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BEAU: Cop out Timmy, picking the color of your wife’s eyes.
RYAN: God you’re so pussy whipped Timmy.
MAX: Are you buying us matching shirts or something David??
TIMMY: Fuck off the lot of you. Bunch of pathetically single suckers.
What the fuck have I started? Also, how did every single one of them have a favorite color ready to go? Now my phone won’t shut up because Ryan and Beau are calling Timmy out that there’s nothing pathetic about being single. Ryan’s started including photos of women that he’s recently been on dates with. There area lotof them, apparently.
Dropping my phone again – ignoring the incessant buzzing – I tip my head back, my hands clamped behind it as I stare at the ceiling, willing inspiration for a favorite color to come to me. Nothing does though. I don’t have a favorite color. Fuck. Ihave to go eat crow now. Blowing out a breath, I shove out of my chair, pocketing my phone and making my way upstairs with all the anticipation of a condemned man on his way to be executed.
There’s no sign of damage to the glass door out onto the rooftop terrace, thank God. That would have pissed me the fuck off and made eating crow impossible. When I emerge, I blink in the sunlight. Stepping out into the warmth, my eyes find Anica, drinking red wine, curled up on the sofa. It’s only noon. Shit. I must have really pissed her off.
At the sound of my footsteps, she turns her head and glares angrily at me. Okay. I guess her time up here drinking hasn’t helped her cool down. Sighing, I cross to the bar, pouring myself a whiskey and heading over to drop onto the couch across from her. Anica is still glaring at me like she wishes the ground would open up and swallow me whole, so I go with what I hope is an apologetic, yet charming smile.
“Sorry.”
She stares at me in silence. Okay. Not the reaction I was expecting.
“I’ve just learned that I’m apparently the only person in the world without a favorite color.”
Still nothing. The woman is chiseled out of stone.
“Unless you don’t have one too?”
“Red,” she grunts back, turning her head to look out over Central Park. That explains the ugly, shapeless sweater she was wearing the day she arrived. Today is another shapeless monstrosity. This one is dark blue.
“Red’s nice,” I agree, and she turns back to look at me again. “So is navy blue. Especially in a professional setting.”
Anica studies me for a long moment and sighs, nodding. I hope she realizes that this was a major concession from me, and not something that happens often.
“I don’t think interviewing you is the way for me to get to know your personality. Clearly, it just rubs you the wrong way.”
Yeah. It really did. I have no idea why, but it irritated the hell out of me. I blame still being annoyed at last night’s outcome. I nod in agreement.
“What do you suggest?”
She shrugs, taking another sip of her wine. “That I shadow you for a bit. At work, going about your normal life. That kind of stuff.”
I make a face, but nod. Exactly what Uncle Bill wanted her to do initially. Before I tried to rush things to get her out of my home ASAP.
“Okay. But maybe make that your last glass of wine. I’ll organize for us to see my cousin for dinner tonight. That should give you some insight into who I am.”
Anica sniffs and takes another sip, but she gives me a curt nod. Nodding back, I take my whiskey and leave her to it. As I head back downstairs, I shoot Max a message.
DAVID: You at work?
MAX: It’s one o’clock on a Wednesday. Of course I’m at work asshole.
MAX: Why? Where are you?
DAVID: At home. Had a thing. I’m coming to dinner at yours tonight. Bringing a guest.
MAX: Ohhh. Sounds interesting. I’ll organize a date and see you at 8.
God, he’s such an asshole. I almost message him to say that I’m not bringing a date, but shove away my phone with a smirk. It’s going to be much more fun if I don’t tell him. Let him meet Anica and draw his own conclusions. I look forward to trying to guess what they are from his facial expressions.
Chapter Eight
