I hate cupcakes.
I flipped the note over to write a response.
Then why do you buy a slice of cake every week???
You look amazing. You can eat a slice of cake, my dude. Also might help turn that frown upside down.
I took a big bite of the cupcake, the taste of fresh cherries exploding in my mouth.
“So freaking good.”
It needed something savory to go along with it though.
I went back to the kitchen to raid the fridge.
My boss never ate anything that was in there, so I didn’t think he would miss it.
Still …
I set the cupcake down to write him a note.
Thanks for the charcuterie.
Then I sliced myself some brie and salami and took it into the ballroom. Because what penthouse would be complete without a ballroom? Especially one with no furniture in it.
I pulled a blanket out of my bag, wishing it was warmer so I could sit outside.
As it was, I set up near the window so I could pretend I was at the beach. Then I turned on the soundtrack to the music fromCinderella, the one from the nineties with Brandy and Whitney Houston, because if ever there was a time for that soundtrack, it was now. I connected my phone to the Bluetooth sound system in the ballroom.
Someone had really tried when designing the ballroom. It was two levels and had some nice little alcoves to make you feel like you weren’t just in the middle of a glass box. Taking advantage of the two-story-high space, there was a mezzanine level with a small bar in a similar design to the larger one on the main ballroom level. If someone was the type of person who was actually social and hosted parties or charity events, that person might have placed some nice comfortable chairs and small tablesupstairs for guests who needed a reprieve from the larger crowd downstairs but didn’t want to feel as if they were being rude and leaving the party.
Of course the mezzanine was empty. The sunlight streamed in from the double-height windows, catching on the modernist blown-glass chandelier around which the stair curved.
The ballroom needed some decoration. If I had my own ballroom and stupid money, I would have it decorated in flowers every week and spend the majority of my time there living out my tween girl fantasies and throwing tea parties with the American Girl dolls and all their accessories that I could now afford.
“With the power of imagination,” I said, striking a pose at the top of the stairs, “I now transform you into a princess.”
I twirled around, humming Cinderella’s transformation theme, then slowly descended the staircase, pretending like I was a princess gracefully floating down to meet her prince.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a big sparkly dress with layers of tulle and crystals. Nor was there a prince waiting for me.
Instead there was a very angry, very shirtless Grayson Richmond.
Fists on his hips, he glared at me as I counted steps so that I didn’t fall and crack my teeth on the marble floor.
“Where’s your shirt?” I blurted out over the music.
“This is my penthouse. I can walk around without a shirt if I want to.” His deep voice echoed around the cavernous room.
“The better question,” he continued as I fumbled with my phone to turn off the music, “is where is your sense? This isn’t your home; you didn’t buy this penthouse. You don’t get to treat it like your personal play castle.”
I was a short woman, but the way he was speaking to me was making me feel even smaller than I already was.
Don’t let him see you sweat.
“What makes you think you have the right to be in here?” Grayson berated me.
I looked him up and down. “I’d just like you to know that you have very nice abs.”
