Page 83 of Snapshot

He clasps his hand over his chest. “Oh, I thought you knew.” In a fluid motion, he unsnags the button from his suit and stretches out his hand. “I’m Joseph or Joe. Whateveryouprefer.” Eh, I was close. Jeeves, Joseph…not that far off.

“Thank you, Joe. Also, one more thing.”

“Sure, what is it?”

I nod behind me, gesturing to the extended limo. “Do we have to take this everywhere? It’s a little flashy.”

He lifts his salt-and-pepper brows. “Not at all. Do you have a preference?”

“I really don’t. I just don’t want to look like I’m headed to prom every time we go to Target.”

He laughs. “Duly noted. Tomorrow morning when I retrieve you for your interview, I’ll bring something simpler. Just out of curiosity, will we be making trips to Target often?”

My smile grows wide and wicked. “I got an advance on my salary, Joe.Oh, yeah.Strap in, buddy.”

He lets out a thunderous belly laugh. “Good to know. Okay, well, have a good evening, Lennox. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait, one more thing, Joe. You mentioned an interview…what interview?”

He shrugs. “I’m sorry. I’m not privy to the details of your meetings. I only know that Mrs. Lockleer sent over a note that you are to meet her at the corporate campus at eight-thirty to prep for your interview. I’ll be downstairs by eight o’clock, but take your time. It’s only a ten-minute drive.”

Lockleer?“Oh, do you mean Denny?”

“She prefers I call her Mrs. Lockleer,” Joe says, with the slightest begrudging hint in his voice. “I’m to standby tomorrow until your day is complete; then, I’ll bring you home.”

“Oh…well, okay then. I’m glad one of us is on top of my schedule.”

Joe nods. “In case Mrs. Lockleer didn’t give you my number.” Joe reaches into his inside coat pocket and retrieves a sleek black business card. “Call me anytime if you need anything.”

I take the card then wiggle it between my fingers. “Thank you, Joe.”

He ducks his head in a show ofyou’re welcome. Then, he steps forward to call the elevator for me with the push of a button. “Two-nine-six-four-eight-three at the top, don’t forget,” he says as I step into the elevator door. As soon as the doors close, I’m propelled upwards automatically.

This is fancier than I expected. Maybe I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around Dex’s wealth. Why wouldn’t a billionaire have a penthouse in the heart of Miami with private access elevators? I was always impressed with Dex’s house in Las Vegas. I didn’t realize that was technically slumming it for him.

Dex insisted we live at the condo until he has a chance to find our dream home. He apologized for it being a bit “cozy,” but he gifted the Hessler Estate to Denny. I was slightly disappointed to know that Dex wouldn’t be living in his childhood home. A little piece of history lost. But he doesn’t seem bothered.

After I put in the elevator code and the doors open to the main living room, I realize that Dex needs a dictionary, because he outrageously misused the word “cozy.”

Maybe a four-thousand-square-foot penthouse suiteseemsmodest and cozy in comparison to the Hessler Estate, which I’m mentally equating to the lifestyle visuals we get on Keeping Up with the Kardashians. But the condo is far from cozy and meager, which is how Dex described it. My footsteps echo as I walk through the main entry. That’s how tall the ceilings are. Every piece of décor looks like it belongs in a museum. So much so, I don’t want to touch anything. The furniture is oversized,almost triple the size of a normal couch or coffee table, yet it still looks doll-sized in the large open spaces.

Even Dex’s bed looks larger than a California King. It’s like a giant resides here. The bed, framed with a simple leather headboard and footboard is set on a platform in the middle of the room, facing an electric fireplace. I don’t see any fish tanks so far, which makes sense. Dex is never here enough to maintain them. I suppose all that has changed now.

This is my new home…which is empty as can be.

I kill an hour by taking a bath in the massive tub. A tub Mom would appreciate. I rummage in the pantry and fully-stocked fridge to find some crackers, cheese, and deli meats. There’s a wine rack stocked with fancy red bottles but none of that sounds appealing. Instead, I settle on seltzer water. And finally, after watching a few episodes of mindless sitcom reruns on a TV so large it feels like I’m front row at a movie theatre, I break down and call Dex. I know he’s at a meeting, but it’s nearly ten. Surely my early bird husband is getting ready for bed by now.

He answers on the first ring.

“Oh hey, Trouble. Your ears must be burning because I was just telling Emmett here about my beautiful new purply-haired bride.”

“Purply-haired?” I laugh. “You’re drunk.”

“Hardly. Iamhowever, having drinks, trying to close a bitch of a deal.” There’s a low hum of chatter wherever he is. Sounds like a restaurant. “But Emmett is a stubborn ass,” Dex adds in a comically loud whisper.

I laugh. “Careful. I’m willing to bet your friend heard that.”

“I meant for him to,” Dex says returning to his normal voice. “He won’t agree to my idea until I promise him my bleeding heart on a platter.”

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