AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I appreciate the tips,” I tell her as I arrive at our destination. In the parking lot of my apartment building, I turn off the ignition and lean my head back. I left the top off my Audi, so it’s a perfect opportunity to check out the stars.
“Where are we?”
“My place.” I gesture to the tall building. “It’ll make a good story. You describing my apartment will be far more interesting than if I do it.”
I put the top up and then climb out of the convertible before she can argue. She follows suit, meeting me outside of the car. Again I admire the slim pair of jeans that make her legs appear a mile long. Her tank top stretches across her breasts—black with shiny gold dots.
She pulled her hair into a low ponytail for the ride. I mean, of course she did. Like she’s going to allow her hair to go wild? She finger-combs back a few stray strands that have escaped and smooths them against her head. Truth is, she looks cute either way. Smooth and sleek or with a dab of disarray.
“No funny stuff, Fox.” She slings her handbag over her shoulder. “And I’m not drinking more alcohol.”
“You don’t have to drink more alcohol,” I promise as I open the door and let us into the building.
We bypass a quiet lobby that leads to the bank of elevators, but not before Mack in security calls out a “Good evening, Mister Fox.”
I wave to him and hold the elevator doors for Catarina. She steps on and offers a smart-aleck echo of my security guy. “Mister Fox.”
“I’m kind of a big deal.” I smile, pleased when her own smile holds fast. I have a feeling she doesn’t hate me as much as she used to. Typically, I don’t give a rat’s ass if someone hates me or not, but Kitty Cat’s different. I don’t crave approval—never have—but earning hers is a perk.
The elevator stops at floor thirty and she steps off, inspecting the doors lining the hallway. “Which one’s yours?” She points at a door with a sunflower wreath hanging over the peephole and wrinkles her nose.
“Yeah, not mine. I’m not on this floor. Come on.” I walk to the end of the hall and use another key to open a separate entrance to a stairwell. “The elevator’s programming is screwed up. We normally would’ve been able to take it directly to my front entrance.”
“You have a private floor?”
“Yes.” I pop open the door for her. “It’s a short flight of stairs.”
Since I asked her to dress casual tonight, she wore flat black shoes instead of tall, spiky ones. She walks ahead of me up the stairwell as the door shuts behind me. I trail behind, watching her butt wiggle in jeans that hug her hips, thighs, and calves.
“Enjoying the view?” she snaps.
I reroute my gaze to her frowning face. “I was, actually. You have a great ass.”
“Is that what you tell all your dates?” Her lips twist into a bemused smirk.
“Only the ones with nice asses.”
Another eye roll. I excel at getting her to do that. She steps on the landing and tugs on the metal door, but it won’t open. “This is locked, too? What if there’s a fire?”
“It’s locked from the outside only. Can’t be too careful with crazed fans.” Using my key, I unlock a door that enters the laundry room at the side of my penthouse apartment. A light is on in the foyer, illuminating our path and throwing dim shadows into this room as well.
“Nice Samsung.” She strokes the charcoal gray washing machine as she walks by. “This is terribly neat for a bachelor.”
“I don’t like clutter.” I hang my keys on a hook in the foyer before flipping on a few more lights for the living room and kitchen. It’s not overly bright. Just enough so that we can see our way around.
“Wine?” I offer.
She’s taking slack-jawed inventory of my penthouse. I’ve yet to witness Catarina amazed by anything. Not gonna lie, I’m proud to illicit that response from my prickly co-worker.
“Like it?” I decide against wine and pull a beer from the fridge for myself.
She unshoulders her purse strap, plunking it on one of my breakfast bar’s stools. “I like it. Who decorated? Ex-girlfriend? Designer? Your mom?”
I grunt at her assumption. “If my mom had decorated this place it’d closely resemble the inside of a Cracker Barrel.”
“I like Cracker Barrel,” she says kindly. Who knows if that’s true. I can’t picture elegant Catarina Everhart in the country-style restaurant famous for its sawmill gravy.
“Wine, Kitty Cat?”
