“Um, no…” I shake my head, my voice tight and breathless. Forcing a smile, I shrug a shoulder, trying so damn hard to act nonchalant while simultaneously trying not to hyperventilate. I’ve never seen so much money in my life. “No, this is… this is fine.”
“You’ll get half when you sign, and then the balance when the contract comes to an end.”
I swallow hard. Holy shit. Not only will I be able to find a place to rent on my own, far away from Simon, but I’ll finally be able to buy the acrylic cutter I’ve been wanting to get for so long.Play it cool, Poppy. Do not cry.
“You’ll receive a credit card for incidentals such as clothing you might need for an event, or…” Cam shakes his head, seemingly searching for words. “Shoes. Nails. Hair… whatever else women spend money on.”
“Ozempic!”
I snap my head in the direction of the living room where Blake is relaxed, sitting back on the cushy white sectional tapping something into his phone with one hand, the Gatorade bottle casually resting in his other hand, and my brow furrows as I try to figure out if he actually just said that. To me. Out loud.
Blake slowly lifts his head, and when he realizes not only I, but both Brookes and Cam are gaping at him, he shrugs a shoulder. “What? Women love that shit.”
Biting hard on the inside of my cheek, I turn back to Brookesand Cam to find Brookes’ jaw ticking as he glares across at Blake, Cam shaking his head to himself.
“Anyway,” I say with an indignant huff because what a dick, “are we done, because I really need to get to work.”
Brookes and Cam turn back to me.
“Car,” Brookes murmurs, nudging Cam’s shoulder.
“Oh, and you’ll get the keys to Brookes’ Range Rover to drive while you’re… under contract,” Cam says, looking down at his laptop.
“I… have a car?” I say more like a question rather than a statement because what?
“No, you have a shit box,” Brookes mutters with a derisive snort.
And, sure, I’m fully aware my car is a shit box.Icall it a shit box. But it’smyshit box.
“What Brookes istryingto say,” Cam grits out, smacking Brookes’ stomach hard enough to make him grunt, “is you’ll need a… um… a slightly more…reliablemode of transport.”
“One that will actually fit more than my left leg,” Brookes adds.
“Fine,” I say with a roll of my eyes, picking up the pen that sits on the counter. “Okay, where do you want me to sign?”
“Oh, you… you don’t want your legal team to go over it?” Cam asks, his brow furrowing with concern more than confusion.
“No, it all looks fine to me.” I wave a dismissive hand. “Besides, if it all goes tits up and you try to sue me, thatshit boxout there is literally all I own, so go nuts.” I shrug, signing my name where it asks before sliding the completed agreement back across the counter to Cam with a saccharine smile.
“Okay, so when will you be moving in, because I need to make sure Remi has the guest room ready.”
I blink at Brookes, wondering for a moment if a) he’s talking to me and, if so, b) whether I just heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, what?”
“When will you be moving your stuff in? So I can make sure your room is ready,” he says, slowly, like I’m an idiot, folding his ropey tattooed arms across his broad and very much still naked chest.
My eyebrows knit together. “Move in?”
Brookes huffs, shaking his head to himself.
“It’s part of the terms, Poppy,” Cam says gently, tapping a pen against the documents I literally just signed. “You’re to live here in the house while under contract.”
Oh. Shit.
CHAPTER 8
BROOKES
I’m hot on Poppy’s heels as she storms out of my house, my six-feet-two inches barely managing to keep up with her short ass; girl has some speed about her when she’s pissed.
