and professionally, with white-on-white, glass and chrome and tiny splashes of color here and there, a deep blue loop carpet and understated beach-themed paintings and décor. As nice as it was, there was little personalization to it that I could see. It could very well have been a high-end rental.