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“What I want is to do what I love. I don’t have to worry about money, or work for it. It’s the reality of it. Forcing myself to understand the business, with an eye to eventually take over? That’s a terrible idea for meandfor his company.”
I tilt my head. “And what do you love?”
“Painting,” he says, managing to surprise me yet again. “I mean, I’m not great, or whatever. But that’s what I love.”
I don’t know why I didn’t think of it—he certainly has a creative temperament, not to mention the long hair and unfocused personality. I must have been distracted by the muscles. Artists don’t usually have the six-pack and pecs I can see through his clothing.
“You said your dad’s business is a fashion company, right?”
He nods. “Yeah. He, Arlo Keller, and Eriks Goltz are equal owners of Flawless.”
I inhale sharply. I should have made the connection earlier, but how could I? I wouldn’t imagine that I know the children of three freaking legends.
“Your dad istheMael Fort?”
Everyone knows Flawless, an emerging brand, only fifteen years old and taking the fashion industry by storm on runways. I’m not into that world, but even I have heard of it. The founders are three extremely beautiful ex-models: Fort, Arlo, and Eric Gold.
“Yep. He dropped the Beau during his foray into fashion. He considered it a little too on the nose.”
I gasp. “No wonder you’re so pretty!”
Beaufort laughs good-naturedly. “Aren’t you precious? I’d be tempted to take a bite if you weren’t spoken for.”
I should tell him I’m not spoken for. Because it’s true. I’m completely, one hundred percent single.
Yet I say nothing, other than, “Let’s go back to our equations, shall we?”
* * *
I’m alone tonight, which is hardly surprising on a Friday evening. The guys had a game and I attended, if only to show my support to all three of my housemates—Rhys and Roman on the field, and Violet, next to me on the bleachers. I offered to stay home to watch the pets, Blue specifically, but Roman declined—he’s trying to gradually get her used to spending a few hours by herself.
I’ve never been much of a football fan, even less so after fucking Brandon, the quarterback extraordinaire. He was the worst guy in town, but no one bothered to look much past his letter jacket and cocky grin.
Violet, however, seems to genuinely enjoy the sport, which was handy as she could explain what’s going on to me. But after they smashed the other team, everyone only popped by the house long enough to drop me off, feed their pets, get changed, and then they were out again, the couple on a date, Roman off to god knows where. I decide I don’t need to know how he celebrates.
It’s strange to have this huge house all to myself, even with Blue constantly on my heels. I’ve done some pet sitting here before, but I always stuck to the lounge, and a good book or some schoolwork. Now, I get to relax a little.
Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve grown comfortable here, but it’s still not my house. I don’t want to use the pool by myself—what if something goes wrong? The kitchen, I’m familiar with, so I don’t hesitate to use it, cooking a lasagna big enough to have plenty of leftovers for everyone tomorrow. I catch up on homework as I cook, but in truth, I’ve done little else besides work, so I’m done before my food is ready.
Tentatively, I make my way to the TV. I’ve watched a couple of shows with Vi, but I’ve never been in charge of the remote control. I’m not quite certain how their system works. I decide I can’t possibly mess it up beyond repair, so I grab a beer from the fridge, get on the sofa, and turn it on.
The humongous screen is easy to navigate, and seems to include all video apps known to man and then some. I don’t even know where to start. I open the most recent one, and spend at least half an hour trying to decide on something, daunted by the sheer number of choices.
I opt for a comforting rewatch. The lounge is cozy, the sofas both gorgeous and so plush they always make me want to nap. Just as I’m considering heading to the kitchen to make the bag of popcorn I spotted in the cupboard earlier when a graceful, smooth shadow slinks under my feet.
“Oh, hi!” I coo as the long, tall, slender feline jumps on the sofa next to me.
He stretches, appearing even larger, before butting his head right at my arm.
I immediately obey the prompt, scratching his soft, silky head. No popcorn for me yet.
I know how privileged I am to be graced by his majesty’s presence. Louis, the cat Rhys adopted at our shelter—against my advice, I might add—is a humongous snob. He’s also a cuddle bug, but affection comes on his terms alone, when he wants, how he wants. So far, he’s mostly tolerated my presence, sticking close to his man. I was completely wrong about Rhys; he had the patience to deal with the mini-house cheetah, unlike Louis’s several previous owners. Instead of getting upset with the cat’s quirks and temper tantrums, Rhys seemed to just understand that the boy has standards, and that failing to meet them comes with consequences. Such as peeing in shoes.
As expected, Orion, who dubbed himself Louis’s second-in-command, soon comes begging for pets. Louis doesn’t beg, he demands—the black ball of fluff isn’t quite as haughty yet.
Blue whines at my feet, her big eyes watering as she rues the laws that forbid her to jump on the sofa.
“Aww, sweetie, I only have two hands,” I apologize.
