Page 1 of Mistaken Assumptions

1 Rhea

Fuck these shoes!There was no one to blame for my poor choices but myself. My knee still bothered me, even though the injury was well over a week old. And what did I do about it?

Aggravate the problem.

A small shudder of relief flowed through me when I saw that my residence was just in the next building over. My condo was finished; it was in a brand new building and had all new décor, which I had paid a professional decorator to handle. I hiked the strap of my briefcase higher and glared at the stairs leading up to the main entrance.

“Screw it,” I said under my breath.

Stooping down, I undid the little ankle straps and went the rest of the way on bare feet. With my chin tossed high in the air, I entered the lobby of my condo. Having lived here five days, I was grateful to be out of the hotel and have a place to call home. However, there was this strange little twinge in my chest every time I remembered I was not near that bar. I told myself it was because I missed Milton’s cocktail specials.

Yeah, right. The barkeep wasn’t that memorable.

I smirked as I thought about how eventful my brief stay had been, but all in all I was now just happy to have a place of my own. I would be staying in Nashville for potentially the next five years. And I needed to be comfortable here.

“Miss?” the receptionist called out to me as I opened my mailbox.

Looking sideways to see the graying hair of the smartly dressed woman, I lifted a brow in question.

“These are for you, Miss.” The receptionist gestured to the large bouquet of pink and purple blooms with greenery interspersed.

I slammed the little metal door of my mail box a little too harshly, and told myself not to be too excited until I knew who they were from.

I can still hope they are from him.

They were. The little card was signedReese—I now knew that Karter used his middle name when he wanted to be discreet. For once, a guy understood where I was coming from and what my goals were. His were so similar. If he hadn’t been a Livingston, he just might have been the perfect boyfriend material.

That was both the blessing and the curse of our interactions. And it prevented us from moving forward with any kind of relationship.

I scooped up the vase of flowers and waved off the receptionist’s offer of help. The heavenly scent filled my nostrils as I ascended to my floor in the lift. Although unlocking the door and entering my apartment was a little difficult, I set the flowers directly on my counter top once I managed to get inside. My kitchen might have been tastefully decorated in a modern style, but as I stepped back to admire the thoughtful gift, I realized how much the simple touch of cut blooms brought an inescapable feeling to the space.

This is home.

Licking my lips, I considered doing something to show the sender just how much I appreciated his thoughtfulness. I grabbed my phone from my bag and snapped a photo of the kitchen with the bouquet in the center of the image. Putting it on my Instagram account, I captioned it:When a friend sends you flowers, the new city begins to feel like home.

The smile on my lips as I shared the photo was quickly wiped off when I stepped wrong and my knee ached. Grabbing a pack of ice, I went straight to the couch where chic throw pillows were already waiting for me to elevate the damned thing. The doctor had told me that I would be fine—and I knew I would be, if I just followed his instructions. But I insisted on wearing my heels and I did not wear the brace in public—which meant it rarely was worn. My reason for rebellion was simple: both changes would have drawn unwanted attention to myself.

The moment I was settled my phone rang. A shot of happiness ran through me as I saw Karter’s name on the screen.

“You’re early tonight,” I told him by way of a greeting.

“I saw the latest photo on your account—and I thought to myself, now just who is showing you such marked attention in your new city? You called such person afriend.”

“You could say the sender is a sort offriend.” I laughed at Karter’s lighthearted, albeit slightly possessive analysis of the situation. Although I hadn’t physically seen him since he left me sated yet craving more in my hotel bedroom, I had been in constant communication with him. And it hadn’t all been about our secret partnership.

“So what’s for dinner tonight?” Karter asked.

You.“I probably am going to order Hattie B’s again.” Shifting on the couch, I let myself relax. Karter might be my business rival, but I conveniently chose to ignore that, because he was also the person who was going to help me make some pretty powerful moves. So as long as I kept things above board, and we didn’t talk about any other sensitive topics, I could be friendly to him. The more we talked, the more we got along—and to be truthful, I wasn’t ready for it to end. Karter was different from other men in our elite spectrum of the world.

“You love that hot chicken!” There was triumph in his voice and it had me grinning.

“I’m going to gain weight lying about and eating, but at least the food is real—not processed—and tastes fucking amazing,” I countered. “I can’t wait until I can get back to the gym, though.”

His reply was spoken dangerously low, “I know something you could do to work out…”

His voice trailed off and suddenly I was very warm, despite the ice pack that was covering most of my leg. “You know, you haven’t seen my place yet,” I offered him. “I could order enough chicken for two. And you could pick it up on your way over.”

“Sophia—” Karter groaned. Just the fact that he was using my false name, the one I had given him what seemed like ages ago, told me that he was at work or in a place that could be compromising. “We said we weren’t going to meet—to prevent conflicts of interest I believe were your exact words.”

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