When I told her that he’d come into my office looking for her, and that, after Madeleine told him about us being twins, I’d ended up booking him for a consultation, she’d laughed. She’d been way more amused about the whole thing than I’d expected.
According to her, he “must want a piece of that,” and I “should make him work for it.”Itandthatbeing me, apparently.
At this point, though, I wasn’t sure he wanted anything other than to be a dick.
His blue eyes finally met mine again… and I felt annoyingly pleased with my outfit choice. Because I’d met his weird demands?
Why?
He definitely hadn’t dressed to impress. From what I could tell, his shirt had a naked lady on it, but his arms were partly covering it and I refused to stare.
“Did you have any ideas of what you’d like me to do here?” I turned away, and focused on something else—the single framed piece of art on the living room wall. Some band poster. Random Attack? Never heard of them. “Anything specific you’d like to change? Some thoughts on what you’re looking for in a decorator?”
“Nope.”
I glanced back at him. He was still standing there, arms crossed firmly over his chest.
Okay. This job, if I got it, was either going to be easy as hell… or the job from hell. Ashley Player was either incredibly easygoing… or he was being passive-aggressive, and was planning to let me do whatever I wanted, then hate everything.
Or… maybe he was just that pissed about how my twin sister had treated him. He hated my face, and he hadn’t yet decided if he was gonna totally waste my time here for his own shits and giggles.
Yeah. The more I read his body language, that seemed increasingly likely.
Well, I’d met with skeptical potential clients before—and turned them into happy clients. All his attitude was accomplishing here was getting my professional integrity all fired up.
This was a gorgeous condo, and I’d love to work on it. Iwasgoing to win this job.
And not just so I could see him in a sleeveless shirt again.
I took out my measuring tape and set my purse down next to the lemon wedges. “Maybe I’ll start by taking a look around, if that’s okay. I’ll make some notes and take some quick measurements for reference. Usually I take a few photos with my phone, to help me remember what I saw.” As I said that, I realized how it might come across, him being famous and all. “If that’s alright with you?”
“Go nuts,” he said flatly.
Alright, then.
I took a walk through the living area, measuring the wall space and jotting a few things down in the notes app on my phone. I heard Ashley sit down on the couch behind me as I nudged the curtains aside and took in the breathtaking view.
The only evidence that a rock star lived here—or pretty much that anyone lived here—were the five guitars strewn about the dining room area. There was barely any furniture, and what he did have was poorly thought out. It looked like a young dude’s first post-college apartment, the furniture thrown together and mismatched.
It definitely wasn’t furnished like the home of a successful, stylish adult with means.
When I turned back to him, Ashley was sprawled on the couch, his attention locked on the phone in his hand. His thumb scrolled away as he ignored me.
I headed into the short hallway, peeked into the virtually empty guest bathroom—there wasn’t even toilet paper—and disorganized closets, also vastly empty.
Then I walked into the dark bedroom with its massive unmade bed. No one was in here, so I supposed I hadn’t interrupted him having the best sex of his life after all.
Unless he was having it with himself.
That thought was accompanied by a full-body hot flash. Could you have a hot flash at twenty-seven?
I collected myself, then went into the en suite bathroom.
There was a condom wrapper, among other things, on his disorganized bathroom counter.
For some twisted reason, I felt the need to glance into the little wastebasket by the toilet. And yes, there was a used condom in there.
I felt myself blushing, though why I should be embarrassed by his dirty condom made no sense. It’s not like he was standing right next to me, watching me look.
