“But—”
“You’re not going back to Waltham,” I reply, and there’s no room for discussion. I’ll deal with those arseholes, but Lily won’t see them again.
“That’s too generous,” she protests, but her eyes light.
“Not at all.” She has no idea how self-interested I am. “We’ve got some shopping to do.”
8
LILY
Back at the apartment I’m still reeling from shopping with Mr Anderson when there’s a knock on the door.
I tug on my new top over the cream trousers that I was trying on, and hurry. It’s silly, but I was going back over the clothes my boss bought for me, revelling in all the luxury. Turns out, Mr Anderson is very, very bossy.
Guess that goes with the territory. A compulsive search this morning revealed that my boss isn’t just the owner of this hotel. Nope. He’s a London mafia boss with a reputation for being crass new money, bloody, and more ambitious and gorgeous than a Greek god.
But he was endlessly patient with me as I tried on unfamiliar suit dresses and shirts, and neat little high heels. Every time I hesitated, he flicked one finger to the shop assistant, nodding that we’d take it.
I didn’t show him the underwear. Obviously, that would be inappropriate. But I did think of his big hands and how they’d appear grasping the white lace as I looked at my reflection.
I pull open the door and gasp.
Mr Anderson is leaning against the door jam, one hand high. He’s stripped off his suit jacket and tie, and is dressed in aforest-green shirt that highlights the purple in his eyes. But now the sleeves are rolled up, revealing strong forearms covered with dark hair. I can see the lines of tattoos that disappear under that expensive-looking fabric. My tummy swirls as I take him in.
Then I remember why I’m standing at the door.
“Was the knock… You?”
The corner of his mouth hitches.
“The delivery boy assumed it was for me. Since I live here.” He jerks his head towards the door behind him, the other side of the foyer.
“You’re my next-door neighbour?” I live next door to my boss? That’s batshit. Things like that don’t happen to me, and new members of staff don’t get luxury penthouse apartments next to their billionaire boss. “There must be some mistake about my living arrangements. I’m so sorry.”
“There’s no mistake.” He quirks one eyebrow. “It’s yours. And so is this.”
He holds out a letter addressed to me, in a crisp white envelope.
It’s only then I notice the pile of parcels. There area lot.
“I don’t get it,” I say, looking down at the envelope.
“Just an idea, why not read and we’ll both have our curiosity satisfied.”
Right. Right, of course. Idiot.
I rip open the envelope, suddenly hyper-aware of Mr Anderson’s bulky presence in the doorway, basically over me.
“It’s from an online store…” I read incredulously. “I had a security breach this morning, they’re very sorry, and please accept…” I stare at the boxes.
“Security breach?” Mr Anderson rumbles. “What happened?”
“Oh, I just… I didn’t think it was anything. I logged into my email and there was an alert to say I’d had a login. It was weird,but…” I’d assumed it was a quirk or an error. “But they’ve sent me a ‘small compensation’. I’m not sure what this is, but it’s not small.”
“Why not find out?” Mr Anderson turns and picks a box off the top of the pile to pass to me.
“You do it…” I link my hands behind my back. I’m suddenly afraid all my bad luck is going to return. This is probably a horse’s head.
