I finally got to my feet and crossed the room to the door, grateful that I was already dressed instead of having changed into my pajamas the second I walked in the door like I usually did. Because I recognized that deep voice despite not seeing or talking to him for two weeks, I didn’t check the peephole before I opened the door.
It was really him.
Standing on my doorstep.
Hot as holy fucking hell.
In a long-sleeved black shirt with the sleeves pushed to his elbows like he was warm even in the rain. There were drops splashed on his clothing like he didn’t care about getting wet when he walked from the car to the door to my apartment. The webs of veins were so distinct on his arms I could see them in my periphery. They were up his neck too, rivers popping from his skin. He towered over me with his nearly six and a half feet of height, and his arms were like heavy dumbbells that he carried with him everywhere he went.
I didn’t say a word.
His eyes were exactly what I remembered. Dark and full of depth and always a splash of anger. His jawline didn’t have a shadow this time, like he’d shaved shortly before he’d come over here. Probably starting his day when most people were ending theirs.
The silence continued. I was still in shock that he was there.
He was the one who’d chosen to come here, but he seemed equally provoked by our union. “Are you going to invite me inside?”
“Oh…” I stepped aside so he could fit through the door. “Of course, yes. Come in.”
He entered my apartment, the ceiling so low that there was only a foot between his head and it. He took a quick scan of my small, one-bedroom apartment before he looked at me again.
“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting to see you.” I didn’t ask how he knew where I lived. It seemed like a stupid question when I’d experienced the extent of his power and resources.
My apartment was pretty bare, just the essentials to get by for the time being. But he didn’t insult what little I had or react to it. My entire apartment was probably smaller than the broom closets in his villa.
“Are you expecting company?” He faced me, head tilted down slightly to look at me.
“No.” I realized he was referring to my outfit. “I just got back from a job interview. They asked me to come all the way down there just to tell me they wouldn’t be hiring me. Not everything needs to be done in person.”
His hands slid into the pockets at the front of his black jeans. He wore boots that were almost militaristic. “What job was it?”
“A receptionist at the art gallery. Apparently, I don’t have the right look or whatever.”
He stared and gave no discernible reaction. “The others?”
“I’m still in the running for those.”
“If they don’t work out, I can get you something.”
“Oh, it’s okay.” I wouldn’t take anything else from him. He’d done enough. I wouldn’t take his time or his money or his resources.
“I know a lot of people,” he said. “People who matter.”
“I’m sure, but it’s okay.”
I saw a flash of annoyance in his eyes, but it slowly faded. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m always hungry,” I blurted, not thinking too hard about his question or my answer. A knee-jerk reaction.
“Then let’s go.”
“Go where?” I asked dumbly.
“Dinner.” He turned and headed back to the door like that explained everything. He opened the door and stood there, waiting for me to join him.
“Oh, you mean with me?” I asked, still feeling dumb.
He gave me that hard stare before he stepped into the hallway. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He pulled out his phone and typed a text as he left and turned the corner to the stairs.
