His Calculated Obsession

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I peeked at my best friend's brother in the shower.

Then I sent him the voice memos about it.

By accident. To him. The actual him.

He opened the door dripping wet, looked me dead in the eye, and decided I owed him.

I'm Sloane, for the record. I have a job, a studio lease, and the impulse control of a raccoon.

It started, like all my worst decisions, with a group chat at midnight.

Me: [Drinks tonight?]

Bex: [?]

Me: [I booked two dancers at the Stallion Room hotter than your brother. You coming or not?]

Bex: [And how would you know what my brother's working with?]

Me: [...I may have caught him in the shower. Once.]

Bex: [Oh. Still wanna see?]

Chapter 1

Me: [Obviously.]

Bex: [Then come over.]

I shot off the bed so fast I nearly took the headboard with me.

Raked my hair flat, jammed my feet into flip-flops, and was out the door before my brain could file a complaint.

The whole ride over, I fired voice memos at her like a woman possessed.

"Okay but your brother's body? I'm dead serious. Not one guy at the Stallion Room comes close."

"Is he drunk tonight or something? Why am I suddenly invited over to look?"

"He dresses like a Puritan, by the way. Won't undo one extra shirt button to save his life."

"Last time I caught him in the shower I saw everything. EVERYTHING. A feast. I am unwell."

"If he ever danced at that club I'd skip meals to tip him. Every. Single. Night."

I licked my lips, a little too pleased with myself.

Not that any of it mattered.

Camden Lockwood, billionaire heir, more money than God, buttons done up to his throat, was never going to strip for a living.

And he was definitely, definitely never going to strip for me.

I sent her a dozen memos. Nothing back.

I was still side-eyeing my phone when the driver told me we'd arrived.

I climbed out, marched up to the door, and reached for the bell.

It opened before I touched it.

And standing there, wet and unbothered, very much the exact man I'd spent the whole drive describing in HD, was my best friend's brother.

Camden.

My phone hit the floor.

Because Camden was not wearing a shirt.

Water still tracked down lean, cut muscle. The towel sat low on his hips, one careless tuck from a national emergency. A vein ran the length of his forearm. The whole line of him vanished under terrycloth and took my imagination down with it.

It was big.

The towel. I'm talking about the towel.

Somehow it landed harder than the steam-blurred version I'd stolen last time.

How were we just getting straight to the point like this.

Camden's voice dragged me back, low and lazy.

"Got a good enough look?"

Chapter 2

"No" My mouth, faster than my brain, as always. I slammed the brakes. "I mean. Your sister. Where's your sister?"

"Bexley?" He stepped back to let me in. "Gone. Just put her on a plane."

"Huh?"

"She didn't tell you?"

He turned and walked deeper into the house, and I trailed after him like the disaster I am. He poured himself a glass of red.

"She went traveling with friends."

The little traitor. Took a trip and didn't invite me.

Then again, a girl like Bex jetting off somewhere was about as routine as ordering lunch, and I had work anyway. She'd have asked and I'd have said no.

"Well. If Bex isn't here, I'll head out."

I turned for the door, still stewing over getting summoned and then ghosted.

I pulled out my phone to file a formal complaint.

Bex had beaten me to it.

Bex: [Babe, I have to disappear for a few days. My brother lost his mind and decided at midnight I HAD to go on a trip. Threatened to cut off my cards. I had no choice.]

I opened the thread to fire back.

Our conversation was still parked on the hot-guy video she'd forwarded last night.

None of tonight's messages were there.

I read it again. And again. And a deeply unpleasant thought crawled up the back of my neck.

I'd sent the messages to the wrong person.

I backed out, checked the name above the thread, and what was left of my brain calmly informed me I was going to die.

I'd sent every last one to the man I'd peeked at in the shower.

Camden.

Which meant the replies hadn't been Bex.

That "how would you know what my brother's working with"? Him. The "still wanna see"? Him. The "come over"? Also him.

He'd read me rate his body out of ten, asked if I wanted an encore, and reeled me straight to his front door. Then opened it wet.

