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“Damn right I do, and I’m counting on you, my dear friend, to let me live vicariously through your hot affair with the biker, so please, don’t let me down.”
“Not happening, Frannie. You better find your own sizzling romance.”
As much as I would love to find the right guy, I think he’s a figment of my imagination.
“Things with Chase kind of ruined dating for me. That asshole totally pissed me off. Then Caveman Biker came to rescue me. Seriously?”
“Who said anything about dating? I’m talking about getting down and dirty, girl.”
Frannie bumps my shoulder playfully, drawing a full-body laugh from me.
“That does sound tempting,” I admit reluctantly. “But my life is kind of a mess right now, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Believe me, we’ve all noticed. I think a torrid love affair is just the distraction you need. Have you heard anything about your dad yet?”
“No,” I sigh and shake my head. “I haven’t heard a word from Daddy, and frankly, I’m not all that surprised.”
I’ve always been an afterthought to him, so there’s no reason things would change now.
A knock on the door interrupts our conversation, and I brace myself for Lucky, but it’s Beatrice, the head housekeeper. “Frannie,” she snaps. “Time to get back to work.”
Coco barks at the stern woman, and this time I don’t have the heart to tell him to stop.
Beatrice glares down at the dog, shaking her head. “Keep it up, and I’ll put you to work as well.”
From the look on her face, I think she means it, but at least she shut Coco up, but only long enough for Frannie to hug me and return to work.
Once again, I’m alone, and since I’m avoiding Lucky, I stay in my room for most of the day. To some, it might seem like I’m hiding, but the truth is, it’s self-preservation.
I am not attracted to a hot biker with face tattoos—nope. He’s not my type, even if I do find him slightly irresistible.
Nope, not my type at all.
And I’ll keep telling myself that until I believe it.
CHAPTERNINE
Lucky
There’s a lot of shit that rich people buy just because they have money to burn, like fancy dishes they never use, cars that spend more time in a garage than on the road and don’t even get me started on clothes.
But the one expense I can get behind is a fucking waterfall showerhead. This shit is incredible. First of all, who the fuck even knew a tw0 headed shower was even a thing?
Not me.
But the pressure is perfect, the digital temperature is set to one hundred degrees, and the organic coconut body wash is an entire fucking experience.
I hardly want to get out of the shower with the glass walls, but in my head, I can hear my Greek grandma telling me to stop wasting water, so I shut off the shower and step out.
“Goddammit!” The little yapping fucker Coco, who has grown on me, is sitting beside the white bathmat, which he just pissed all over. “Aren’t you house-trained?”
I swear the little fucker smiles up at me and gives me one bark as if to sayyes, I am house trained when I want to be.
“You’re as spoiled as your owner,” I grumble and wrap the fluffy white towel around my waist. Even the fucking towels are different in this world. If you’d asked me last month about bath towels, I would have said I have too much shit going on to think about them, but now I know—quality towels are the way to go.
I hear a door open, and I know it’s Aria before she comes to a sudden stop in front of the bathroom door.
“Coco! Naughty dog.”
