I have no plants to water and the cleaning service was there right before you.
One last thing, I’m trying to keep Kitty out of my guest bedrooms, so you can sleep in my bed. Before you sigh, all sheets have been freshly washed.
I’d love for you to stick around on Sunday for dinner, but not enough to use it as a favor. The decision is yours.
Enjoy your weekend,
R
“Seriously?” The note slips from my hand down to the counter along with a written list of take-out places nearby.
ARF!
“Jesus, Lucy, leave the cat alone.” I turn around to find the small little kitten peeking its head out from under the couch. Lucy looks like she’s trying to get her huge-ass head under the couch, too, to join him.
Until this moment it didn’t dawn on me that it’s a little unexpected that a man like Roarke has a tiny, cute and fluffy kitten. A Doberman or a Pitbull wouldn’t have surprised me. But this cute little thing? I’ll admit it’s not what I would have expected from Roarke.
Lucy licks Kitty—which by the way is a stupid-ass name. I sit down on the couch, the kitten crawling out from the opposite end, then pouncing from the coffee table to my lap.
“Whoa.” My hand pets the soft grey fur and he begins to purr.
Lucy jumps up onto the couch, wanting to give her own welcome.
“You are a cutie. Kitty doesn’t really fit you. I think I’m going to call you… Nickel.” He purrs some more and pushes his head into my hand.
Lucy weasels her nose under my arm and flings it up in the worst emotion ever—Jealousy.
My phone rings from my purse so I place Nickel down on the couch and run over to answer.
I should’ve known to let it go to voicemail.
“Yes?” I answer.
“Is everything to your liking?” Roarke’s deep voice sends a shiver up my spine.
“Your condo? It’s okay.” I walk to the window that overlooks Lake Michigan, watching all the boats coming and going from Navy Pier.
He chuckles. “Sorry it’s not as costly as yours.”
We both know our condos probably cost roughly the same, and I’m not too big of a person to admit that his views are better.
“Well, what can I say? I could barely afford much after my divorce.”
“Touché.”
“Oh and I renamed Kitty.”
“You did?” He sounds amused. “What did you name him, may I ask?”
“Nickel. Since he’s a silver grey color.”
“Platinum sounds better.”
“Maybe if he was a she. I get where you’re going with the whole platinum being better than nickel, but we are talking cats here Mr.— Roarke.”
“You caught yourself. Good job, Hannah.” The way he says my name makes it feel like a million flickers of energy ignite in my stomach at the same time.
“Well, everything is good on this front. Favor number two seems like a cinch.”
He chuckles again. “I’m glad you’re settled. Please help yourself to whatever in the fridge. I had my assistant stock up on some items for you.”
“Were you ever in the hospitality field?”
He laughs again. “I told you already, you know nothing about me. I’m just a nice guy.”
“Not in the courtroom,” I tease.
Oh my God. Are we flirting?
“I can’t argue that point. But it’s my job and my clients hire the best and that’s what I give them. I know you were on the other side—”
“We don’t need to go over all that. Thanks for calling. Nickel and Lucy are getting along fine.” I turn to view the couch and find Nickel now snuggled into Lucy’s neck. “Better than fine.”
“Good. I didn’t really want to hire some stranger to come in. I’m glad it’s working out.”
A female voice calls his name in the background and I stiffen.
“If you need anything, I left my assistant’s phone number on the back of the paper, or any of the doormen can help.”
He gets called again by the same woman.
“Thank you again, Hannah.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, pushing back my irritation at hearing a woman’s voice. What business is it of mine what he’s up to this weekend?
We hang up and I tap my cell phone against my chest as I watch the boats sailing along the glimmering lake. That might’ve been the first conversation where I didn’t want to rip his head off.
I’m not sure if that’s a good sign, or a bad one.
Chapter Nine
The weekend goes by without incident and I don’t hear from Roarke again. On Sunday morning, something wakes me up and I realize that there’s noise coming from the kitchen.
I bolt upright, seeing Lucy and Nickel fast asleep in Lucy’s dog bed. Seriously? Worst guard dog, ever.
Sliding out of the million thread count bedsheets that smell way too much like Roarke, I tiptoe to the door and peek down the hall.
A suitcase is next to the hallway table with keys and sunglasses strewn on top. Soft music pipes out of the area with a few sounds of someone cooking.
“He did not hire me a cook, did he?”
I turn and look back at the alarm clock.
Nine o’clock.
I have no idea how I slept so late, but I suspect binge-watching Netflix most of the night didn’t help. Once the dog walker came for Lucy, I changed into my pajamas and vegged out for the first time in I don’t know how long. I usually have to go to some charity event or dinner at the club with my parents. If I liked Roarke even a little, I’d thank him for giving me a Saturday night to myself.
“Lucy,” I softly scold for not alerting me to someone being inside.
Not that I think they’re doing anything other than making me breakfast.
Lucy picks up her head, looks at me and then plops it back down.
I continue on the balls of my bare feet as I descend down the hall to better assess the situation.
My gaze flickers to the sunglasses I’ve seen Roarke wear before. And the suitcase totally looks like something of his—expensive and all manly with silver and black. My shoulders lose all their tension.
Then I stiffen again.
Since when has Roarke Baldwin ever made me feel safe?
I hide behind the wall where the hallway meets the open living space, watching him move around his kitchen with his back to me. His hair isn’t as gelled and his suit has been replaced with a short sleeve shirt and jeans.
He’s opened the blinds to allow the early morning sun to seep into the space as it glistens off the water. Seriously, his views. What did he pay for those?
“Crash Into Me” by Dave Matthews Band plays from a small speaker on the counter.
I silently watch him and swallow down the feeling that I’m glimpsing a rare moment of seeing the real him. It’s completely at odds with everything I’ve ever thought about this man up to this point.
Was this what favor number two was for? Some trick for me to have a meal with him? Coming home early on Sunday just to make me breakfast and force me to spend time with him.
He turns to grab something from the fridge and I can’t pry my eyes away, let alone hide back around the corner fast enough.