Hell, am I even clear on what I was trying to tell her by leaving her horny and desperate so that she’d ditch her date and come back home to me?
That shit’s been running circles in my head all morning while I try to make progress on this building—one we need to start renting out in less than a year. I’m up against a deadline, short on manpower, and working within a hiring freeze during the coldest time of the year in New York City. Every second counts and I can’t afford to be distracted by her sweet pussy and pouty lips.
“When was the last time you heard me say I went on a date? Let alone on the supposed most romantic day of the year,” I ask, adjusting my stance. I don’t want to discuss Aly with him. Mostly, because there’s nothing to discuss yet. And partly because Roman will probably hunt her down at Brookhaven Brews and embarrass her. The man has no boundaries when it comes to family and his businesses.
Roman snorts. “That girl Kacey hired to investigate me.”
“Yeah. And that was your sister’s fault, remember? She’s the one who set up the blind date and didn’t know we’d already met.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Still can’t believe Natasha’s living with her now. I heard she’s cool, though.”
“Yeah, she’s cool.”The fucking coolest.A lot jaded and guarded, but when those walls come down... when she lets herself go… damn is she beautiful. The words sit heavy in my throat. I feel protective of her. Possessive of her. Yes, I want her to find love. I want her to feel good in her skin and to be happy. I want her to enjoy her newly found freedom. But damn if I don’t want my cousin knowing just how beautiful and great she is.
Because how do you compete with a billionaire who sleeps with half of New York City and Miami?
“She’s staying with me this week until I can get the electricity fixed at their place. You know, you should have never let Natasha buy that hellhole. It isn’t safe and it really pisses me off knowing they’ve been sleeping there for a few weeks with it being so fucked up.”
His brows shoot up so fast I think they might clear his hairline—not that he’s got much of a forehead to begin with. Perfect hair genes and all that shit. At least that’s one thing I earned by being a Carpenter.
“She’s staying… with you... in your home?” he asks, a smirk in his voice.
I grab my baseball cap off the floor, yank off my hard hat, and jam it on, spinning it backward. “Don’t change the subject.”
He laughs loudly. “I just find it interesting, that’s all, that the woman you went on a blind date with two weeks ago is now living under your roof. The same woman who felt you up in the back of a dark bar, thinking it was me.” He rubs at his jaw. “Maybe I should meet her.”
“She’s a good person going through a lot, so don’t say shit abouther.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Must be going through something if she’s out here trying to set up other women’s boyfriends in her free time.”
“That’s not what happened,” I snap. “I engaged with her that night. I flirted with her. She thought I was you, and she thoughtyouwere the one cheating.”
“Mhm.”
“And what would you have done if it were you?” I hate even asking the question because imagining Alessia kissing my cousin makes me want to knock his fucking straight teeth right out of his stupid face.
“I would’ve shut that shit down,” he says without missing a beat. “I was dating Kacey exclusively at that time and I wouldn’t have cheated on her. Now, if it happened now, I would have kissed her harder. I wouldn’t have let her run away. And I would have taken her up to my penthouse and we would have f—.”
I cut him off. “Shut the hell up.”
That what’s eating at me the most. Not that she mistook me for Roman, but that she only let it happen because shethoughtI was someone else.
Fuck, I need some serious mental help because she was just doing a job. Nothing more. But last night... last night wasn’t a job. She wanted me. Shewantsme too. All my insecurities around how my ex ended things so easily after our short marriage seem to be rearing their head at the most inopportune moment.
Alessia isn’t Amber. I know that. But Alessia doesn’t want me either. At least nothing more than what I’ve been offering her.
“So, no romantic, candlelit dinner over your kitchen table with her tonight?” he asks, the teasing lilt back in his voice.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Well, why the hell not? Sounds like you like her.”
I ignore him. Because he already knows too much and he’s the last person I should be discussing this with. Alessia is a Rhiannon topic. Theactualtherapist in our family.
He grins when he realizes I’m not going to respond, falling into step beside me while we walk the length of the newly renovated hallway, the floor finally coming together. The walls are painted, the baseboards are in, the windows sealed tight against the bitter February wind and apartment numbers have been added to each doorway on this floor. It looks good at a cursory glance, but I know there’s still so much that needs done for this to be livable.
“It looks good. Really good,” he says, nodding his approval. “They’re certainly not ready to start being shown to renters and buyers, but I can see the progress you’ve made since I was here last.
“The progress isn’t happening fast enough,” I mutter. The deadlines are non-negotiable, and we’re already stretched thin between staff and time. I’m having to do more of the actual work and less delegating which means quality checks are getting missed and progress is slowed even more.
