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Chapter Twenty-Two
Nate
By the end of the week, I’m used to the way Vivian returns home from work.
Through the front door with a greeting to Odessa first, who’s here most nights prepping dinner. Then Viv greets me with a kiss when I come downstairs, usually from the direction of my home office.
Today I’m in the living room when she comes home, choosing a vinyl record. Nat King Cole, I decide.
Odessa is busy in the kitchen preparing dinner for this evening. A bigger affair than usual since we’re expecting company.
At the mouth of the living room, Viv spots me and smiles. “Well, this is a surprise. I thought I knew your patterns.”
“After a few nights? Doubtful.”
“Dinner smells good.”
“As do you.” I place a kiss on her neck and then her mouth. When we part, her eyes flutter closed. “Ready for tonight?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” Her eyes are stunning sienna brown with flecks of gold. I’ve either noticed the more nuanced shade since she’s been living here or the overhead lighting makes them look different. “It was nice of you to invite them.”
Themis Walt and Dee. I suggested dinner to discuss Walt’s job rather than an in-office interview with HR. Given his past, I thought he’d appreciate not being subjected to the formality.
Walt was the only one invited, but when he asked about Dee, who did end up staying in Viv’s apartment, by the way, Viv told him to bring her. It doesn’t bother me that Dee is joining us, but it bothers Viv. She confessed last night while we were curled up in bed. Her pressed against my chest, my arm around her shoulders. I’m used to her in bed with me, and I’m devising a plan to keep her there longer than a week.
“I’m going to change.” She kisses me again and heads upstairs. She looks amazing, but especially in the outfits Brandy selected for her.
“I’ll join you.” I follow her upstairs and lean against the open double closet doors while she takes off her outfit for the day—a pressed white pair of slacks and a spring-green top. She sweeps aside one hanger then another before holding up a gray dress. When she reaches for a pair of bone-colored high heels, she sends me a derisive look.
It’s for show.
I’ve received few complaints since the first night she entered my closet and found a dozen outfits and as many pairs of shoes lining “her” side. But those complaints were followed by sex in this very closet. I’m fairly sure I’m forgiven.
“Spoiled,” she mumbles as she slips the dress over her head.
“I hope so.” I zip the back of her dress, kissing a line up her spine as I do.
“I never wanted it back, you know.” She turns to confront me. Which makes me want her again. I consider unzipping her and kissing a few more places. “This lifestyle,” she specifies. “It’s ridiculous. Who lives like this?”
“You. Me. About a million other people.” I pull her into the circle of my arms. “Stop worrying how you’ll live without it and enjoy it while it’s here.”
“That’s not what I’m afraid of.”
I want to ask what she is afraid of, but that’s a question for tonight when we’re in bed, not twenty minutes before company arrives.
Downstairs, Odessa removes her apron and hangs it on the inside of the pantry door. The table is set in the dining room, the candles lit, a flower arrangement in the center. “Anything else, Mr. Owen?”
“No, thank you.”
She tells us goodbye and exits the house.
Viv turns toward me. “You’re the only rich guy I know who doesn’t want his chef to serve the meal.”
“I’m capable of serving myself and a few friends. I just don’t want to cook it.”
Her smile falls when the doorbell rings. We go to answer it together, a unified front. That’s different, but not uncomfortable. Walt is wearing jeans and a button-down shirt. The creases in the sleeves from where it was folded suggest he bought it recently.
“I borrowed your dress,” Dee says to Vivian.
