But it’s not my apartment.
“Hmmm.” I snort and do another sweep of the apartment with my gaze.
“Can you excuse us for a minute?” Alyssia asks in an alarmingly chipper voice.
The owner agrees, but I don’t miss the side-eye she gives me.
“Your phone’s ringing,” Alyssia says, glancing down at the phone in my hands.
I grit my teeth as Norm’s name pops up on the screen again. I’m supposed to meet with a representative for the luxury watch company tomorrow.
I send the call to voicemail once more and shove my phone in my back pocket before crowding Alyssia’s space.
“What are you doing?” Alyssia whispers.
“Are you not concerned about the safety and security of the place you’re going to be living?”
She looks down toward my pocket. “You missed your call.”
“It can wait. Your safety is more important.”
She shrugs. “Did you miss the part about this being one of the safest neighborhoods in the city? Also, I’m literally moving from New York City. If I can take care of myself there, I can take care of myself anywhere.”
I snort. “You don’t have to take care of yourself. That’s what I’m here for.” The words come out before I even think about them.
But once they’re out I don’t regret them.
“The baby,” she says as if correcting me. “You’re here to take care of the baby.”
“That’s not what I said.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not a possession that needs taking care of.” She lowers her lashes, shielding her eyes from allowing me to see whatever emotion runs through them.
She’s blocking me out and I don’t like it.
“You’re my responsibility now,” I say before my fucking phone buzzes again.
Alyssia half smiles. “And you’re busy. Good thing for you, I can take care of myself. Besides, we’ve been through this.”
“Let’s go through it again,” I say, moving closer while ignoring the text message just sent to me.
Alyssia doesn’t back away as I get closer. Our fronts are nearly touching, a silent communication that she won’t back down.
Her obstinance stirs something inside of me.
“This place is over two-thousand euro a month,” I tell her.
“And?”
“That’s a significant chunk of your monthly income. Which you could save if you just stayed in my Monaco apartment.”
“Not happening.”
“You’re increasing your commute to work by nearly thirty minutes.”
“That’s the shortest commute I’ve had in over five years,” she counters. “Additionally, I’ll be able to work from home three to four days out of the week.”
A muscle in my jaw ticks. She’s done her research, a trait I both admire and loathe at this moment.
