I sigh, knowing Nathan is as immovable on his reluctance to pass anything up in favor of resting as I am about taking money from him. I imagine a girlfriend would probably climb right on top of him and pin him down, giving him no choice but to stay in for the night.
But I’m not his girlfriend.
I shake myself from that fantasy. “Okay, well I need to go wash this goop off my face and then we can—”
I’m interrupted by the sound of Nathan’s phone buzzing on the kitchen counter. I look over my shoulder, but he holds up his hand, signaling for me to leave it be. “Shhh, no one move and maybe they’ll think I’m not home.”
“I can answer it and pretend they have the wrong number.”
“No one believed your French last time.”
That’s true. Tim, Nathan’s manager, made me hand Nathan the phone right away.
N
athan grabs the lime green pillow resting under his head and pulls it up to bury his face in. There’s an odd sense of satisfaction that hums through me because I get to see him like this, because he only lets his guard down with me. “I’m sure it’s just Nicole or Tim wanting another piece of my soul.”
The phone stops ringing.
“Someone is dramatic tonight.”
Nathan peeks over the pillow and lifts a brow. “I’m dramatic every night.”
His eyes shut again, and I let myself have one last good long look at him. He’s lying on top of a pile of clean clothes that have lived in that spot for a week. There are nail polishes scattered all over my coffee table and bills open on the floor. The funny thing is, Nathan is the physical manifestation of order and tidiness, but he’s never once tried to clean up my space. (And thank goodness because I know under the pile of leggings in the corner of my room is an open magazine with a red pen lying underneath, and if he ever moved that pile, I’d have no idea where the red pen is when I need it!) He’s never made a negative remark about how I like to live messy or suggested order in my life. He just lies down on top of my clothes.
I mentally grab myself by the ponytail and pry myself away from Nathan to rinse the cracking mask off of my face. I change into some cute and casual partygoing jeans and a t-shirt, and just as I’m exiting my room, I hear a loud series of quick buzzes erupt from Nathan’s phone in the kitchen. It’s a new voicemail alert. I’m down my short hallway and almost to the living room when Nathan yells, “Hey Siri, play that voicemail.”
I love technology. Giving us these little servants.
The next voice I hear, though, stops me dead in my tracks.
It’s my landlord.
“Hello, Mr. Donelson, this is Vance Herbert…”
I turn around and make eye contact with Nathan, who’s now sitting up stiff as a board on the couch. We both stare at each other for exactly one second, and then we simultaneously bolt for the kitchen. I was closer, though, so I’m the one to get to the phone first.
I pick it up and make a break for my bedroom. Nathan is right on my heels and trying to catch my arms, but I zigzag and evade his grip. Quick, someone put me in the NFL. We sound like a pack of elephants stampeding the apartment building, all while Vance’s voice continues on in a soft, monotone cadence. “I just wanted to let you know that all of the paperwork has been finalized—”
“BREE! GIVE ME THAT PHONE!”
“Not a chance!”
I make it into my bedroom and try to slam the door in his face, but his big hand catches it and thrusts it back open. I lunge to jump over my bed, hoping to make it to my bathroom where I can lock the door. But Nathan grabs my hips mid-jump and hauls me down onto my bed. I grew up with an older sister, though, so I’m practically CIA level when it comes to protecting my stuff.
I shove the phone down into my bra—the one place I know Nathan will never go.
Just as he flips me over so my shoulders hit the mattress and he’s hovering over me, arms pinning me in on either side, we hear the final words from Vance. “…and you are the official owner of the building. I had my realtor pass the keys along to yours and will be calling Ms. Camden to let her know I’ve sold the building and she’ll have a new landlord from now on—but as discussed, I will not mention your name. If you or your realtor could call me back and let me know which name and contact you would like me to give her, I’d much appreciate it. Have a nice day.”
The room goes eerily silent, except for the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. I’m looking down at where his cell phone is silhouetted under my sports bra, and when I lift my gaze, Nathan’s black eyes are staring at me. He looks like a man who just lost everything in a bad hand of poker.
“You…?”
He doesn’t need me to finish my sentence. “Yes.”
Neither of us make an effort to move, and for a moment the shock of it all leaves me frozen. My eyes trace the line from Nathan’s shoulder down his bicep, to his elbow, over his tan forearm dusted lightly with hair, and to his hand pressed into my comforter.
“You bought the whole building?”