Page 48 of Booked for Kidnapping

“Is it on the upper floors of some ridiculously expensive building?”

“It’s not far from your work,” he replied.

“So, it’s on the upper floors of a ridiculously expensive building.”

“It comes with four parking spots.”

“Four?”

“Rich people have car fetishes,” Bradley muttered.

I stared at the pictures, swiping through to discover even more rooms, one of which had a grand piano. “How many condos did you buy so you could tear down the walls and make a larger home?”

“Why are you accusing me of buying several condos?”

“Because you have an entire music room with a rather large piano in it?” I swiped through more photos of the gallery. “And there are two rather large tubs in this place. The only thing out of place is the lack of a second kitchen. It looks like you merged two four-bedroom condos together to make a super condo.”

“The original kitchens were sharing a wall, so it was rather easy to merge them,” he admitted.

“So you did buy two condos and merge them?”

“That may have happened.” Bradley coughed. “My family hasn’t been to our place yet, as I refused to let anyone other than you see it next. So they think I live at some apartment, since I refuse to give them my address. They would show up and see it before you. I spent the first two months after you were kidnapped fixing the condo. I sparsely decorated it, hoping you’d rampage through the place and teach me the error of my ways.”

I chuckled at that, as even when I’d lived in the Hampton residence, we’d had vastly different ideas of how to decorate. Grand pianos, which he could play rather well, were more up his alley.

I liked books and magazines, and I hoarded them. I swiped to the picture of the office. “And this one is mine?”

“I figured you’d like a ridiculous number of books in your throne room.”

I snorted at that, checking out the pictures of the kitchen again. “The kitchen might be wasted on us.”

“Your mother keeps trying to teach me how to cook so her little girl won’t starve to death.”

“How is that working out for you?”

“We’re at high risk of starving to death,” he informed me in a solemn tone. “She’s thinking about sending me off to cooking boot camp. I’m not sure what that is, but I’m concerned.”

“Hell,” I informed him, thinking of several family friends who might be able to beat the basics of cooking into Bradley’s head. “You’re not allowed to tuck me in because you have to share my blanket with me.” I got up and went to work drying off and changing into my pajamas. “I’m sure you can come up with an acceptable alternative.”

“I have noticed you have not protested a single time I’ve held you, so I am going to continue this trend.” Bradley drained the tub, got out, and took the towel I offered to him. “We are going to make sure I can go into the bathroom without you, though.”

“I’m sure I can handle five or ten minutes of solitude without going mad. But I have found this lounging in the tub while reading to be to my liking. I even enjoyed the company.”

He snickered, and he changed into a pair of dark pajamas, a pair I recognized as one of his favorites. He bought a new pair every year, the exact same style and color, but he only threw them out when they became threadbare. “As a fair warning, my father will probably take pictures.”

I could live with that. “I’ve been under observation enough times at the hospital to not be bothered by this. Just don’t do anything terribly embarrassing.”

“What counts as terribly embarrassing?”

“Using me as a blanket is embarrassing.”

“You’d make an epic weighted blanket, though. I volunteer if you wish to take up a hobby as a living blanket.” Bradley opened the bathroom door and peeked out. “Were you making sure we didn’t fall asleep in the tub?”

“Not particularly. I was reading this thing called a book. Did Janette pass out?”

“I have not passed out,” I said. “But I’m about to.”

“Good. I’ve taken care of my calls, so we’ll get some sleep. How long do you need to be functional, Bradley?”