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I grimace. “Yeah, don’t remind me.” Biting into the sandwich, I mumble through a mouthful, “I agreed to go last week, but I’d much rather cuddle with Marcus and our cats at home.”
“Our cats, is it?” Kendall grins. “Are they his fur babies now too?”
“They might as well be,” I say after I finish chewing. “Cottonball has changed allegiances completely, and Queen Elizabeth is warming up more to Marcus every day. Mr. Puffs is the only holdout, but I think it’s because he’s batting for the third team.”
“His father, Satan?” Kendall guesses.
I shake my head. “Geoffrey, Marcus’s butler. Those two are getting tight. My cat actually behaves in his presence. Doesn’t even try to steal food when he cooks in the kitchen, can you imagine?”
“No way.” Kendall sounds appropriately shocked. “Maybe he has a thing for British men.”
“He certainly seems to,” I say, then recall the mystery that’s bugging me. “Speaking of men—American, not British—how did you and Ashton—”
“Wow, real smooth, Ms. Sleuth. Now why don’t you finish your delicious-looking sandwich, and I’ll go get myself a boring salad for lunch.” And as she hangs up, I hear her mutter enviously, “A butler who cooks, my foot.”
* * *
To my relief, the dinner with Janie and Landon that evening goes smoothly, with the banker only briefly wrinkling his patrician nose at the patch of cat hair that got on my new, stylish outfit when Mr. Puffs ambushed us on the way out. After that, Janie’s boyfriend turns on the charm, and though it’s definitely on the slightly fake side, the four of us end up having a good time—even after Marcus has another sneezing fit from Janie’s perfume.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes for the tenth time as we say our goodbyes, with me prudently avoiding hugging her this time. “I swear, I would’ve never worn it had I known.”
“No, stop. It’s totally my fault. I should’ve warned you,” I say, feeling bad. “At home, we’ve got almost everything unscented, so I forgot.”
“We’ll be sure to avoid any and all fragrance the next time we meet,” Landon announces, shaking Marcus’s hand with a big, toothy smile. I picture him throwing out Janie’s perfume that very night, lest he repeat the error with another important business contact, and hide my grin.
One billionaire’s perfume allergy may spare the public—and Janie herself—from at least one overly strong smell.
“Do you think he’s going to throw out every perfume bottle they’ve got?” Marcus asks when we’re in the car on the way home.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. It’s scary how our minds are so often on the same page these days. “You better buy some stock in whichever company makes unscented products. Now that Landon’s on the case, it’s going to be the next big thing.”
And as we laugh in that way of two people perfectly attuned to each other, I finally decide how to handle the situation with my apartment.
I’m going to get rid of my old furniture and trust that what we have is real.
41
Marcus
When Emma informs me that she’s listing her remaining stuff on Craigslist and officially giving up her place, I feel both triumphant and relieved—and to my surprise, a little guilty.
“You did what?” Ashton gapes at me in disbelief when I meet him for coffee near my office on Thursday and fess up about the situation.
I scrub a hand over my face. “I just told you. I got Long to buy her landlady’s townhouse in Brooklyn at above-market value.”
“To force Emma to move in with you,” Ashton clarifies, staring at me like I’ve lost my marbles.
“No, to nudge her to move in with me,” I snap. Fucking Ashton; I was really counting on him being on my side in this. “She has all these hang-ups about money and not wanting to take advantage of me, and I screwed up with her once before, so she’s got trust issues… We were heading there anyway, and I just wanted to expedite things, okay? Is that so fucking wrong?”
“Not if you’re Machiavelli.” He props his elbows on the table, looking fascinated. “What else have you done to this poor girl?”
“Nothing.” Then some demonic creature—Mr. Puffs, perhaps—tugs on my tongue, and I grudgingly admit, “I may have also had her investigated when we first started dating.”
“What the fuck?” He straightens. “Why? Did you think she’s some kind of criminal?”
“Of course not. She said she didn’t want to see me after a particularly great date, and I needed some information to figure out how to— You know what? Never mind.” I don’t like the way he’s looking at me—like I’m admitting to murder.
Hasn’t every man in love done at least a little stalking?
“Oh, no.” He picks up his cup, dark amusement curling the corners of his mouth. “You’re not getting out of this so easily. If I understand it right, you pretty much stalked Emma until you got her to date you, and now you’ve also made sure she has no choice but to move in with you.”
