Page 18 of The October Arrangement

“Why me?” I spoke silently, looking up at the ceiling.

I’d seen enough, so I cleared my throat. Bella jumped, turned around, and placed her hand over her heart.

“Oh, my God. Jesus, Simon. You scared the hell out of me!”

“What the fuck is going on here?”

“What do you mean?” Her brows furrowed. “You mean the pumpkins?”

“Yes, Bella. The pumpkins.”

“I’m working.” She cocked her head. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“In my fireplace?” I asked.

“In front of your fireplace, Simon.”

“Why?”

“Because I needed a fall lifestyle shot.”

“And that required my fireplace being turned into a pumpkin patch?”

“Yes,” she said. “Geneva called me today and told me she needed indoor content for their fall campaign. I’ve been shooting all over the city, but I needed some indoor lifestyle photos, and your fireplace is perfect. Don’t worry. I’ll have it cleaned up in a second. You’ll never know the pumpkins were here.”

“Bella, we talked about this. This is my sanctuary, which has never seen a pumpkin.”

“Your sanctuary has excellent lighting.” She grinned.

“Bella.”

“Simon.” Her eye narrowed.

I stared at the display. I hated to admit it. It looked good. But it didn’t look like my penthouse living room. That was the problem. I didn’t do clutter or seasonal shit. My eyes diverted to the coffee table, where a large light-blue pumpkin with a black bowtie sat.

“What the hell is that?” I pointed.

“Oh, that’s Harold.” Bella grinned. “Isn’t he cute?”

“It’s hideous. Get rid of it. It doesn’t belong on my coffee table.”

“I’ll put him away after I get the final shot,” she said.

I’d had a shit day. I was tired, hungry, and standing in the middle of my once-peaceful penthouse, surrounded by pumpkins. This was a problem.

“I suppose you’re not going to share your pizza. Are you?” she asked.

“Didn’t you go to the store?”

“Yes. But then I’ll have to make something, and I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Tell me about it,” I sighed, walked into the kitchen, and set the pizza box on the island. “Didn’t I tell you when I left this morning that this house better be spotless when I got home?”

“It is.”

“No, it isn’t. Your display of pumpkins says otherwise,” I said.

“For the last time, Simon. It’s for my job. The pumpkins will be gone shortly.”