She huffs, clearly torn between throttling me and alphabetizing her rulebook. I try not to smirk. This week might be hell for her—but it’s going to be entertainment gold for me.
“Fine. Make your coffee. But please put on a shirt and pants while you do so.”
Turning, I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. “Why? Does my state of undress make you uncomfortable, Ana?”
Her cheeks flush slightly, but her gaze remains steely. “It’s inappropriate and unprofessional.”
“Good thing we’re not in a professional setting then, isn’t it?” I wink, enjoying how it makes her bristle. “Relax, princess. It’s just a bit of skin.”
“It’s Anastasia,” she corrects sharply. “And some of us prefer to maintain a certain level of decorum, regardless of the setting.”
The coffee maker gurgles to life, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma. “Decorum, huh? Is that what you call the stick up your ass?”
Her jaw drops as she gasps. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” I say, grabbing two mugs from the shelf. “You’re wound tighter than a guitar string before a solo. When’s the last time you let loose and had fun?”
Anastasia’s eyes flash dangerously. “I’ll have you know I have plenty of fun. Just because I don’t subscribe to your brand of debauchery doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy myself.”
Pouring the coffee, I raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s your idea of fun then? Reading the rulebook aloud till someone begs for mercy?”
“For your information,” she snaps, “I enjoy a wide variety of cultural activities. Museums, operas, fine dining—”
“Sounds thrilling,” I interject dryly, sliding a mug toward her. “Cream? Sugar?”
She blinks, momentarily thrown by the offer. “Oh. Um, just a splash of milk, please.”
After doctoring both our coffees, I take a long sip, savoring the bitter warmth. “So, Ana…”
“Anastasia.”
“Whatever. You were saying something about rules?”
She straightens, seemingly remembering her mission. “Yes. As I was saying, quiet hours are essential. I also propose we establishdesignated work areas. The bedroom will be my private space, while you can use the living room and kitchen.”
“Hold up,” I interrupt. “You expect me to sleep on this torture device masquerading as a couch for a month?”
She opens her mouth to fire back, then hesitates—just for a second. It’s the first real sign that the truth’s sinking in. A whole month. I can almost see the thought hit her like a bad note in a perfect score. For the first time, the ice queen looks… human.
“It’s only temporary,” she says dismissively. “I’m sure this mix-up will be sorted out on Monday.”
A laugh escapes me. “You really think they’re going to kick me out? Honey, my manager paid for this place in full. If anyone’s leaving, it’ll be you.”
Her eyes widen slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face before she schools it back into haughty indifference. “We’ll see about that. In the meantime, we need to respect each other’s boundaries.”
“Fine,” I concede, taking another sip of coffee. “How about this: we each get the bedroom every other night. Shared spaces are fair game, but we give each other a heads up if we need quiet time for work.”
Anastasia considers this, her brow furrowed. “I suppose that’s… somewhat reasonable… the shared spaces part, but the bedroom ismine. What about your music? I can’t have you blasting that noise at all hours.”
“That ‘noise’ pays my bills, princess,” I retort as I walk out the sliding door to the spacious backyard. “Dibs on the gazebo, Ana. I’ll practice there.”
“There’s a gazebo?”
Through the sliding glass door, a white wooden gazebo sits at the edge of the tree line, maybe thirty feet from the cottage. It’s octagonal, with latticed sides and a peaked roof—open enough for sound to carry, private enough to escape Ana’s judging eyes.
She looks shocked… and butt-hurt. Did she say she’s been here three days and hasn’t even looked out the back door?
“I’ll play out there. Bonus: if I need to listen to backup music, I’ll wear headphones. Happy?”