The smug bastard had set me up to die of embarrassment and pulled up a chair to watch.

Let me back up.

Yesterday, at Bex's, I'd been chasing their cat in circles and knocked a bottle of wine off the table. Bex sucked in a breath and told me it was her brother's. Prized. I looked it up later. Limited vintage, two hundred grand.

Camden came home, saw it, and went cold. Didn't yell. Didn't say much of anything. Just tapped at his phone and held the screen out to me. A payment request, his handle right there.

"Add me. Pay up."

I added him. We hadn't spoken since, mostly because I did not have two hundred thousand dollars lying around.

And now, dizzy off a double shift and starved for something pretty to look at, I'd hand-delivered my own funeral.

I tried to play it cool and pick up the pace toward the exit.

"That's it?" His voice nailed me to the floor. "Leaving in such a hurry."

My feet stopped dead.

Then, in case I wasn't humiliated enough, he started playing the memos back.

One.

By.

One.

"Not one guy at the Stallion Room comes close."

I have never hated a house for being this big. All that empty space. The echo.

"A feast. I am unwell."

He let it ring off the walls.

"I'd skip meals to tip him. Every single night."

I couldn't see my own face, but I could feel it. Heat climbing my neck, my ears hot enough to fry an egg.

He crossed the room, folded his arms, and didn't bother hiding it. The slow, delighted look of a man settling in to enjoy a show.

"So what do we do about this." Not a question. "You've seen all of me. I'm compromised now."

He said it like the wronged party. I was already underwater with shame, and that pushed my head clean below the surface.

The words were out before I could stop them. "Then I'll take responsibility."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

He bent toward me, that ruinous face filling up my whole field of vision.

I stepped back and hit the wall. My pulse lost the beat completely, scrambling after a rhythm that wasn't there.

"I'll pay you back."

"Not enough."

"I don't have anything else to give you. I can't even cover the wine"

A CEO who ran on leverage was about to start naming terms, and I was not built to win that.

"Who said anything about money?" He tilted his head. "You think I need your pocket change?"

"...Then what do you want?"

"I want you."

Chapter 3

He closed the last of the distance. I could feel his breath, catch the clean trace of soap on his skin.

His voice dropped, rough at the edges. "I want you to marry me."

"What?"

I gaped at him.

It wasn't a secret his family had been driving him insane about settling down. Every dinner at Bex's, his parents paraded another girl past him at the table. He shot down every one, stone-faced.

When they wouldn't quit, he finally laid it out. "Stop wasting your energy. There's already someone."

Bex and I had talked plenty of trash about that one.

"A catch like your brother, off the market and still single?" I'd said. "Who's the lunatic turning him down?"

Bex had snorted. "Leave it. The emotionally constipated weirdo pines on his own schedule. Probably still carrying a torch for some study-abroad first love." Then she'd grinned. "Honestly, if a man that hot and that rich wanted me, I'd be so generous with the world. Wait. Do you like my brother? Say the word, I'll gift-wrap him and leave him in your bed, all yours to"

"No. No. Wouldn't dare dream it. We're not even in the same tax bracket."

Besides, every time I was over, he never once looked my way. Not a flicker, not in my direction. Like I was a chair he resented.

My gut said it plain: the man could not stand me.

Fair enough. Who'd fall for the girl who kept hauling his baby sister out to ogle male dancers?

A while back, buried in work stress, I'd howled into the void: "Can somebody six-foot-one, loaded, and stupid in love please just marry me?"

Bex had instantly volunteered to introduce me to her brother's friends.

Camden shut it down without looking up. "By the time you've finished setting her up, I won't have any friends left."

See? That's how much he couldn't stand me. No further questions.

So now, with him offering to marry me, the math was simple. The man was cornered, family pressure boiling over, done being picky. He'd take the girl who'd already seen him naked.

"Answer me." He advanced. "Yes or no?"

The distance shrank to nothing. I backed up on instinct. He followed, step for step, until the wall caught me.

I threw my hands up to hold him off.

