“Ariel, I have to go,” I say quickly, my voice slightly higher than normal. I hang up with shaking hands, avoiding Cole's gaze.
“So,” he says, pushing off from the doorframe. “Are you always this tidy?”
I follow his pointed look toward the dining room, where my work materials are spread across his table like I'm conducting a small-scale military operation.
“Are you always this hospitable?” I counter, finally meeting his eyes.
“In my own home? I think I have the right to certain expectations.”
“And I think anyone offering someone a place to stay shouldn't act like they're doing them a favor worthy of sainthood.”
His jaw ticks. “That’s the thing. I didn’t offer. Brett did, and I owe him too many favors to say no.”
Anger burns hot in my chest. He’s such a dick! If it wasn’t too late to go to a hotel, I’d leave right now. “How noble of you. All hail Saint Cole and his benevolence.”
We stare at each other for a moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Heat creeps up my neck, partly from embarrassment of being caught shit talking, but mostly from anger.
“How long are we talking here?” he asks finally. “Days? Weeks?”
“A few days, max. The contractor said it should be quick.” I cross my arms defensively. “But if my presence is such an inconvenience, I can find somewhere else to stay.”
His expression softens. “That's not what I meant.” He runs a hand through his thick mane of hair, messing it up in a way that's annoyingly attractive. “Look, I'm not used to having people in my space. I like my routine. But you're here, and you're Brett's sister, so we might as well make the best of it.”
It's not exactly an apology, but it's something. “Okay. Truce?”
“Truce.” He nods toward the dining room. “Just try to keep the chaos contained to one area.”
“Deal. Are you hungry? I could make dinner to thank you for letting me crash here.”
“I already ordered. Should be here in twenty minutes.”
“Oh. Okay.” I’m oddly deflated. It would have been nice to do something to show my appreciation, but of course, he's already taken care of it. Probably ordered exactly enough for one and had to add more when he remembered his unwanted houseguest.
“I ordered enough for both of us,” he adds, as if reading my mind.
“Thanks.”
Awkward silence stretches between us until he clears his throat. “I have some calls to make. The food should be here soon.”
He disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone with my coffee and the lingering scent of his cologne.
I retreat to my room with my coffee and laptop, deciding to work from there for the rest of the evening. At least I can't offend anyone from the guest room.
When the food arrives, Cole knocks on my door. “Food's here,” he calls through the wood.
“Thanks, I'll be right out.”
I open the door to find Cole holding a tray with my dinner arranged with military precision. Thai red curry in a proper bowl, spring rolls lined up like little soldiers, utensils perfectly aligned, and a cloth napkin folded into a triangle.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the tray from him.
“Try not to get crumbs on the bedding,” he says. “This building has an ant problem.”
I nearly drop the tray. “What do you think I am, five years old?”
“Just saying. Those ants are persistent little bastards.”
“I'll try to contain my messy eating habits to the plate, your highness.”
