He’s not a golden retriever like Zach, I think as I walk through the giant sitting area. More like a… golden wolf? A gray wolf. He certainly gives wolf vibes. Protective. Focused. Loyal.
He’d make a devoted top alpha in a pack.
At the end of the living room is the kitchen, a white-marble-island-and-counter combo with a few shiny steel appliances and gadgets. In a prominent position stands a professional-level coffee maker reminding me of the one Sawyer has at his café.
Hm… a coffee lover, too? What are the odds? Feeling firmly in fellow-addict territory here.
For instance, I bet Zach only drinks healthy smoothies for breakfast and has kale salads for lunch. Probably skips dinner altogether. There would never have been any future for us.
Nodding to myself, ignoring the strange little pang in my heart, because of course there was never a question of a future with Zach, I continue my exploration.
I make a beeline for the terrace, of course, and I sigh, twirling among the potted plants and outdoor furniture. Nice.
Then I go back inside and check room after room.
Just how big is this apartment? It’s even bigger than the one occupied by Bee’s pack, and they are five people, though of course they like piling together at night on an oversized bed.
Atticus lives here all alone.
Right?
It feels like an apartment made to fit an entire pack.
Strange. Then again, this is how rich people live. I’ve seen the TV shows. Why am I surprised?
There is an office. A gym. Two empty rooms. Bathrooms. What looks like a storeroom. And the master bedroom.
I stand at the entrance to the room, hesitating to enter. I’m supposed to enter every room, right? How else will I clean?
Although, seriously, what am I supposed to clean? This place is gleaming. No dust to be seen anywhere. No grime. No crumbs on the counters. No stains on the kitchen island.
Damn, I won’t get the satisfaction of cleaning something and seeing the difference.
Yeah, complain about it, Coco. Bitch and moan. ‘Oh God, my work isn’t hard enough. This place is so clean, I don’t have much to do.’
I could read books on my phone. Or grab books from his shelves. But maybe he has cameras watching me, to see if I’m working.
Shit.
That lights a fuse under my ass and I march over to the secret hideaway full of cleaning supplies. Let’s do this. It’s a job and I need money for the rent.
Clean what is already clean. Sure. No problem at all.
It’s just… if he’s living in a spotless apartment, what need did he have of little ol’ me?
20
ATTICUS
Today has been grueling. Meetings on top of meetings with stakeholders and shareholders, and everyone is an opinionated, entitled asshole.
Yeah, they own shares. Sure, they have the right to their opinion. But it’s given me a goddamn headache and the feeling that nothing has been resolved. A waste of a day.
I hate this sort of days. My work is everything to me. I don’t have other priorities, other hobbies. It consumes me.
Not by choice. Once upon a time I gave myself to it, decided it was all I needed, all I had, and now…
Now there is a hole in my life, in my mind, and I don’t know how to fill it. It’s more like… an old wound, aching on days when it rains and I watch the drops run over my tall windows, when I see families cross the street below, hugging and laughing.
