Outside my office is empty.
I’ve got an entirely new list of tasks I need to run by the legal department, files to pull, people to vet so I know who to trust.
I don’t want to think that Jo or Tom or the others could be sabotaging my business…
But stranger things could happen—havehappened.
So right now, I need to proceed with caution.
Proceed alone.
I glare at the door, shove my papers into my bag, at the same time calling out, “Come in.”
I’m expecting it to be Tom or Jo circling back, here to get my ass home—hence me grabbing my bag and tossing it over my shoulder as the door cracks open. Save myself the argument about my work-life balance and all that. So, I’m not expecting to see?—
“Brooks?” I ask on a frown.
“I see that you’re thrilled to see me,” he drawls, stepping inside and dropping a duffle bag by the door.
“What the fuck, man?” I round my desk, move over to him.
We hug, slapping each other’s backs.
“Last I heard, you were living in France.”
“Eh.” He shrugs. “Got tired of feeling like a dumb American, so I decided that I needed to come stateside for a while.”
I chuckle. “How long’s that going to last this time?”
Another shrug. “Could be a week. Could be six months.”
“Could be tomorrow,” I quip.
He grins. “True. But I had my housekeeper stock my fridge, so I’m going to at least eat my way through Dolores’s delicious food before I abandon the U.S. again.”
“Oh good,” I say dryly. “I can relax.”
“Rude.” He shakes his head, starts to turn for his bag. “I guess I’m not sharing her tiramisu with you.”
I freeze. “She made tiramisu?”
“Not that it matters to you,” he says, snagging the handles of his bag and hefting it up. “Since you’re not going to eat any of it.”
“I—”
He pulls open the door, steps out into the hall.
I grab my phone and wallet, my laptop and keys, and follow him.
Because if Dolores made tiramisu then she also made homemade pasta.
And I’m not fucking missing her homemade pasta.
Even if I have to break into his apartment.
He’s waiting by the elevators, smirking at me.
“You’re an asshole,” I mutter, jabbing at the button he hasn’t hit yet…because he knew I’d be right here.
