Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,22

thank you, ma’am.”

“Claire,” she corrected, feeling a little fluttery at the rather perfect smile. “ ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old.”

She ignored the knowing look Scott gave her from across the room. Compared to him, you are old.

Instead, she tried to channel confident, sensual woman. Like Naomi and the guy at the home improvement store. Like Audrey and anyone.

“Claire, then,” Dean said, grinning again. “Good to meet you.”

Oh God, he had a chin dimple. Was he even real?

“Do you work with Scott often?” she asked, scrambling for something to say.

Dean lifted his broad shoulders. “Nah, he’s not in town much. I like to be available when he calls, but this is really just a side gig for extra cash.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your main gig?” She immediately dropped her hand to her side when she realized she’d been on her way to literally twirling her hair. God, she was even more out of practice with flirting than she’d realized.

“Acting. Well, modeling mostly, but when I get my big break . . .”

This time it was harder to ignore Scott’s knowing look, but she determinedly kept her eyes on Dean. “What sort of acting do you do?” she asked, noting that there were no signs of tattoos peeking out from beneath his T-shirt. She wondered if that applied to the rest of him. She rather hoped so. She’d never understood tattoos, and it seemed a shame to mark up all that perfection.

Scott deliberately stepped into Claire’s view behind Dean’s back and made a quick swipe of his thumb on the side of his mouth, as though indicating that she should wipe up her drool.

“Commercials so far,” Dean said, oblivious to Scott’s antics. “But I’ve been an extra a few times on primetime. You may have seen me . . .”

He named a few procedural dramas that Claire had heard of but never seen, and she wracked her brain for something dazzling to say.

Scott interrupted before she got inspired. “Hey, Dean, I feel like an ass. I just realized I never asked . . . how the hell is your wife? Newlywed life treating you well?”

Claire’s eyes went wide, and she glanced from Scott, back to Dean, praying that Scott had made some sort of mistake . . .

“It’s good!” Dean said with a happy smile. “Even better now that we’ve moved into a bigger apartment. Juliana’s having a great time decorating. Wouldn’t mind picking your brain on what to do with our kitchen though; we’re trying to find ways to modernize it without too much expense . . .”

Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

She’d just gotten a tiny glimpse of what Audrey and Naomi must have felt knowing they’d been flirting with a married man without realizing it.

It was horrifying.

Beyond.

Claire slowly backed out of the room as Dean and Scott began talking about garbage disposals. Her pride was stinging hard. Flirting with a younger man was one thing. Flirting badly was slightly embarrassing. Flirting badly with a married younger man?

“Kill me,” she said out loud, walking back toward the kitchen.

Worst of all, Scott had seen it. No, wait. That wasn’t the worst thing. The worst thing was that Scott had known Dean was married and let her go out on that limb anyway. It was wrong to feel betrayed. Even more stupid to feel stung, but she did, just a little.

She knew the guy was gruff and a little rough around the edges. She somehow hadn’t expected him to be mean.

Bob joined her in the kitchen as she pulled out a rotisserie chicken and began pulling off pieces for her salad.

“Your father’s an ass; you know that, right?” Claire asked the dog.

Bob’s butt was planted on the floor, her tail wagging furiously in what Claire was pretty sure was agreement. “Yeah,” Claire said, as she broke off a big chunk of meat and fed it to the dog. “You totally know that.”

Chapter Seven

FRIDAY, AUGUST 9

It wasn’t one of his favorite pastimes, but Scott could admit when he’d been an ass. Today had been one of those days. Scott had known the second he’d seen Claire gawking at Dean what was going on. He’d hired Dean enough times to know the sort of response the bronzed, beefy kid elicited from women.

Somehow, though, Scott had been surprised—and annoyed—to see that Dean’s brawn had had its usual effect on Claire Hayes. The woman seemed far too levelheaded to drool over a gym rat who was a good guy but had the conversational skills of