AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So we wrangled the pups into their travel vests and buckled them into the limo. Then we placed the cats in their carriers and loaded the trunk with pet food, cat litter, and a single suitcase for Kayla. After a ninety-minute limo ride filled with barking dogs and restless, meowing cats, we arrived at my apartment.
“The cats didn’t get a vote,” Kayla grumbles as my driver drops the last bag of dog food in the foyer of my penthouse. Samuel gives me a nod goodbye, steps back into the elevator, and heads for the limo.
“They abstained by virtue of not getting off the couch,” I say, following the pack of pets down the hallway and around the corner into the living room.
“And they’ve already found yours.” Kayla points to my white sectional. Ginger’s claws pull at the fabric threatening to destroy it.
When my company first took off, and I was making more money than I’d ever dreamed possible, I looked at every penthouse apartment on the market. I wanted the best. But then I saw this place. The open floor plan offers a modern twist on old-school New York architecture. The living room flows seamlessly into the dining room, which is open to the white marble kitchen. The details, from baseboards to the parquet floorboard pattern, feel elegant but not fussy.
Ava trots over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the living room and dining area. The German Shepard mix gives a full body shake, leaving behind a virtual puddle of long dark hairs on my stylish floorboards.
I sigh. Selecting an apartment because I thought the bronze doorknobs offered a warm touch compared to the lavish gold-plated finishes used in most of the fancy, multimillion-dollar penthouses seems silly now.
“Having second thoughts?” Kayla asks.
“No.” I will not let our plan fall apart over dog hair. “Nothing makes an apartment appear lived-in like a dog.”
“Lived-in? We’ve only been here for five minutes. Wait until everyone settles in.” She glances over her shoulder at the hallway. “Are the doors to the bedrooms closed?”
“I’ll check.”
“Good. I’m ordering sushi.” Kayla walks through the living space, bypasses the glass dining table that looks like a piece of modern art, not furniture, and heads for the kitchen.
“I want my usual,” I call after her. I would offer to help, but she knows her way around my kitchen. Instead, I sneak away from the dogs, retrace my steps to the elevator and then head back to the bedrooms. I pull all four doors closed and tiptoe back to the living room.
The dogs are roaming the open floor plan. Luna’s cone keeps bumping into the corners and walls. The other pups turn to her every time she hits something, but I can’t tell if they are empathizing with her, or laughing at the poor girl.
I retrieve my laptop from the study. Then I close the opaque glass sliding doors that separate my home office from the living room. I’m willing to sacrifice most of my furniture to save my reputation. But I’d like to keep my workspace pet free.
Three seconds after I settle down on the couch, Ginger abandons Operation Furniture Destruction and climbs onto my lap. The dogs are too busy sniffing to settle down yet, and I suspect Ginger’s feline companion is hiding.
“Food’s ordered,” Kayla says as she turns the corner and heads for the overstuffed leather recliner opposite the couch. She draws her knees up and turns her gaze to floor-to-ceiling windows. It is too dark at this hour to see Central Park, but the lights from the lampposts flicker like fireflies. She looks away from the window and scans the apartment.
“Every time I come here, it’s like visiting a luxury resort,” she muses. “It’s impossible to think real people live in places like this. Most Manhattan apartments would fit inside your living room.”
“It is actually a lot like an all-inclusive resort.” I open my laptop and prepare to scan through my email. I tell myself I need to check in on work. But really I’m looking for a message from Alexandra the Blackmailer, or my PR rep announcing a windstorm of wild stories.
Nothing.
I exhale and return to the first email. One of my designers has a question about the upcoming launch. I type out a brief reply and move to the next message.
“An all-inclusive with a crazy up-front cost,” Kayla says. She’s silent for a second. Then she adds. “This is where You Know Who always aspired to live.”
I look up from my screen. The sushi hasn’t even arrived and she’s talking about her ex—not exactly how I planned to kick-off the first night of our fake engagement. I close my laptop and set it beside me on the couch.
“He’s your ex-husband, not Voldemordt,” I say. “Let’s call him by his name, Mr. Mistake, not some fictional character.”
She stares out into the darkness. “Mr. Mistake wanted a penthouse on Billionaire Row. He would have killed for a place in this building.”
“He’s at the top of my dermatologists-most-likely-to-commit-murder list,” I murmur. “But I’m betting he would try to charm his way in first,” Kayla says.
I hear the bitter edge in her voice. I’m tempted to call over one of the pups to lick her face before she slips into a sour mood. But I hold back. After the way that bastard used his charm on her, wielding it like a fucking weapon, she has every right to spend a few minutes lost in anger.
“I guess that’s one of the perks of my outrageously large bachelor pad, your ex can’t afford to live on this street. And the amenities are amazing.” I’m ready to shift the conversation away from her miserable years living in Manhattan. This time will be different—and temporary. “Thanks to the hotel below, I have maid service and room service. There’s even character dining.”
She turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Well there are characters. But they haven’t appeared in movies.”
