She picks up on the first ring. “Ghost me again and we’re going to have a problem.”
“Sorry, I was exhausted last night.”
“Mmm, okay. Tell me everything,” she demands. “Start with the bedroom situation.”
“It’s for appearances. His housekeeper would notice if we slept in separate rooms.”
“But how was it?” Emma presses. “Sleeping next to him? I did some research, your husband is a hottie.”
I rub my forehead. “It was nothing. We read a book, and we fell asleep. We woke up, and he left for work.”
“You spent the night with Mr. Hot CEO and you just… slept?”
I think of waking up wrapped around Liam, my body seeking his heat even in my sleep. My face flushes. “It’s not like that.”
“You’re not affected at all?”
Images of him in a towel assault me. The water droplets. The low V of muscles. His hipbones. When did hipbones become that sexy?
I hate that my best friend calls all my bullshit.
“No. I mean, he’s…” I struggle for a neutral descriptor that isn’t “sculpted by the gods” or “sex on legs,” no matter if one is injured. “He’s fit…”
“Fit?” Emma cackles. “That’s British for ‘I would climb him like a tree.’”
“I wouldn’t?—”
“Remember, I saw pictures of him.”
“Even if I would, which I wouldn’t, it doesn’t matter. Ours is an arrangement?—”
The doorbell rings, interrupting me.
“Gotta go,” I say. “The housekeeper is here.”
Emma lets me go after about a million recommendations to tread carefully and warnings that we might be married, but we’re still total strangers.
I swear on my firstborn to be careful, end the call, and get the door.
When I open it, I’m greeted by a smiling woman in her fifties with silver-streaked brown hair and laugh lines around her eyes. She’s wearing jeans and a cardigan, not the stern uniform I expected.
“You must be Peyton.” She beams at me and pulls me into a warm hug. “I’m Alice. I was thrilled when Liam called me. Finally, that boy has some sense!”
She releases me, still smiling, and bustles past, collecting several bags of groceries from the front step.
“Let me help you with those,” I say, relieving her of the heaviest ones.
“Thank you, dear. Let’s set them on the counter.” Alice heads for the kitchen, chatting as she walks. “I’ve been taking care of this house since Liam built it. Such a beautiful place, but it needed a woman’s touch. Do you cook?”
“A little,” I admit, following her. “Nothing fancy.”
“I leave meals ready for Liam, but I can do whatever you prefer. If you’d rather make them yourself, I’ll stay out of your way?—”
“Oh, no, please. I’m sure you’re a much better chef than I am. And I’ll be starting work soon, anyway.” I help her unpack the groceries—fresh vegetables, fruits, meats, cheeses. House necessities. She even got me tampons.
“Well, if you ever want to learn a few tricks, I’d be happy to teach you. Nothing beats a home-cooked meal.”
I like her.
