I open the lid of the pink box on the passenger seat and scowl when I see that I only have three donuts left.
Three out of a dozen.
“I guess there’s a reason I have thighs the size of Colorado,” I mutter and take a bite of a maple bar. “No regrets.”
According to the GPS, I have three miles to go until I make it to my new condo. I like the tall buildings that rise against the clear blue sky. The hustle and bustle of traffic.
And when I turn onto the street where I’ll be living, I grin.
Green.
So much green!
I’ve lived in Arizona my whole life. In heat. Brown and heat. Scoring this new teaching job in the Pacific Northwest is a dream come true.
I’m even excited for the rainy season.
I shimmy in my seat and narrow my eyes as I scan the building.
“Two-oh-three A,” I mutter quietly and then clap when I see the numbers on my new building. “There you are.”
The person I’m leasing from said there’s even a water view from the master bedroom. I can’t wait to sit with my coffee in the morning and enjoy it.
But first, I have to unload my stuff and get settled.
The landlord sent me the code to the front door so I don’t have to hunt for a key. I grab my purse and the last couple of donuts and decide to go up and get the lay of the place before I unload my suitcases.
“Thank God I found a furnished condo,” I mutter as I walk up the single flight of steps. I key in the code and push open the door, feeling myself sigh in happiness.
It’s just so…pretty.
Exactly as described on the site and shown in the photos listed, the space is decorated in a modern rustic style with gleaming hardwoods, gorgeous leather furniture, and a faux fur rug.
The kitchen, done in all white with black accents, is just stunning.
“Good job, Aubs.” I grin and pat my back. “If you had to move across the country with nothing but what you could fit in your car, this is the perfect place to end up.”
There should be two bedrooms. I set the donuts and my bag on the kitchen island and then take off down a hallway. A smaller bedroom with two twin beds sits on one side with a little hall bath, and then I walk into the master bedroom that makes me dance a jig.
A big bed with white linens and blue pillows dominates the space. There’s also a dresser and a chaise for sitting.
But the view captures my attention. Heck, it makes me swoon.
“Hell, yes.”
“Who are you?”
My heart jumps, and my stomach jolts as I spin and see a man walk out of the master bath. He’s tall. He’s frowning.
And he looks familiar.
“The question is, who are you?” Why did I leave my purse—and my mace—in the kitchen?
“You’re in my condo,” he retorts.
“No, you’re in my condo,” I reply and cross my arms over my chest, trying to look mean. “This is two-oh-three A. Mine. If you’re going to murder-death-kill me, I’m going to ask you to take today off and do it to someone else because I’ve had a long drive, and I need to get ready for my new job. Now, see yourself out.”
Is that me, sounding all calm and collected?
I’m never this calm. Or collected.
Seattle is clearly good for me.
“I hate to burst your bubble,” the stranger replies, “but I’m not leaving. I leased this place, and I’m moving in today.”
“But.” I frown. “I leased this place. And I’m moving in today.”
I stomp out of the bedroom and head straight for the kitchen, opening my bag to retrieve my phone.
I also set my mace on the counter, just in case.
“I can show you the lease.”
“Same,” he replies. “Landlord fucked up.”
I blink, open my mouth, then close it again.
“What’s in here?” He opens my pink box and surveys the goods. “These cake donuts are my weakness.”
Before my eyes, he grabs one and takes a big bite.
“So now you’re stealing my house and my food?”
“I didn’t steal anything,” he says with a full mouth. “Well, except the donut.”
“You’re going to have to move,” I inform him. “I already paid for the first month and the security deposit.”
“I paid six months in advance,” he says, swallows, and then smiles. Suddenly, I know exactly where I’ve seen him before.
This is Zane Cooper. The actor. The celebrity.
He must see the recognition in my eyes because his go ice-cold.
“I can’t afford to find a new place,” I inform him. “It took me a month to find this one. And it’s perfect for me. It’s less than six blocks from the school I’ll be teaching at, so I can walk every day. And it’s furnished. Plus, it’s close to the water.”