Page 29 of Santa Baby

“Is it not up to your standards, Mr. Penthouse?”

He frowned at me, rapping his knuckles on the stairs. “You’re lucky you haven’t fallen and cracked your skull on these stairs. And I don’t live in a penthouse, for your information.”

“Why? Can you not afford it?” I asked sarcastically.

He smiled wryly, shaking his head. “I have this weird thing about elevators. I got stuck in one for close to six hours as kid.”

“Six hours? How old were you?”

“Maybe eight? I’m not sure, but the only reason my mom knew there was a problem was because I’d been on my way to school and never made it there, and the school called my parents.”

“That’s terrible!”

He nodded. “I know.”

“So, you don’t live in a penthouse. Where do you live then?” I imagined he’d live high above the skyline, surrounded by clouds and wealth, maybe on Park Avenue. He leaned against the opposite counter and crossed his arms, considering my question.

“I have an apartment in the Museum Tower in midtown but I’m getting ready to sell.”

I raised my brows. “Why?”

“Because I recently bought a brownstone on the Upper West Side.”

“You bought—” I stopped myself, reminded that this man was filthy rich, even though he was wearing jeans and an ugly Christmas sweater with puppies on it right then. “Congratulations on your new mortgage.”

“I don’t have a mortgage on it. I paid cash.”

“Of course, you did.” I snorted a laugh and started to dig through my one cabinet for a coffee mug that didn’t have a chip along the rim.

“I have a team restoring it to its former glory. Whoever owned it before me painted everything white and gray.”

“You don’t like white and gray?”

“I have a piece of history now and I want it to feel like it.”

I noticed something new in his eyes, an emotion I hadn’t seen yet. It was almost like he was on the precipice of something, walking through a season of change, shedding parts of himself he’d leaned into before.

I was probably looking at him too closely, reading too far between the lines. “So, you still live in your fancy tower?”

“Yes, I still live in a fancy tower, just closer to the ground than you think. I can take the stairs if I want without a problem.”

I poured him a cup of coffee, black, then fixed myself a cup with copious amounts of cream and sugar. We stood against the counters for a moment, not looking at each other, the silence between us suddenly deafening.

I knew we were both thinking about the kiss. How could we not be? Things had been too easy between us, too natural. The ease with which we were able to talk was the first thing I noticed about him. He wasn’t what I expected him to be. And kissing him? I hadn’t expected it to feel so right.

Now I didn’t know how to feel at all. I wasn’t a rich socialite from a family name that carried weight and influence.

I was just Fia. His fake girlfriend for the holidays.

“So… what are you up to this week?” I asked just to break up the heavy silence.

“Work.”

I frowned at him, arching a brow. “That’s it?”

“I have a few luncheons before everyone takes off in anticipation for Christmas, but that’s it, other than Deck the Decks.”

“Do you like your job?” I asked.