Page 144 of Dial L for Lawyer
I consider this. "Well, I'm currently suspended pending their decision. You're technically unemployed. We have an apartment full of packed boxes and another apartment with a very large bed and excellent shower pressure."
"Are you suggesting we spend the next three days having sex?"
"I'm suggesting we spend the next three days moving you in properly. The sex is just a side benefit." I stand, offering her my hand. "Besides, we need to thoroughly christen every room in my place. And maybe say a proper goodbye to yours."
She takes my hand, grinning. "That's a lot of surfaces to cover in three days."
"I'm very motivated."
"And if they fire you on Friday?"
"Then we'll be unemployed together. I hear it's excellent for the sex life. Maybe I should invest in a yacht and we can sail off at a moment's notice like Leonard and April do."
She snorts, cheeks coloring. "Jesus, you and your billionaire yacht fantasies. I hope you're ready for a steady diet of boxed mac and cheese and off-brand seltzer, because that's all my severance will get us."
"That's fine. My yacht comes with a private chef and an unlimited pantry."
"Do you even know how to sail?"
"I know how to hire people who do," I deadpan. "I figure I can learn while you practice being a sea captain's grumpy wife, yelling at me when I drop anchor too early."
"Sea captain's grumpy wife," she repeats, shaking her head. "Now that is moving too fast, Kingsley."
I smile. "Can't blame a guy for trying."
She laughs, the sound echoing off the marble walls. "You know what? Let's forget the yacht and just go home. We can break in our bed. Again. And again."
"It's our bed now?" I repeat, liking the sound of it.
"Yes. Our bed. Our kitchen counter. Our shower. Our?—"
"I get the picture." I pull her toward the elevators. "And I like where your head's at."
"Just my head?"
"We'll start there."
As the elevator doors close, she reaches for my tie, already tugging it loose. Three days. We have three days to move her entire life into mine, and I plan to make every moment count.
"Race you home," she whispers against my neck.
"You're on."
CHAPTER 35
Serena
"This is the worst documentary I've ever seen," I mumble around a mouthful of snickerdoodle dough. "That detective just contaminated three pieces of evidence and somehow that's not the biggest red flag."
Caleb's sprawled across his massive bed, laptop balanced on his chest, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and looking unfairly good for someone who's been lazing around with me for three days. "It's not a documentary. It's a docudrama. Very different."
"It's very stupid." I steal another spoonful of dough from the bowl I'm supposed to be using to make actual cookies. "Why are we watching this again?"
"You picked it," he points out, eyes flicking away from the screen to smirk at me. "And you're not even watching. You're stress-baking."
"Stress-baking is productive," I say, plopping the bowl on the nightstand and wandering over to the window, where the city sprawls below like a diorama. A light snow is falling, frosting the mirrored roofs twenty stories down, making everything look smaller and less dangerous than it probably is. "Better thanstress-drinking. Or stress online-shopping, which I am also not above."
"Is that why we got three separate deliveries of bath salts today?"
