“I only came to retrieve my belongings,” I said, trying to channel my inner regency romance protagonist. However, I was not in a period-appropriate regency dress.
“What are you wearing?” Beck asked, finally taking a good look at me.
“I need to do laundry,” I said, “and my water is out. So let me get my things, then I’m leaving.”
“Back to your apartment with no hot water?” Beck raised an eyebrow.
“Why do you care where I shower?” I snapped at him. “I’m nothing to you, just a tool you can use on your path to more and more billions.”
“Tess,” Beck said. “That’s not true. I care very much about you, and I completely mishandled the situation.”
“The situation?” I said, irate. “You mean the casual hookups we were having in your house and in your office and in your car? That’s what you’re referring to? Thatsituation?”
“No,” he said. “The situation is me falling in love with you.”
My chest clenched, and my inner romantic set off fireworks.
Stand strong.
Beck came over to me and gingerly rested his hands on the sleeves of my robe. “I didn’t intend to fall in love with you, Tess. But I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I did that too. I understand if you never want to see me anymore. I know I deserve it, but I did want to make it up to you. I owe you that much.”
“You mean the painting?”
Beck grimaced.
“Flower delivery!” the doorman called, opening the door as a man loaded down with an array of roses wheeled them in.
“Can the concierge come sign for these please?” the deliveryman asked in an annoyed Long Island accent. “I’m behind schedule.”
Vera hustled over. “Looks like these are for—”
“Wait!” Beck called.
I glared at him. “Your grand gesture was a bunch of roses?”
“It’spartof the grand gesture,” he said as the seniors admired the flowers. “Tess, I—”
“Tess!” Annie and Enola yelled, running to me. “We’re so happy to see you!”
I immediately felt terrible. Even though I hadn’t written the article, I had written the hate list.
“I’m so sorry,” I told them.
“We know it was Cressida, not you,” they said.
“You smell good,” Enola told me, “like chocolate cake.”
I scratched my batter-soaked hair under the plastic wrap.
“I didn’t mean what I wrote on the hate list,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I was having a bad day.”
“That’s okay!” Annie chirped. “Beck is having a really bad day too. He’s supposed to make a mashed potato bar, but he didn’t start the roast beef.”
“Rookie mistake,” I said. “You have to start slow cooking that in the morning. You’re going to have bacon, right?”
“I think we might just order pizza,” he admitted.
“Why did you agree to host if you didn’t even have anything planned?” I scolded.
