Her cheeks flush. “Fine. They’re my favorite animals at the zoo. Sue me.”
God, she’s adorable when she’s flustered.
The morning goes by in a flash, and at around twelve-thirty, we pull up to the house in a newer gated community near the Cherry Hills neighborhood. I watch Piper’s face as she takes it in. The house is definitely impressive—all stone and glass and perfectly manicured landscaping.
“Wow,” she says. “This is...big.”
“My agent insisted,” I admit. “He went on and on about ‘establishing my brand in Denver.’”
“It’s very nice,” Piper says carefully.
“You hate it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Your face said everything I needed to know.”
She laughs. “Okay, fine. The modern mausoleum vibe is not what I expected from you. But I’m sure the inside is cozier.”
I run a hand along the back of my neck and sigh. It’s not, but I don’t tell her that. She’ll find out soon enough.
Leslie Cummings climbs out of her Mercedes sedan, looking like she walked off the set ofSelling Sunsetwith her sleek black hair, designer heels, and a smile that looks like it’s waging war against whatever toxins and fillers she’s injected. She was my agent’s pick, too. I was so overwhelmed with taking care of Ellie, I let Brandon make the decisions for me.
“Felix.” She air-kisses near my cheek like we’re old friends, eventhough we’ve only met in person one other time. “So glad we could finally get together. And you brought?—”
“Ellie,” I supply as the toddler nestles against my chest, suddenly shy. “And Piper. A friend I enlisted for decision-making assistance.”
Leslie’s smile tightens slightly as she gives Piper, who is throwing some major side eye, a full once-over. “The more the merrier.”
“It’s going to besomerry,” Piper agrees with a smirk as she takes Ellie from my arms.
Leslie’s kohl-rimmed eyes widen. “Right. Shall we?”
The designer, who has a key, unlocks the front door and ushers us through the vaulted-ceiling foyer to what will soon be my updated kitchen. She has samples and paint swatches ready for my approval, although to me they all look like variations of “rich asshole gray.”
“And for the backsplash,” she says, her manicured nails clicking against her tablet, “I’m thinking a geometric marble in Calacatta gold. Very high-end and statement-making.”
The statement her choices seem to make is that I’m an uptight prick, but I nod anyway, because what the hell do I know about interior design?
“Looks great.”
“Which paint color?” Leslie asks, and I realize I’ve been staring at the doorway to the kitchen because Piper hasn’t followed us in. Did she get lost? Did she make a break for it?
Leslie clears her throat, and I turn my attention back to her.
“Uh...” I gesture vaguely. “That one?”
“Dove Wing or Revere Pewter?”
They look identical to me, but before I can randomly choose one, another voice cuts in.
“Neither.”
I turn to find Piper finally entering the kitchen, and my heart does that stupid skip thing. Ellie is pressed tight against her, as ifshe finds this house, or maybe just the woman facing me, scary as shit. Can’t say I blame her.
“Excuse me?” Leslie’s tone could freeze molten lava.
“Your color palette is too cold.” Piper rubs her palm in slow circles on Ellie’s back. I might be jealous. “Felix needs warmth. He wants a house that feels like a home, not a museum.”
