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That would be my dream come true.
The kitchen – my favorite part of any living space – is basically what I used to imagine myself having in twenty years, the approximate amount of time it would take for me to save for something this nice.
I’ve only been in one kitchen better than this, and unfortunately, Nero’s kitchen staff is not fond of me just roaming around their work area.
When Margaret, my assistant, finally manages to stop gawking at our project, she quietly mutters, “Elle, we don’t have the assets to do this place justice.” Our eyes connect. “Like…not. Even. Close.”
“Nope,” Gina, the other member of my team who, like Margaret, has been with me for the past three years, sighs in disbelief. “Our storage unit is not prepared for this. Hell, I don’t think I’ve even prepared for this.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be prepared for this,” Margaret backs in further astonishment.
“Well, ladies, you better get prepared, because we have a job to do.” I poorly hide my giddy grin. “We’ll go over the designs I put together, weed out our best options, and go shopping.”
“When you say weed out, you mean pick what we can afford?” Margaret teases on a ruffle of her curly red hair. “Which isn’t much, by the way. Pretty sure the doorknobs in this place cost more than my damn car.”
“And pillows suitable for this shit would probably cost a month’s rent.”
“Good thing money is no object then.” My casual announcement causes their jaws to hit the ground. “The client is my husband-”
“Still can’t believe you got married,” Margaret grumps in unhappiness.
“We didn’t even know you were dating someone!” Gina shrieks in her mousey voice. “How did we not know that?!”
“Why didn’t we know that?” Margaret continues to interrogate in a suspicious tone.
“Like I told you two at the reception – and then again once a week, every week since – it all just happened kind of fast. One minute we’re squeezing in dates around our hectic schedules and the next-”
“You’re fucking married,” Gina huffs.
“To apparently a billionaire,” Margaret states on a lifted brow.
“I didn’t expect to get married like we did…,” – or at all if we’re being honest – “and you both know if we would’ve done the whole big ceremony thing, you would’ve been there! But we didn’t, which is why you weren’t. And as for not knowing the billionaire thing, I sort of forget he is.”
Two sarcastic frowns are thrown my direction.
“What?! I do! I didn’t fall in love with him because of his money. I fell in love with him because of who he is and how he treats me. You know, draping his jacket over my shoulders whenever there’s a faint breeze and wiping away pasta sauce off my cheek and listening to me ramble about the subtle difference in paint shades…And then there’s the way he gets a little goofy in my presence. Laughs a little louder than he would in mixed company or attempts a silly face to lighten an intense conversation like we’re kids at the dinner table rather than stressed out adults…” Realizing how attached I am to the man I have no business being attached to has me clearing my throat to push the conversation along faster. “Anyway, we’ve been given free reign. There’s absolutely no budget.”
“God, those are probably the sexiest words I’ve ever heard in my entire career,” Gina gushes while dramatically fanning herself.
“I fucking second that,” Margaret snickers in excitement.
One side of my mouth tips upward in amusement. “Alright, ladies. Let’s get to work.”
***
Sea salt-filled air flutters into the living room through the open windows for me to enjoy in between my random Tina Turner song breaks. The sun breeched the ocean a while back, and the home I’m standing in is so high-tech that the lights are programmed to naturally adjust themselves for early evening.
I finish repositioning a baby blue vase on an accent table near the couch at the same time “Proud Mary” comes to a close. Second guessing myself, I slide the object back to the opposite side of the other end of the furniture and admire how it settles amongst the additional statement pieces. Still unsure, I push it back to the original location, cringing in uncertainty that it belongs here at all.
The unexpected footsteps coming my direction have me calling out to my assistant, “Margaret is that you? I thought you and Gina went to happy hour.” Adjusting the vase once more, I mindlessly mutter, “You two didn’t come back to drag me there, did you? I told you. I’ll go next time. I gotta finish this up and meet my husband for dinner.”
“I like that you respect our time together.”
Nero’s delicious and unexpected voice has me spinning around so fast I nearly knock over the item I was fidgeting with. I immediately take in how incredible he looks with his freshly cut dark hair, dazzling dark eyes that seem to glow in the evening light, and Milan runway attire of a gray peacoat, black slacks that fit firmly against his muscular legs, and black chukka boots to match. The man exudes style and class and sex appeal without even trying.
It’s enough to steal my breath.
Make me weak in the knees.
