Page 106 of The Wrong Sister
I’m about to head to my office. That’s what the old me would do. But somehow, being that person doesn’t feel so comfortable anymore. So I stop and start picking up too.
Soon I realize I’m the only one doing the deed because I feel a stare on the side of my face. I glance at him with a cocked brow. “What?”
He blinks. “Does this have anything to do with all the stylish things I picked up forMrs. King, yourfakewife?” His voice changes at the end. It turns smug and almost… happy. Why would he be?
“Shut up,” I say, rolling my eyes and making him chuckle.
“Why are you here?” I ask, suspecting the answer.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He tilts his head to the side. Maevedoes the gesture sometimes when she feels flirty, and I have to give myself a mental shake to remember that she’s not what I need to be thinking about right now.
“The building is closed, for fuck’s sake.”
“I’ve got a key,” he snorts.
“No one is working here.”
“I’m still getting paid.” He sounds like he’s barely containing laughter.
“You can work from home.”
“I can,” he replies thoughtfully. “But who will bring you coffee when you need it? Or set up a meeting with someone when you forget how to use your intercom?”
I feel the second smile of this morning tugging on my face. “I know how to set up my own meetings and make my own coffee.”
He quirks a brow.
“I do.”
“Alright!” He throws his hands in the air in a surrendering gesture.
I pass him all the papers I’ve collected and head to my office. Once I’m behind my desk, I feel like a person again. A little bit like myself. But something is missing.
I press the intercom button.
“Yes?” Martin’s humorous voice comes through.
“Get me a coffee.” Then I add softer, “Please.”
He chuckles. “With pleasure, Boss.” Before he disconnects, he says, “Damn, you really do know how to use the intercom.”
Why am I still keeping him?
42
Maeve
Waking up in a comfortable bed seems like a foreign thing to do. I’d been couch-surfing for a long time before I ended up on the island where the sand and palm tree bed weren’t so comfortable either. Until the last night when Ezra’s chest became my pillow. That was very cozy. And warm. And safe. It feltright.
I didn’t wake up on his chest this morning, but this still feels like a step in the right direction.
I know I’m alone in the apartment before I even step foot outside my room. The place seems empty. Even with Ezra staying in a separate bedroom, I knew when he was here. The place was alive. And now, it’s lonely. Especially with the cold white walls and surgical furniture. I just want to wreak havoc and make it cozy. A few things out of place will make it look so much homier.
I take a hot shower and pour so many products onmyself I’m sure I smell like a perfume store. Zero regrets about that though. I’ve missed having good things in life—sue me for that.
In the kitchen, I make myself a cup of coffee and grab a fresh muffin from the counter, not wondering where it came from. Ezra is a billionaire, I’m sure he has people delivering goodies to his place all the time.
Then it’s time to go and cry over how amazing my new closet is. I can’t believe Ezra knows me so well in such a brief time.