They landed flat on his abs.

Solid. Distractingly solid. The kind you could grate a block of parmesan on. I left them there a beat longer than any married-for-the-wine arrangement could possibly justify before I snatched them back.

"You've felt the abs," he said. "You've seen me in the shower. Ready to take responsibility now?"

Me: ?

Brain spinning, I tried, "I mean, there's still the small matter of your two-hundred-grand wine"

"Forget the wine. Married to me, money's the last thing you'll ever lack."

Correct answer.

I had my ID out before he finished the sentence, professional smile locked in place. "Everything's in order. I'm available immediately."

Hesitating even one second would be an insult to the dollar.

By the next morning, it was done. City hall. Signed and sealed.

I'd legally married the iceberg I'd been thirsting over for two years.

For the wine money.

That's my story. I'm sticking to it.

Now all I had to do was not catch feelings for a man who'd never catch them for me.

Chapter 4

The whole drive to the office, he was in an outrageously good mood.

You almost never caught a smile that deep on the ruthless CEO's face. And he was humming. Actually humming.

I couldn't resist. "Why so chipper? Share with the class so I can be happy too."

His mouth curved. "I've always been happy."

I shot him a flat look and muttered, "Sure. At home you wore the face of a man the whole room owed six figures. At the office too. Never met a soul you'd spare a decent expression."

Fresh out of college, drowning in the job hunt, I'd been a wreck. Bex, to keep me company, she said, had handed me a house and a job.

The house: one floor above Camden's.

The job: one rung under Camden.

Hard not to read it as a setup. Every single workday, that glacial face.

Bex pinned it on him, wide-eyed. "I asked my brother to arrange it, I swear I didn't know."

Of course she didn't. Camden Lockwood had personally made sure I lived directly above him and clocked in directly beneath him.

At the time I filed it under rich people being weird about real estate and let it go. I'd scored too sweet a deal to argue.

Near clock-out, I started plotting my early escape.

Bex and I had a show at the Stallion Room booked for tonight. But Bex was off somewhere living her best life, so it'd be a party of one.

I'd just grabbed my bag when Camden texted.

Camden: [Wait for me. Dinner at my parents' tonight.]

I fired back: [Busy tonight.]

A while passed. Then:

Camden: [Then you're free now.]

I frowned for half a second before it clicked. I scrambled to check.

Sure enough. My beloved revue. Cancelled.

Damn capitalist.

Camden: [Ready to go home now?]

[Fine.] I typed it through my teeth.

We got back to the mansion, and before we'd even cleared the door, Bex came barreling out.

I opened my mouth to ask why she was back so soon. She'd already elbowed Camden clean out of the way, cupped my face, and started kneading my cheeks like I was a toddler.

"Boohoo. My baby. My precious, precious baby, I cannot believe I'm marrying you off. Is that man good to you? He treats you wrong, you come straight to me, I know a little hand-to-hand. And come home to mama often, don't you forget your ride-or-die..."

Me: "..."

I cut a glance sideways. Camden's face had gone thunderous, the very picture of a man regretting every decision that led him here.

I filed it away to savor later.

At dinner, the marriage had worked some kind of magic. His parents actually looked at him with approval. None of the usual table tension.

They were thrilled, honestly. I was Bex's best friend. As far as they were concerned, the match was perfect.

His mom, a hundred-percent gossip, locked onto me.

"When did you two get together? Couldn't tell at all. Who chased who? Is this little punk treating you right? Any plans for kids?"

"I"

Who chased who.

Easy. I chased him. Obviously. Two years of dragging his sister out to watch men strip and gushing into the wrong group chat. If anyone at this table had done the chasing, it was me.

I opened my mouth to say exactly that.

And found Camden watching me. Perfectly still. Waiting on my answer like it was the only thing in the room that mattered.

Chapter 5

Camden, mid-conversation with his father about company business, cut in out of nowhere. "I chased her. I'm the one who wanted this."

"Oh, you've got some nerve, Camden." Bex shot up to swat at him. "Secretly pining for my best friend this whole time?"

