Dominic is in control of many aspects of my life but I put my foot down when it comes to my bedtime.
My mouth contorts into a smirk, feeling the urge to say something flirty back. As I’m typing, an address pops up on the screen. I bite my lip and despite my better judgment copy and paste the address into Citymapper.
I’ll be there in an hour, just finishing up.
For the next thirty minutes, I’m barely cohesive. Listening to Spencer practice his questions over and over again. Hashing out the minute details Pacha insists they will ask about and the multiyear marketing strategy Cecily refuses to let him leave without having fully memorized.
As we start to gather up our things, my nerves begin to kick in. What if this is a bad idea? This is a cut-and-dried reconnaissance mission. Seeing him during the event we are both independently attending is one thing, but actively choosing to see him in London, on the home turf, with the flimsy excuse of returning an umbrella, something we both know not to be of any importance, is risky.
You can just drop it off, get the info, then go. It’s not a big deal if you don’t make it a big deal.
Solidifying my resolve, I repeat the sentiment to myself on the bus ride over and the long elevator ride up to the eighth floor of an extremely fancy high-rise apartment building. Padding through the sconce-lit hallway, I smile politely and nod at a redhead and sandy blond couple leaving their apartment hand in hand.
When Oliver opens the door, I’m greeted with glinting hazel eyes, a shy smile, and a warm glow. His body briefly darkens the doorway before he steps aside and gestures for me to come in.
“I can’t stay long,” I immediately announce, my fingers interlocking at my stomach. I look around the room, the black, white, and brown sharp-edged apartment a stark contrast to how I’d imagined Oliver’s home. It’s also way above an assistant’s pay grade. “Do you actually live here?”
He scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, but technically this is Dominic’s place.”
My eyes widen. “Excuse me?” I glance around the room from the doorway, my heart starting to pound out of rhythm.
Oliver shakes his head with a laugh, holding his hands up. “Don’t worry, he’s in New York for a few days. It’s just me and his cat right now.” He gestures into the unoccupied front room.
Once again, I scan the room from the doorway with a skeptical look on my face.
“Warren Buffett likes to keep to herself,” he says with a smirk.
My eyebrow lifts. “Dominic Odericco named his female cat Warren Buffett?”
“I thought you would be more progressive than that.” He tilts his chin, teasing me.
I shoot him a dirty look. “I meant whythatparticular billionaire?” I’m not shocked by the cat itself. Dominic does in fact give off Big Cat Energy.
“You’d have to ask him.” He steps in closer. “Can I take your coat?” His T-shirt pleats in the middle as he holds out his hand, the light blue cotton wrapping around his full bicep.
I cross my arms, lifting my chin to meet him. “I can’t stay,” I reiterate, mostly to myself.
“And why’s that?” His face furrows ever so slightly, the lamplight deepening his brow and emphasizing the end-of-daystubble scattered across his jaw. The urge to run my fingers over it, to feel the prickles against my skin is undeniable.
I tilt my head, running a hand through my hair as I lean against the doorframe. “It’s been a long day.”
His gaze follows my fingers, then drops back to me. “All the more reason to relax and have a drink with me.” He smiles, coaxing a matching one from my lips.
I sniff the air. “I also don’t want to keep you from your dinner.” My mouth waters at the smell, rosemary maybe? Something earthy and savory that I can’t quite place but smells amazing.
“Have you eaten tonight?” he says, sliding one hand into the pocket of his jeans.
I huff a laugh. “If by ‘eaten,’ you mean inhaled a fruity protein bar I found in the back of the office cupboard, then yes.”
He rolls his eyes. “Just get in here.” He takes my free hand, like he knows I need to be alleviated of the burden of choice, culpable innocence in the face of late-night mistakes. My fingers tingle in his as he guides me through the doorway into the warmly lit apartment.
My shoes click on the herringbone wood flooring as I ease off my coat, place it on the black coatrack, and follow Oliver into the kitchen. The building feels brand-new, but the mid-century-style interior, arching windows, and the giant ficus in the corner make the apartment feel warm, moody, and lived in. “This is not how I was imagining Dominic’s apartment.”
He tilts his head. “What were you imagining?”
“The Fortress of Solitude.” I nod.
“That’s over there.” He points to what I imagine is Dominic’s bedroom.
