I bent, looking under the vanity, under the bed, behind the damn hamper—searching for my nude stilettos. Nowhere.
I checked again. And again.
Gone.
“Seriously?” I muttered, close to tearing my hair out. I was one second away from saying screw it and going barefoot when the door creaked open.
Stan stepped in, one hand covering his eyes, the other carrying the missing stilettos.
“Don’t kill me, baby girl,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips. “I swear I didn’t peek. Just came to deliver these before you have a meltdown.”
I froze, halfway between irritation and laughter. “You stole my shoes?!”
“Borrowed,” he corrected, finally lowering his hand but keeping his gaze fixed on the ceiling like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. His hair was still damp from the shower, his s
