“Hey, baby.” His voice is low and sensual and now I’m even more angry—this time at myself for letting the caress of his voice shift me from my mission.
I rally and speak very firmly and clearly. “Would you please tell Edward that he doesn’t have to take me straight home? He seems to be under the impression that you were giving orders and not just telling him a destination.”
The pause before he answers is ominous. “You need to be ready at six. It’s already past two. You need to rest.”
“What the fuck?” I snap. “Are you my mother?”
“It’s been a long day, baby. You’re tired.”
“The hell I am.” Except he’s right. I am. Not that I’m about to admit it to him.
“No lying,” he says. “Remember.”
“Fine,” I say sharply. “I am tired. I’m also pissed. See you tonight, Mr. Stark.” I click off without waiting for an answer, then flop back in my seat and cross my arms over my chest. I close my eyes just for a second, but when I open them again, it’s because Edward has pulled up in front of my apartment. I must have been asleep for almost an hour.
I exhale, bemused and frustrated.
Edward opens the door for me, reminds me to be ready at six, and then gets back behind the wheel. He doesn’t drive off, though, and I realize he’s waiting for me to safely make it to my door. I stomp up the stairs, jam my key in the lock, and shove the door open—and am immediately confronted by the sight of a high-quality tote bag with Third Street Promenade silk-screened on the side, along with the logo for a local street fair. I know, of course, who sent it, but I can’t imagine how he pulled it together so fast.
“It just came for you,” a male voice says, and in the split second before I recognize that it’s Ollie, I jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He gets up from the armchair tucked in the far corner of the living room and comes toward me. I notice he’s barefoot. He’s left a magazine in the chair—Elle. Apparently he’s been reduced to reading my and Jamie’s coffee table fare.
“Just came?” I say.
“About five minutes ago. I put it on the table for you. It doesn’t weigh a thing.”
I’ve crossed to the table while he was talking, and I immediately see why it’s so light. It’s filled with nothing but crumpled tissue paper. On top is an envelope. I break the seal and pull out a card with words written in ornate calligraphy: I am jealous of your time away from me. I owe you a shopping trip. D.S.
My smile is as refreshing as a cool breeze. Somehow, he always knows the right thing to say—and manages to say it with incredibly efficiency. Once again, I can’t help but wonder how he got this to me so fast. The man must have staff all over the city.
I slide the card back into the envelope and tuck it back into the tissue paper; I don’t want Ollie to see.
“Who’s it from?” he asks.
“Long story,” I answer, then change the subject. “So what happened to you yesterday? Jamie said she invited you over.”
“Yeah, well, you know. I had stuff to do around the house, and then Courtney came back early from the conference, so we did the engaged-couple-hang-out thing.”
“What’s she doing today?”
“Work,” he says. “Same old, same old.”
“Right.” I put my bags down on the table and go into the kitchen for a bottle of water. As I’m taking a long swallow—I’m parched from alcohol and altitude—I realize what’s wrong with Ollie’s statement. “Why is she at work and you’re not?” I ask as I head back into the living area.
“Deposition ended earlier than I expected,” he says. “So I decided to come hang here.”
“That’s great. You didn’t come to see me, did you? Sorry I wasn’t here. Starting tomorrow, though, you might actually find me at home during the day.” It’s a hefty hint, but he doesn’t take it.
“No, I popped by to see Jamie. You know, to make up for blowing off her invitation yesterday.”