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Eden sighs. “Fine. But just to my door, okay?”
I’m relieved to see that the inside of the building isn’t as decrepit as it looks on the outside. As we climb the stairs together and head to the fourth floor, I wonder why Eden’s staying in a place like this. Couldn’t Thomas have helped her out? We made millions on our first film together. If I had a daughter, I’d do everything I could to set her up with an apartment that wasn’t in the roughest part of Los Angeles, so why hadn’t he?
Maybe it’s her independent streak. Eden clearly isn’t the type of woman who likes accepting handouts. Still, that doesn’t mean I like the thought of her coming home late after working for me at the studio all day when it’s dark and danger lurks around every corner. Does she have pepper spray or mace on her? A personal alarm? One of those brass knuckles conveniently shaped like a cat keychain? A young lady such as herself really shouldn’t be walking home alone.
We get to her apartment door at the very end of the hall. She tilts her chin up to look directly at me.
“Thank you, Mr. Stride,” she says softly. “I think I can take it from here.”
“I’ll have a private car sent to pick you up in the morning,” I tell her.
Eden arches a brow. “That’s very generous, Mr. Stride, but I don’t need a private car. I can just take the bus.”
My eye twitches. “I wasn’t making a suggestion.”
“I’m just a personal assistant. I don’t think you should be wasting the money. It’s literally my job to make your life easier, not to make you worry.”
“Don’t argue with me, Eden.”
“Don’t be unreasonable,Hunter.”
If she’s doing this to get a rise out of me, it’s working. I’m not used to the people in my life talking back to me. We’re standing close, less than a couple of inches between us, just the two of us alone together in the dim hallway. I’m tempted,reallytempted to lean down and claim her lips. She’s been running that smart mouth of hers for far too long. Maybe a good, hard kiss will keep her occupied long enough to actually listen to me.
The air around us buzzes with an untamed electricity. I want her in ways I can’t even begin to describe. I want the softness of her lips and my fingers in her hair and the curve of her body pressed against me. Judging by the way her cheeks flush pink and her pretty blue-green eyes are locked onto me and the way her breaths come as careful, heavy pants, I know she wants me, too.
I’m just about to lean in and go for it when the door unlocks and swings open.
“Ah! I thought I heard someone out here,” Eden’s friend from the other night, Taylor, says. She’s in a dainty pair of pink shorts and a matching pink crop top. Eden’s flamingo dress from before suddenly makes a whole lot more sense. Taylor looks me up and down with a smirk. “Well,hello. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”
“Taylor, this is myboss, Hunter Stride. Mr. Stride, this is my roommate, Taylor Green.”
I nod. “A pleasure.”
“Wow, Eden, you were right. Your boss is a stud muffin.”
Eden’s face turns bright red. “I didn’t say that,” she insists.
Taylor giggles. “Of course you did, silly. You called him a stud muffin and that you’d never worked for someone with such a massive ego.”
“Are you trying to get me fired?” she snaps.
I hold back a grin. There’s something endearing and cute about how flustered she gets. “I won’t take it personally,” I assure her.
Her roommate looks at me, then Eden, and then back to me. “Mr. Stride, was it? How about you join us for dinner? It’s Eden’s turn to cook tonight. She makes a mean spaghetti.”
Eden shakes her head quickly. “I’m sure Mr. Stride has more important things to—”
“Spaghetti sounds great,” I say, stepping into their shared apartment, quietly savoring the look of sheer panic on Eden’s face.
“Wha— Oh my God,Taylor.”
Their place is cramped. I suppose most homes feel small compared to mine, but especially this one. It’s lived-in, that’s for sure. From the assortment of oddly shaped decorative pillows on the couch, to the alphabet magnets on the fridge, to the picture frames that hang crooked on the walls —this place is colorful and bright. Warm and welcoming and the complete opposite of my minimalist mansion in Beverly Hills.
A couple of things catch my eye.
The stack of textbooks on the coffee table —probably Eden’s— concerning chemistry, physics, and human biology. A calendar is nailed to the wall next to the stove, important dates marked with red marker. The last day of the month is circled four different times.
MCAT exam!
