Page 32 of Playing to Win

When he is satisfied with the locks, he opens and closes the door a few times. Then he sets off wandering around the apartment, checking the balcony doors and the locks on the windows. I silently admit it’s nice to have a man in my home, wanting to keep me safe. Maybe Brooks has a decent side after all, no matter how miniscule it might be.

“Is this place like yours?” I ask when he comes back into the living room.

“I have a two bedroom but the layout is similar. Same view.”

I find glasses and pour us each a glass of water, sliding one along the kitchen worktop to Brooks. “I don’t understand why they put the buildings so close together. I mean, who really wants to stare at someone else’s apartment?”

He puts down his glass and exhales while shaking his head. “Sorry it’s not Buckingham Palace, princess.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Your gym does well—you could surely afford a view.”

“Wow. When I think you might be human, you prove to me that you’re nothing but a spoiled brat. My place works for me. You have no idea what I have coming in or out of my bank.”

“The lift doesn’t even work.”

He starts to leave and I put a hand on his arm to stop him. Wow, that’s firm. “Sorry. Sorry. I come out with things before I think.”

“Stop saying sorry. Just don’t do things to apologize for.”

I nod. “Sorry.”

“Christ.” He sounds angry but the tiny curve of his lip when I slap my hands across my mouth betrays his amusement.

“I apologize,” I tell him, smirking.

“I suppose you have the best view in London?”

“Not especially, though my folks rent my sister and me a place in a great location.”

“Your parents pay your rent? Are you kidding?”

“I...no. I intend to pay for it when I have a steady income.”

“That’s incredible and yet doesn’t shock me at all.” I want to give him a sassy retort but I don’t have one. Deep down, I know that letting my parents bankroll me at twenty-eight is a little pathetic but it really is the done thing in Chelsea. I open my mouth and close it again without making a sound.

“I’ll leave you to it. You’ve got my number if you need me.”

“W-wait. We start this thing tomorrow. I need to, you know, ask you questions and stuff. We need to set some rules.” The words are true but sound frantic, like I’m desperate to keep him here. I change my tone. “You must need to know things about me to tailor a plan to me?”

His reluctance is palpable. “I guess. But I need to go and get something to eat. I’ll come back after dinner.”

“You said you had a tuna steak before coming to collect me from my hotel.”

“I did. Now I’m hungry again.”

“You’re a beast.”

“And you’re a stick insect.”

“Whatever. Look, I could eat. Why don’t we have dinner together and talk about tomorrow? I need to grab a shower. Maybe we could order in? There must be something healthy around here. I mean, we are in Manhattan.”

“Fine.”

Gosh, he’s hard work. “Fine. Do you mind if I take a shower and wash this grime off?”

“Make sure you wash the sweat from your tits.” I turn to scowl but his head is already lowered as he scrolls through his phone.

I grab a towel—Brooks’s towel—and my toiletries bag and head into the shower. I clean my teeth over the sink as steam begins to fill the room. The door startles me when it pops open. I turn my head to look down the corridor but it’s empty. I close the door again and keep cleaning my teeth. The door pops again. Argh! I close it again and put my toiletry bag on the floor as a doorstop.

I climb under the warm stream of the shower and start to think about some nice healthy food. Maybe sashimi or a tofu broth. I realize I’m hungrier than I thought.

After a shorter time than I would usually take, I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself. I pick up my toiletry bag and find my moisturizer. With one leg up on the sink, I start to rub in the new brand of product I picked up in duty-free to try.

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