I’m still standing in my doorway, fingers touching my forehead, when someone clears their throat behind me.
I spin around.
Leo is sitting on my couch.
My younger brother. Twenty-two. Wearing his usual uniform of band t-shirt and ripped jeans, combat boots propped on my coffee table like he owns the place.
“Jesus Christ!” My hand flies to my chest. “How did you get in here?”
“Spare key.” He holds it up. “The one you gave me for emergencies.”
“This isn’t an emergency.”
“Debatable.” He looks me up and down, takes in the formal dress, the heels I’m still holding. “Nice dress. Let me guess. Another event with the billionaire?”
My stomach sinks. “Leo.”
“Don’t ‘Leo’ me.” He stands, and I’m reminded that my little brother is now six foot two and can pull off intimidating when he wants to.
