Page 125 of Falling for the Billionaire Best Man

48

KAISEN

I’d never brought anyone back to my penthouse after a date. Not once. It had always been hotels—nice ones, sure, but hotels, nonetheless. I liked the separation, the clear line between my party-boy life and my home life. But as I stepped off the elevator with Dorie behind me, her eyes wide with amazement as she took in the view of the city from the floor-to-ceiling windows, I knew I’d made the right decision. She wasn’t just anyone. She was Dorie. And she belonged here.

I planned on having her a lot. She needed to see where she would be spending some time. That is when I could get her away from Cape May.

I set the shopping bags down on the kitchen island, the takeout we’d picked up on the way home still warm. Dorie was still standing by the windows, her hands pressed against the glass as she stared out at the skyline. I walked over to her, slipping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on her shoulder.

“Welcome home,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She turned to look at me, her eyes shining with wonder. “This is incredible, Kaisen. I can’t believe you’ve never brought anyone here before.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the truth was, I was nervous. This was a big step for me. A huge step. But it felt right. “I wanted to keep it separate,” I admitted. “My single bachelor playboy life and my home life. But you… you’re different, Dorie. You’re the first. And the last. You are my life. There is no more bachelor playboy.”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing as she looked away. “Well, I’m honored.”

I kissed the top of her head before stepping back. “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

I took her hand, leading her through the sprawling space. “This is the living room,” I said, gesturing to the open area filled with plush furniture and a massive fireplace. “I don’t spend much time here, honestly. It’s too lonely.”

Dorie squeezed my hand, her eyes soft with understanding. “It’s beautiful, though. Cozy in a modern way.”

“Cozy?” I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “That’s not exactly the vibe I was going for.”

She laughed. “Well, maybe it could be cozier. With a few rugs and pillows? And plants. Lots of plants.”

“You think I need greenery?”

“Yes!” she said emphatically, spinning to face me. “Plants make everything feel alive. Like a home instead of a showroom.”

I chuckled, pulling her closer. “Alright, interior decorator Dorie. What else?”

I wanted her input because I wanted her to see this space as her own.

“Art,” she said after a moment. “Something personal. Not just designer pieces that match the color scheme. Something that means something to you.”

I frowned, glancing at the abstract paintings on the walls. They’d been chosen by my decorator, not me. “Fair point,” I admitted.

We moved into the kitchen next—a chef’s dream with marble countertops and top-of-the-line appliances that rarely saw use beyond reheating takeout. Dorie ran her fingers along the edge of the island, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, I could do some serious cooking in here,” she said, grinning.

“You cook?” I asked, surprised.

“I mean, I wouldn’t call myself a chef or anything,” she said with a laugh. “I’m a baker.”

“Well, you’re welcome to take over anytime,” I said.

She smiled. “I think I can manage that.”

We moved through the dining area—a massive table that could easily seat twelve—and down the hallway to the bedrooms. I paused outside the master suite, my hand resting on the doorknob. “This is… mine,” I said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “But it could be ours, if you want.”

I opened the door slowly, revealing the spacious room with its king-sized bed, more floor-to-ceiling windows, and en suite bathroom. The bed was neatly made, the pillows perfectly fluffed—another detail courtesy of my decorator. It looked like something out of a magazine, not like a place where someone actually lived.

Dorie stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the room. She walked over to the windows, staring out at the city lights. “It’s breathtaking,” she murmured.

She had skipped over my proposal. I needed to be clearer.

“This could be ours,” I said again. “Our room.”