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I stared down at my fingers strumming along the polished surface of my desk and smiled at the idea of Natalia Hoover arriving on my arm, knowing Nat had precisely what it took to deal with an evil bitch like my mother. Nat could hold her own; she was practically the female version of myself, which was highly attractive to a man like me.
She was in a separate class from anyone I could think to bring, and if I ever wanted to best my mother, then I needed to play the game on a completely different scale. If she wanted caliber, I’d give the woman caliber.
“Give Nadia my love and tell our mother that I’ll be there, and I’ll be bringing my wife.”
Probably a bit extreme but dealing with my mother brought everyone to extremes.
The silence went on for long enough that I thought the line had gone dead, and then my brother’s rich laugh came down the phone line. “Very well, then. This is one phone call I will be happy to make.”
Chapter Seven
NAT
The blueprints for the new luxury neighborhood going up in some of the protected Malibu hills took my breath away as I went over them. I flipped through one after the other on my iPad, sipping on my second coffee of the morning as I lusted over Breanne’s latest designs. My best friend had outdone herself on this latest project, a set of high-profile mansions slated to sell at upwards of twenty million dollars each before they were even built.
I couldn’t lie; as I looked through the blueprints and the rendered images of the projected three-dimensional depictions, I was positively salivating over the homes. I’d been wanting to make the move to Malibu for years, feeling as though I was outgrowing the condo in Beverly Hills, where I’d spent my twenties and carved out my impeccable reputation over years of sleepless nights and high-dollar deals.
Over the last nine years, my climb had been meteoric, and I was thrilled at the idea of moving out of the city, at least on weekends. I’d built up a substantial enough nest egg that buying property in Malibu was a possibility by now, and I looked forward to being neighbors with my best friend, her husband, who’d become a brother to me, and my little nephews.
And yet, even as I went through the different properties, I couldn’t settle on any house that felt right for me. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the land or the potential houses. Breanne was a master of her craft, and she never would’ve let a single detail slip past her notice, at least not within the scope of design or engineering. The girl was on top of her shit, as her father had always insisted she be. She refused to build on flawed land or with shoddy materials, and what she built was as close to structurally perfect as possible.
The problem was what I’d seen several clients experience while house-hunting and what Say Yes to the Dress loved to make such a huge deal about; it was the glass-slipper effect. That indefinable thing one felt when something was exactly right for the person searching for it. If you didn’t feel that thing, then it wasn’t the right prospect. What was more, if it wasn’t right, it didn’t make sense to try to force it. Not with a wedding dress, and certainly not with something as crucial as a house you were planning to drop a six-million-dollar down payment on and likely live in for sixty-odd years.
Strangely enough, a week before, I would’ve jumped at the prospect of owning one of these homes. They were stunning, private, and exclusive, everything I would’ve picked for myself if I could’ve.
Now, though, when I thought about buying one of them, my mind was filled with thoughts of a stunning home built mostly on the water, made almost entirely of glass and stone in a range of beige and black. Whenever I saw the specs for the beautiful bedrooms with views that overlooked the canyons and eyelines all the way out to the water, all I could think about was that those bedrooms weren’t built over the water itself. Whenever I saw the infinity pools built directly into the mountains, I thought of how it would be impossible for me to walk from the pool to the beach. Whenever I looked at the drawings of the living rooms and kitchens, I thought of how none were the ones where I’d been slathered in ice cream and licked all over.
This was too much—all of it. Everything, from the fact that I clearly was not moving on from the weekend I’d spent with Spencer Monroe to the point that I was using his house as the barometer to measure my future, told me that I was in serious trouble where this man was concerned.
Yesterday had been abnormal enough: I’d woken up in his bed once more, and this time, I’d woken up before him, giving me the opportunity to wake him up with my skill below a man’s waist. Then, after a few pleasant hours of eating a delightful breakfast, talking, and a last little bit of fucking, I put my bathing suit back on, unable to stomach the prospect of my work clothes and heels again after a weekend of wearing nothing but Spencer’s shirt.
I pulled my ass quickly out of my fantasy when he offered to walk me back to Alex and Bree’s. I was serious as a damn heart attack when I knew I had no business going there with him or with anyone. My first red flag was that I actually liked the feeling of the offer, and then I remembered exactly who was offering it. There was no way I was getting emotionally involved with Spencer Monroe.
When Bree and I did get around to talking about him, she only got my humorous side of things. She heard nothing about wearing his button-down shirts or anything to fire up the gossip mill that would land Spencer and me in the next happily ever after episode in the lives of my married friends. I had to repeatedly remind Bree that she had to stop comparing me to her or her married besties. I loved them all, but they were worlds away from the type of person I was. It wasn’t going to be a discussion, so I killed it the second I saw the hopeful look in her eye.
Sorry to dash everyone’s hopes and dreams, but Natalia Hoover was not going to be that woman who found true love on the arm of a man. Instead, I’d find it where I felt I needed it, in myself. And yes, I truly loved myself more than any other person in this world.
She and I left the conversation at that, and I was, once again, back where I needed to be after sneaking off with Spencer for the weekend.
The sharp sound of my intercom buzzing got my attention, and I gasped as I almost jumped out of my skin. I leaned forward, pressed the response button on the box on my desk, and said, as imperiously as possible, “Yes?”
My door opened, and my assistant, Troy, looked in at me, a bit confused. “Is everything okay with you?”
“Fine as always, honey,” I said, covering my iPad once more and crossing my arms over my chest as I stared him down. I liked Troy. He was intelligent and quick on the uptake but quite presumptuous. “Outside of your random concern for me, is there something I can help you with?”
“Nothing at all,” he said, the edge of his mouth turning up in a bit of a smirk. “It’s just that…”
He paused, and I eyed him with concern. “It’s just that what?” I pressed, curious as to why Troy was acting like he was about to announce a surprise birthday party to me.
He shook his head, and the smirk became a full-blown smile. “Well,” he sighed in what seemed defeat, then frowned, “your husband asked me to let you know he’s here to see you.”
“My what?”
“I know. I was pretty surprised when he told me the happy news too. Though I was more surprised that you hadn’t told anyone around the office.”
“Troy. Stop talking.” I set my tablet down on the desk, bringing my hand up and rubbing the back of my neck. “What does this husband of mine look like?”
“Kind of like Chris Evans, if Chris Evans had dark hair and brown eyes.” Raising his eyebrow again, he cocked his head to the side. “Honestly, you could do a lot worse. I’d marry him in a second.”
