Chase Me (Broke and Beautiful #1)(2)

She ran a thumb over the rates young-dude-boss had jotted down on the slip of paper. Two hundred dollars for each ten-minute performance. God, the security she would feel with that kind of money. And yet, something told her that once she took that step, once she started taking off her clothes, she would never stop. It would become a necessity instead of a temporary patch-up of her shitstorm cloud.

Think about it later. When you’re not dressed like the f*cking Trix Rabbit. Roxy took a deep, fortifying breath, the same one she took before every audition. She wrapped her steady fingers around the brass door knocker and rapped it against the wood twice. A frown marred her forehead when she heard a miserable groan come from inside the apartment. It sounded like a young groan. Maybe the douchebag had a son? Oh, cool. She definitely wanted to do this in front of someone in her age group. Perfect.

Her sarcastic thought bubble burst over her head when the door swung open, revealing a guy. A hot-as-hell guy. A naked-except-for-unbuttoned-jeans guy. Being the shameless hussy she was, her gaze immediately dipped to his happy trail, although, on this guy, it really should have been called a rapture path. It started just beneath his belly button, which sat at the bottom of beautifully defined ab muscles. But they weren’t the kind of abs honed from hours in the gym. No, they were natural, I-do-sit-ups-when-I-damn-well-feel-like-it abs. Approachable abs. The kind you could either lick or snuggle up against, depending on your mood.

Roxy lassoed her rapidly dwindling focus and yanked it higher until she met his eyes. Big mistake. The abs were child’s play compared to the face. Stubbled jaw. Bed head. Big, Hershey-colored eyes outlined by dark, black lashes. His fists were planted on either side of the door frame, giving her a front-row seat to watch his chest and arms flex. A lesser woman would have applauded. As it was, Roxy was painfully aware of her bunny-costumed status, and even that came in second place to the fact that Approachable Abs was so stinking rich that he could afford to be nursing a hangover at eleven in the morning. On a Thursday.

He dragged a hand through his unkempt black hair. “Am I still drunk, or are you dressed like a rabbit?”

His voice was rough from sleep. Probably not his usual voice. That had to be the reason her tummy did a backflip. “I’m dressed like a rabbit.”

“Okay.” He tilted his head. “Should I be drunk for this?”

“If anyone should be drunk for this, it’s me.”

“Good point.” He jerked his thumb back toward his dark apartment. “I think there’s some tequila left—”

“You know what?” This is my life right now. How did I get here? “I think I’m all set.”

He nodded once, as if out of respect for her decision. “So what now?”

“Are you . . .” She consulted her slip of paper through the round eyeholes. “Louis McNally?”

“Yeah.” He leaned against the doorjamb and considered her. “I was named after my grandfather. So, technically, I’m Louis McNally the Second. How’s that for fancy?”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Just making small talk.”

“Is this a typical Thursday exploit for you? Get a lot of forest creatures on your doorstep?”

“You’d be the first.”

“Well, then. Call me Pink Bunny the First. How’s that for fancy?” When he laughed, she was grateful for the mask that hid her unexpected smile. Honestly, this situation was getting more ridiculous by the minute. She definitely didn’t have time for this. At one o’clock she was auditioning for a small theater company’s ironic production of Lassie. Priorities, Roxy.

“You sound cute.” He squinted at her, as if attempting to see through the plastic mask. “You cute under there, bunny?”

“Being that your one-night stand from last night sent me here to sing for you, I don’t know if that matters,” she answered sweetly.

“Cute girls trump all.” One dark eyebrow rose. “What was that about singing?”

Roxy cleared her throat, letting the horrifically stupid lyrics imprint on her brain. Lyrics she hadn’t written, thanks God. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could get out of the suffocating costume and forget this ever happened. Until tomorrow. When she was scheduled to dress like a giant bumble bee. For f*ck sake.

Make every performance count. Channeling Liza Minnelli, she cocked one hip and raised the opposite hand.

To my hot shot honey bunny

Last night we went places and had some fun-ny

You brought me home and we skipped the small talk

Now I’m daydreaming about your perfect—

“Stop.” Louis shook his head slowly. “Jesus, please, make it stop.”

Roxy let her hand drop to her side. “You better be complaining about the lyrics and not my singing.”

“I—sure.” He scanned the hallway, looking relieved when he saw that none of his neighbors had overheard. “Who did you say sent you?”

She stared back at him, dumbfounded. Not that he could tell with the mask hiding her face. “You had more than one girl over last night?”

“I was celebrating,” he said defensively. “Don’t be a judgmental rabbit. They’re the worst.”

“O-kay, my work is done here.” She turned tail—literally—and started walking back toward the elevator. Over her shoulder, she called, “Zoe sent me. You might want to write that down.”