He caught her wrist without effort, mouth tilting, eyes sliding to me. "She still likes you best, though." A nod at me. "You saw her just now. All over you, hugging, kissing. She's never that warm with me."

Wasn't that stating the obvious?

What I was to him and what I was to Bex were two very different things. He knew exactly what he was doing.

I rolled my eyes where no one could see.

Bex took it straight to heart and threw her arms around me. "I knew it. My Sloane loves me best." She smirked at her brother. "I was actually worried my future sister-in-law and I wouldn't click. Crisis averted. She likes me more than she likes you."

She planted a loud kiss on my cheek, gloating.

Camden's lips curved. Two worry stones clicked together in his palm, slow and deliberate. "My wife likes something about me you'll never have. I'll take the win."

"Something like what?" Bex asked.

His smile turned distinctly unsafe.

He didn't get to decide what got said about me. I shot him a look. Drop it. Now.

He got the message and let it go, turning back to his father.

When it was time to leave, his parents produced a small mountain of gifts, a little something for their daughter-in-law, they said. I started to decline. Camden had already accepted every box and loaded the trunk.

Down in the garage under our building, he popped the trunk and told me to grab them.

I opened one bag out of curiosity.

The gold nearly blinded me. The rest held auction-grade jewelry, art that belonged behind museum glass. I didn't need to run the numbers.

A little something, rich-people edition, was not what I'd pictured.

My lips wouldn't stop trembling. I quietly zipped the bag shut and set it back.

"You don't want them?" Camden stood beside me, one hand in his pocket, lazy about it.

I answered honestly. "They're too much. These should be yours. I can't take them."

"Yours, mine. What's the difference? My parents gave them to us. They're ours." An edge of impatience now.

I went for soothing. "It's not like we're really married. I'm no saint, but even I know not to take advantage of you. Keep them. Save them for your future wife."

"You've seen all of me, and you still won't admit it." His voice climbed, sharp in the dead-quiet garage. "NOW you're worried about taking advantage? Where was that the night you peeped at me in the shower?"

I lunged up and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Fine. Fine. I admit it. I'll take the gifts. Just lower your voice."

I hauled every bag out of the trunk myself, cheeks burning.

Camden nodded, satisfied, and lifted them out of my hands to carry. While we waited for the elevator, he asked, apropos of nothing, "Admit what?"

I pressed my lips flat.

It was one shower. One. Was it really this deep?

"I admit I peeked at you in the shower. I'm sorry."

"That's not what I meant."

I huffed at the sheer pettiness of him and refused to take the bait twice.

Chapter 6

We stepped into the elevator. Camden hit the button for my floor and left his own unpressed.

I eyed him.

He felt the look and explained, unbothered. "My water heater's broken. I'll shower at yours."

He was the money behind the place. He'd bought the apartment to begin with. So I bit my tongue.

Inside, he made no move toward the bathroom. He sprawled on the couch with his laptop and got to work.

"You're not showering?"

"You want to watch now?"

I glared at him, face hot, grabbed my own clothes, and took the first shower out of pure spite.

I came out swimming in a shirt that ran big and concluded I must be losing weight.

Then I pulled up my phone to plan the main event: once Camden left, was it fried chicken or spicy ramen tonight?

I arrived at the one true law of the late-night order. You only live once. Kids make choices. I'm a grown woman and a snack in my own right. I'm getting both.

Decision made, I wandered out to see if he'd left.

He caught sight of me, arched a brow, set the laptop aside, and walked into the bathroom.

I figured he'd be halfway done by now. He hadn't even started.

I glanced toward the bathroom. The door wasn't shut. Just cracked. Again.

"Does this man have something on his mind?" I muttered. "He never closes the door."

Last time, drinking with Bex at the mansion, the cat had bolted into his room. I'd chased it in and found him mid-shower, the door barely cracked, the whole scene wide open to me.

Through the steam, every line of him had stood out, bright and unmistakable.

The first time, I had no game. I caught a few seconds and ran