Page 44 of Cocky Prince
I love my bedroom. It’s gray and violet with an espresso bed I bought when I moved back into the place. The furniture in the living room is old and original from when my parents and I lived here, but the bedroom furniture is new. Living room furniture will be phase two of the house remodel.
“It’s too small. Doesn’t fit my shoes.”
He stalks inside the bedroom and opens the accordion closet doors. A single rail holds all seasons of clothing and boxes line the foot of the closet. “If you move these boxes, you’ll have room for your shoes. You actually don’t have very many clothes.”
True, I keep my wardrobe under control, donating unused or outdated items on a regular basis. The boxes contain puffy coats and snow boots, and a few other cold-weather items.
“Actually, the shoes won’t fit,” I say. “Even if I put the winter boxes in the attic.”
He raises his eyebrow and scans the closet. “Whereareyour shoes?”
I smile. “You see, now you’re catching on. This is why I need the walk-in.” I head back into the hallway and open the hall closet, turning on the inside light.
Adam peers at the shelves and slowly sets down his toolbox. He whistles. “Never knew you were a shoe hoarder.”
My face warms. I hadn’t thought about how personal this project might be. “I have a bit of a shoe obsession. I’m not a hoarder. I’m acollector.”
He grabs a pair of chunky, flat Mary Janes tucked away on a top shelf. “These still fit?”
“I wore those every day of my senior year. They were my favorites. And yes, they fit.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Hayden, if you get rid of some of these shoes, the rest will work in your bedroom closet.”
I grab my Mary Janes and dust them off hastily with the sleeve of my shirt. “And give you nothing to do? No way. Besides, I want a walk-in closet.” My voice goes dreamy. “With walls of shelving devoted to these beauties.” I hug the shoes to my chest, and he covers his mouth with his hand, hiding what I detect is a smile.
I jump up and tuck the shoes back in their place on the top shelf. “Don’t you think you should get to work? It’s a big project.”
My hall closet is nice and deep. It’s going to make an awesome walk-in.
He shakes his head and picks up the toolbox. “Sure thing, Ms. Marcos.”
“Imelda Marcos? That’s cute. Very funny,” I say dryly.
“Isn’t it?” He grins.
I purse my lips.He’s making fun of me… I can live with that. As long as he builds a kick-ass walk-in closet for all my pretties.
Adam owes me this. Call it punishment for his arrogance these last few months, which culminated in the cherry on the top with him assuming anyone could do my job and hire good employees. Ones whodon’t sell explicit photosto other employees.
Adam would have been involved in hiring for his department regardless, but every applicant goes through a thorough human resources check. That’s the part he skipped, and I’m determined to know why he and Blackwell felt it necessary.
I plop down on my bed and watch Adam remove all the items from the hall closet. And God, is it entrancing. The swell of his biceps as he pulls a box down; his muscular ass as he bends to set it on the floor. Really, all he’d have to do is move things around my house for an hour and I’d call us even. Because this view…
Should I video it?
No, that’s stalkerish.
I do not stalk Adam Cade. Lust from afar—absolutely, but not stalk. Why would I want to do that when I’m forced to put up with his arrogance every day at work? But this sexy, casual Adam who uses his brawn to build me stuff? This Adam I could get used to. “Need any help?”
He sets down another box and braces his arm against the doorframe to my bedroom, the underside of his forearm and bicep bulging. “I got it. But I’ll take you up on that offer of a drink now. Water would be great.”
I tear my eyes away from his body to look at his face, which isn’t helping because the lightly scruffed, mussy-haired Adam is equally entrancing.
It was a bad idea to invite him into my home.
“Of course.” I jump up and cross the room, inching carefully past him. And okay, taking a light whiff of him. He even smells good. A just-showered, soapy boy scent.
Inside the kitchen, I suck in a breath of Adam-free air and knock my head on the fridge a couple of times to rattle some sense into it. I fill a glass of water and turn around—to Adam standing at the end of the galley kitchen.
