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“It doesn’t sound like she considers it a burden,” Stella replies.
“No, but—”
“If she needs you, she’ll call,” she continues. “Gray, you can’t control everything all the time. It’s impossible. Unless…”
She leans back in her chair and watches me closely.
“Unless?”
“Unless you’re thinking that you should move home yourself.”
“I’m not leaving you,” is my immediate response. “No way.”
“Am I the only thing keeping you here?” She raises an eyebrow.
“No, of course not. I have a law firm and a home here. Friends. But I could leave all of that behind if I had to. You, however, I can’t.”
Stella watches me with flirty eyes over the rim of her wineglass, and I feel her booted foot along my leg.
“If anyone else in the world owned this place, I’d take you into the bathroom and fuck you blind.”
The words are said completely calmly, but Stella chokes on a cashew.
“Ew,” she says when she catches her breath. “No public bathroom sex. Ever. I mean, I know that they run a clean place around here, but no.”
“You didn’t mind when I fucked you in the shower this morning.”
“It’s a shower that I know was recently cleaned,” she clarifies. “I know who’s been in there. If I’m getting naked and bumping uglies with you, it’s in a clean place.”
“I had no idea that you were such a germophobe.”
“I am when it comes to being naked,” she says with her nose in the air. She sniffs and then drinks her wine.
“I hope you like pasta carbonara,” Alecia announces as she sets a large, heaping platter of steaming pasta between us before placing dinner plates before each of us. “Emma’s following me with some garlic bread and salad.”
“Oh, God, I’m so excited for this,” Stella says and claps her hands.
“Are you the chef?” I ask Alecia.
“These days, I am,” she confirms. “I never used to be, but I took some classes from a friend of mine. I was a quick study.”
“She’s an excellent cook,” Stella adds. “This will be the best food you’ve had in your life.”
“That’s pretty high praise,” I say.
“And a lot of pressure,” Alecia agrees with a laugh. “I hope you enjoy it. Save a little room for dessert.”
Emma delivers the bread and salad, then I dish up our plates.
One bite in, and I know that Stella’s right. I moan with happiness.
“See? Told you. I wouldn’t steer you wrong when it comes to food.”
“Do you think they’d let us move in here, just so we can eat this every day?”
“I bet we could work something out.”
Chapter 15
Stella
“How many crates were delivered?” I ask into the phone, looking through my checklist to find the correct line.
“Twelve.” The foreman of the job at Florence’s house doesn’t sound pleased. “We had to put them in the garage because the living room is full.”
“Those are the last ones,” I confirm as I check the final box. “Everything has officially been delivered. When will you be finished?”
“I only have a few trim pieces to complete, and then we’re done. I just sent the crew home. I have to pick up the last of the wood in the morning, and I should be done by noon tomorrow. We finished the wallpaper in the bedroom today. It’ll cure in a couple of days.”
“Awesome.” I sigh in relief and feel my shoulders relax. “Thank you so much for all your hard work over the past couple of weeks. I know you had to fit me in, and I appreciate it.”
“No worries, Stella. Have a good night.”
He disconnects, and I double-check the checklist.
Everything I ordered for Florence’s house is finally there, and now I can get it all set up for her. I plan to tackle a room a day and be ready for the unveiling on Friday.
Given that it’s only Monday, I’m right on track.
I check the time and realize that my next appointment is set to arrive in five minutes. After that, I plan to go to Gray’s condo, soak in his huge tub for about an hour, and then sleep.
I’m exhausted.
My assistant, Liz, pokes her head in my door. “Are you ready for Mr. and Mrs. Stillman? They just got here.”
Before I can answer her, my phone rings.
I see Florence’s name on the screen.
“Give me five, okay?”
“You got it.”
Florence has never called me. She handles everything via email, so I’m not sure what to expect here.
“This is Stella.”
“Florence,” she says brusquely. “I need to see the house tomorrow morning at nine. I’m bringing a camera crew with me from Lifestyle magazine, and they want to get the first look at the house and feature me in the January issue.”
My mouth drops. “Florence, I’m not ready. We agreed on Friday.”
“I’m moving it up,” she says carelessly. “So, I suggest you get ready.”
She hangs up, and I stare at the wall in disbelief.
Tomorrow? At nine a.m.?
