Instead of thinking about Nate all sweaty and hot, I poured the pasta into a bowl and rummaged around for a wineglass, already looking forward to the liquid that promised a renewed sense of calm and patience. Hopefully, it would also bring with it significantly better decision-making.Alcohol is famously good at that, right?
When I twisted the cap, however, nothing happened. I frowned and tried again, but as I narrowed my eyes at the bottle, I realized it wasn’t a twist-off.
Sighing as I went back to the drawers, I dug through them, finding sleek cutlery and designer coasters, but no corkscrew.Oh, fuck my life.
I was sure this place cost enough per night to fund a small nation for a month, though. Which meant it had to have something as simple as a corkscrew, but after checking a few more drawers, I still didn’t have any luck.
A less desperate woman probably would’ve let it go at that point, but not me. If I was going to survive this scheme, I was going to have a glass of wine whenever I wanted. Preferably before Nate Westwood made me consider throwing myself out one of these panoramic windows just to avoid living across from him for at least three weeks.
The last thing I wanted to do was knock on his door, but I still grabbed the bottle, squared my shoulders, and headed out anyway. I was having a freaking glass of wine tonight—even if it meant facing down Mr. I-was-born-already-judging-you next door.
CHAPTER 5
NATE
Istepped out of the shower, toweling my hair dry and drinking in the silence of my apartment. The Cubs game was already on my TV downstairs, my couch was calling, and I was within easy reach of a peaceful evening until my doorbell rang.
I froze with water still trailing down my spine. No one rang my bell unless they were lost, dying, or Alex. On occasion, it was another of my siblings, but unless your last name was Westwood, that doorbell was off-limits.
I wrapped a towel around my waist and stalked downstairs, annoyed despite not knowing who it was. When I yanked the door open, I found Kate standing there in soft navy pajamas that clung like they had a personal vendetta against my sanity.
She held up a bottle of wine like it was an official summons. I blinked once, then twice, then arched my eyebrows when she still hadn’t explained what she was doing. “What do you want?”
“I need a wine opener.”
I stared at her for a beat, waiting for her to tell me this was a joke or that there was a hidden camera and Alex was watching us make nice with each other. Neither of those things happened, so without a word, I shut the door in her face.
Shaking my head at myself, I went to the kitchen, yanking open drawers with more force than necessary. I owned three corkscrews. Naturally, the only one I found was in the last drawer I checked, because the universe enjoyed watching me suffer where she was concerned.
Storming back to the door, I opened it again and held the damned thing out to her. “Keep it. I’m not big on wine. It gives me a headache.”
Her whiskey-colored eyes flicked over my bare chest before snapping back to my face like she’d been burned. “That doesn’t shock me. You seem like the headache type.”
“I am, actually. Mostly, I get them when I’m around you.”
She accepted the corkscrew, but instead of leaving, she lingered in my doorway like a particularly judgmental houseplant. I narrowed my eyes at her. “If you’re done loitering, I was about to reclaim my evening.”
“We need to set some ground rules.”
“We have those,” I said. “They’re calledprofessional courtesyandmutual avoidance.”
“That’s not going to be enough if we’re neighbors and working on the same bid.”
I gestured vaguely at myself. “I’m half naked. We can discuss it at the office tomorrow.”
She smiled sweetly, which should’ve been my first warning sign. Then she stepped past me into my apartment like she’d been welcomed with open arms. “Or we could just hash it out now and get it over with.”
As she glided across the living room, I closed the door slowly, questioning every choice I’d made that had led me here. Kate wandered further inside, turning in a slow circle as she surveyed the space.
My apartment was neat, minimalist but warm, with dark woods, steel accents, an oversized couch, and walls lined withbuilt-in bookshelves. I had framed memorabilia on display between first-edition hardcovers.
She wrinkled her nose slightly. “This place is too… you.”
“It’s clean.”
“It looks like a hotel suite someone lives in.”
“I’m an adult. What’s it supposed to look like?”
