When I’d hidden in his closet that first day, I’d been too scared to notice, but he had everything organized by use and then color. The man had more clothes than I did. He had drawers with rolled up ties that reminded me of the opening sequence ofFifty Shades of Grey, then he had another drawer with socks, and another one with cufflinks and watches.
His wardrobe was any woman’s wet dream. But the man in the clothes from the wardrobe was a sinner’s paradise.
The penthouse was organized, too. The fridge done in a way I’d had to figure out at first. Nobody stored onions next to Nutella . . . they either went in a cool, dry cupboard or in the chiller section at the bottom of the fridge, right?
Nope.
Not Finn.
Apples went side by side with BBQ sauce, and a jar of pickles was followed by those microwaveable pots of brown rice—who put rice in the fridge?
Finn did.
Why?
Because everything was in alphabetical order.
I mean, his cupboards were full of food, too, and they were in the same order, but there were just random things stored side by side. As though only he understood the way of it, and ironically enough, I knew he didn’t cook for himself. Didn’t even go grocery shopping for himself, for Christ’s sake. Had he asked a housekeeper to arrange that stuff for him? He had to have.
His office?
His desk was neat as a pin.
No papers anywhere.
Not because he was worried about me reading anything, but because he dealt with everything as it came, even if he’d been doing something else. The man was a machine. I’d seen him work while I cooked, and had come to see how he shifted gears when he received a call before going back to his original task.
The man fascinated me.
Was it any wonder I was in his thrall?
I bit my lip, wanting to say that to him, tell him how I was feeling, but I wasn’t sure if it was wise. Sure, we’d be getting married ridiculously soon, but I wasn’t ready to tell him anything earth-shattering.
I guess, deep down, I wanted him to know what he meant to me, but the only way I could do that was by sounding sappy. I knew he appreciated the way I worked.
It seemed like I constantly surprised him. Whenever he asked me anything, or stated it as an order like with the postponement of the bakery, he was always hesitant, almost like he knew I’d argue. I liked that he was wary, though. I’d never raised my voice at him, hadn’t had to so far, but he knew I’d fight if necessary.
It pleased me that he knew that without us having had a fight yet. It told me that I’d comported myself well around him. That he knew, just because I’d roll over at his command when I was in his bed, didn’t mean I’d do the same in life.
He was a Points man. He’d gotten me into his bed the first time because I’d had no other choice but to do as he wanted, not if I hadn’t wanted to ruin my father’s career, and yet, somehow, he’d seen beneath that veneer to the real me.
I didn’t reply to him in the end. Instead, I texted Jenny.
Me:Hey you. Fancy a coffee later on?
Jenny:Hey!! OMG, you’ve been ghosting me. Bitch!
I had to laugh.
Me:Nope. Just really busy. It’s been crazy on this end.
She put the frowning emoji, mostly because she knew that I was never busy unless I was in the kitchen at the tea room. Which, ya know, didn’t exist anymore.
Me:I’ll explain another time. Coffee?
Jenny:No can do, girl. Had to get some shifts at Al’s. Just to tide me over until you get the bakery up and running.
That had me wincing. Shit. I felt so bad considering the tea room had closed down with no notice, and though I’d paid her and my other two staff members a few weeks’ wages to help them out, it was nothing in comparison to a steady income.