Will she tell Atticus I was swearing on the job?
“Mr. Ford told me to show you where the cleaning products are,” she says and doesn’t look upset, thank God. “This way, please. If you’ll follow me…”
Total luxury hotel vibes. Not that I’ve ever stayed in one, but I watch movies. I know what it’s supposed to look like, including the gold-and-glass elevator.
I may be a glitter-loving omega but this is a bit much. I feel as if someone dropped me inside a bowl of gems and gold. My reflection greets me in the mirrors lining the elevator box, and I look wide-eyed and small standing next to the beta in her power suit and power hair.
She looks professional. She looks like Superwoman, about to spin and transform her clothes into a red and blue suit complete with a cape.
I look like an anime character. A pink Pokémon.
So sexy, Coco.
The elevator stops and the doors ding as they open before I fall down the rabbit hole of comparisons. She sweeps out and… unlocks the only door there.
“The apartment takes the entire floor?” I blurt out.
“Oh, yes. And there is a terrace out back, for the Summer days or evenings.” She smiles at me, a little condescendingly, and pushes the door open. “Here we are. I’m Bridget, by the way.”
“A pleasure,” I murmur, nosing into the apartment, too curious to pay her any more attention. “Oh boy...”
The door opens into an enormous sitting area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city center and Palmer Park by the river. The view is jaw-dropping. The furniture is simple and somber, dark leather and steel, but then my gaze snags on the—also floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering the far wall.
Shelves filled with books.
I almost clap my hands together. Jackpot. One thing I’ll always look for in a man— apart from a growly voice and a big dick, obviously, let’s not kid ourselves—is love of books.
All my friends are book lovers. Hell, Sawyer owns a book café. It should go without saying that any pack I’d choose should be into reading.
“And I am to give you a key copy,” Bridget says, briefly distracting me. She holds out a card. “Here. It unlocks both this door and the building door in case you’re here at night.”
Huh. I reach for the card on autopilot. It’s black and gilded—of course. More gold. “At night?”
“I’m only telling you what it’s for.” She… winks at me.
I clutch the card in my hand. “Okay?”
“Oh, and the cleaning supplies. Right here.” She walks confidently into the apartment, as if she’s been here a thousand times before, and opens a panel cleverly hidden in the wall. “All here.”
I don’t like her so much anymore. Is she friends with Atticus? Is she something more? Why is she so familiar with his apartment? A concierge, as far as I know, remains in the lobby. She doesn’t have keys and insider knowledge of the apartments in the building.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Her heels click on the polished floors as she crosses back to the door. “You know where to find me if you need anything. Mr. Ford said to open the fridge if you’re feeling puckish.”
“He did?”
“He said there is chocolate cake.”
My jaw drops, and before I get any more words out, she leaves, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Excuse me? He bought a chocolate cake for me?
No, wait. Don’t be ridiculous, Coco. He didn’t even know you’d come for sure. He probably likes chocolate cake. That’s all.
A fellow chocolate-fan.
That makes me smile as I set out to explore the apartment. How can a guy who likes not only books but also the black gold be bad, right? Choc-lovers of the world unite. We know how to enjoy life.
Extra confirmation that Atticus is not a serial killer. You know, just in case.
