If he'd been wearing a hat, it would have been in his hands as he entered the Mullardoch Manor proper by way of the Dungeon Level and Dungeon Fantasy Club. He exited the elevator which opened into a grand foyer. Spying the pristine marble floors and wood paneling made some of his tension ease at the familiar sight.
Hunter had prepared himself for a boatload of groveling. When you pissed off your best friend's bride-to-be, it came with the territory. He and Zoey—aka Declan McDougal's fiancée— had gotten off to a rocky start, due to some misinformation of rather epic proportions that he'd bought courtesy of the media. And yes, after all his years in Hollywood, he should have known better than to trust a story without verifying it first before he repeated it. In his defense, the story had included a data leak that had published his home address for every crazy fan with a camera to stalk him, which had forced him to put his place on the market. Normally he loved his fans and enjoyed meeting them, but he also valued his privacy when he was at home.
For the record, he never groveled. Quite the opposite, in fact—usually the shoe appeared on the other foot, and it was, 'Yes, Mr. Clarke,' or 'Right away, Mr. Clarke.' So the fact that he was here and prepared to make amends already made him uncomfortable about the upcoming weekend. The last thing he wanted to do was drive a rift between himself and Declan over a simple misunderstanding. They'd been friends far too long, and Hunter valued the relationship more than his own self-righteous pride.
"Declan it's so wonderful to see you," a feminine voice murmured, sounding like heather and peat smoke. That voice brought him up short.