Page 33 of The Billionaire Boss and the Barista

Someone with his hairline and chiseled features should have a low IQ or at least smell bad. But no, he had to run a billion-dollar company and smell like citrus and cedar.

“I hope you’re right,” she muttered. “But also, don’t make it sound like that.”

“Like what?”

“As if I’m the old-timey mistress you’re setting up with an apartment.” She swept her hand out. “I lost myhomebecause of you. That’s the only reason I am agreeing to let you find me a new place. But it’s not supposed to bewithyou!”

He took her hand and tugged her out of the elevator into a plush carpeted hallway with one wall that was entirely made of glass. Two doors stood at either end.

Garrett ushered her toward the door. “At least see the place first.”

She parted her lips to protest but he was pressing his thumb to a discreet black panel on the door. This fingerprint lock was smaller here and it didn’t spit out a welcome message. It just flashed green.

“My closest friends are authorized to enter but they won’t unless it’s an emergency. It will be no trouble to add you to the database. But you can also have a key fob that will open the smart lock,” he explained, pushing open the door to reveal a space worthy of a magazine cover.

“This is one of two penthouses on the top floor.” He entered and gestured for her to follow him inside. “It has six bedrooms, so there’s plenty of room. I turned one into an office but that’s still four big bedrooms up for grabs.”

The sunken living room was outfitted with two overstuffed couches and a fireplace. The shiny mahogany bar effectively acted as a separator at the top of the two steps behind which was a swinging door that appeared to lead to a kitchen.

Moving behind the bar, he lifted a cut crystal glass. “Want a drink?”

He took out a sphere of ice from an under-counter freezer she couldn’t see and poured himself a few inches of something amber gold. He paused, giving her bag of drugs a considering glance.

“On second thought, mixing alcohol with your meds is a bad idea. How about a Shirley Temple?”

Her brows crept up. He was either going to be the best roommate she’d ever had or the worst.

“You’re the one who asked the doctor to have my old prescriptions re-evaluated,” she said, examining the glamorous space. The glass he was holding must cost more than her entire wardrobe.

Dear Lord, what if she broke something? She would be in debt to him foryears.

“Could you drink on the old ones?” he asked, leaning forward and resting an arm on the bar.

“No.” She bit her lip, giving their surroundings a skeptical once-over. “I’m not sureabout this.”

His sigh was long and drawn out. “Man, I wish you could drink,” he muttered.

“I heard that.”

Garrett grinned, his entire face warming with both welcome and reassurance. “You were meant to.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “You are not as cute as you think you are.”

His grin only deepened. “Yes, I am.”

She hated that it was true. But she’d sooner chew her own arm off than admit it.

He continued after a beat. “Along with the spare bedrooms and my office, this place has a gym, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and a formal dining room in addition to this living room area. You can have two bedrooms if you want. Or change to a new one every week. Rotate the whole month if you want.”

Wow, he was giving her the hard sell. “Next you’ll tell me you’re never here, that I’ll hardly ever see you.”

Garrett rocked back on his heels. “Oh. No. I’m not going to do that.”

Did this man conform toanyexpectations? Emma flattened her hand on the satiny wood surface of the bar. “You’re not?”

Garrett took a swig of his drink, the tightening around his eyes testifying to its strength. “Nope.”

Unsurprisingly, he got more relaxed with every sip. “I’m going to be here a lot. I would never bring you somewhere to live that didn’t have supervision.”

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