3
Harper
Asshole. Yeah, I know it's his house, but for fuck's sake, he could try acting like he wasn't forced into it at gunpoint.
I survey the papers strewn across the leather couch. The sterile white leather screams control freak. Cole probably had a minor aneurysm when he walked in and saw my chaos disrupting his museum-perfect living space.
I'm guessing the living room is now officially out of bounds, so I gather my work materials and carry them to the dining table instead.
At least the dining room has good lighting and plenty of space to spread out. I arrange vendor contracts and timeline spreadsheets across the polished surface. The Renegades' season kickoff gala isn't going to plan itself, and I have exactly eighteen days to pull together the event of a lifetime.
After unpacking my suitcase in the guest room, which, I have to admit, is nicer than most hotel suites I've seen, I take a long, hot shower.
The bathroom is stocked with expensive toiletries that cater to every possible taste. There’s a lavender body wash, a vanilla-scented lotion, and delicate floral shampoos alongside the masculine cedar and sandalwood.
Just how many female guests does Cole entertain? Wouldn't a girlfriend share his room? But knowing OCD Cole, he probably sleeps with them and then banishes them to the guest quarters afterward.
I dress in comfortable leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, then head back to the dining room. The apartment is completely silent. There’s no sign that Cole is in. But if he’s anything like Brett, he’s probably locked away in his office, plotting hockey strategies or whatever team captains do when they're not being spectacularly unwelcoming.
I need coffee if I'm going to make any progress tonight. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, is so minimalist, I'm afraid to touch anything in case I disrupt the sacred order. Sleek black appliances, granite countertops, and a coffee maker that looks like it belongs on a spaceship. I'm fumbling with buttons when my phone rings.
“Ariel, thank God,” I answer, cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear while I continue my battle with the espresso machine.
“Harper, I'm so sorry I missed your calls earlier. Miles had another emergency.” Her voice sounds tired.
“What has he done now?” I ask, then immediately shake my head. “Actually, never mind. I don't want to know.” It’ll just piss me off more.
“Trust me, you really don't. But enough about my disaster of a love life. What's going on? You sounded frantic in your voicemails.”
“My apartment flooded. Like, epic proportions flooded. I'm staying at my brother's friend's place for a few days.”
“Oh shit, Harper. Please tell me it's somewhere decent and not some sketchy couch situation.”
I finally manage to get the coffee maker working and lean against the counter while it hums to life. “It's decent. Too decent, actually. I'm staying with Cole Maddox.”
“Wait.” Ariel's voice goes up an octave. “Your teenage crush, Cole Maddox?”
“The very one. And before you get any ideas, he's a complete asshole.”
“But how is he in person? Still gorgeous? Please tell me he got fat and bald.”
“Unfortunately, no such luck. He's...” I pause, remembering the way he looked in the living room earlier, all lean muscle and a face that belongs on the cover of a men’s magazine. “He's disgustingly attractive. But his personality leaves a lot to be desired.”
“What do you mean?”
“He acted like I was carrying the plague when I walked in, then basically told me to stay out of his way.” The coffee maker beeps, and I pour myself a cup. “He couldn't have made it clearer that I'm an unwelcome inconvenience.”
“Maybe he's just not good with unexpected houseguests?”
“Or maybe he's just an entitled prick who thinks?—”
“Don't let me interrupt.”
I spin around so fast that coffee sloshes over the rim of my mug, scalding my hand. Cole is standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.
He's changed out of his suit into dark jeans and a gray t-shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he's built like a Greek god.
His expression is unreadable, but his steel-blue eyes are boring into me in a way that makes my stomach flip.
