“Yes,” I replied.
“Good. I’ll lock up when I leave. But I need ice cream to move on from this,” she said, then headed down the hallway.
I figured the ice cream would lead to her watching Netflix, too, so I went over and closed my bedroom door before crawling into bed.
Sleep didn’t come as quickly as I had hoped, but when it did, the dreams came too. Dean Finlay showed up in all of them.
Managing not tothink about Dean the next day at work was easy since I’d been given the task of taking the paper files and converting them to digital. The computer crashed twice because it’d needed to be replaced five years ago. There were incomplete and missing files. My right heel broke. I started my period and had forgotten to bring a tampon, and to top it all off, it was eighty-three degrees in the filing room.
When I walked into my apartment, where the air conditioner kept the temperature at a lovely sixty-eight degrees, I dropped my bag on the floor and basked in the cool … until my eyes landed on my sofa.
No. Notmysofa, but a sofa.
Slowly, I walked around to the other side of the sofa and stared down at it. The cushions were so big and full that it appeared you could sink into it. The square armrests were wide enough to set things on, and the color was closer to a slate gray than a blue. One single yellow chenille throw pillow was in the center, brightening the piece up. I didn’t move. I just stared. It was brand-new and the nicest thing I had in this apartment. The other living room furniture looked sad in comparison.
After the initial shock wore off, the anger set in. He’d come in my apartment when I was gone. He’d taken my old sofa and replaced it without my permission. Just because he owned the building didn’t mean he got to decorate other people’s homes. I paid him rent for this apartment. It was mine. He had no right, coming in here when I wasn’t home. He could see things. Pictures. Cam’s room. This was my private place. He shouldn’t have been in my apartment.
I stalked toward the door and slammed it as I headed to the elevator. He was going to bring my sofa back and take this … this … very luxurious replacement away. When I got in the elevator, I realized there was no button for his floor. The penthouse floor required a special code to make the elevator go to that level.
I pulled my phone from my pocket to text him.
I need to talk to you. Now.
I sent it and waited. It didn’t take longer than a minute before he replied.
You don’t like it?
Damn him. Anyone would like the stupid sofa. It was fabulous. That was not the point.
Now, Dean.
Go to the elevator. Press 3, 2, 1, then press 3 twice very quickly. I trust you’ll not share that with anyone.
I pressed the numbers the way he had said, and the doors closed immediately. When the elevator began to rise, my hands fisted at my sides. He was so high-handed. I didn’t care about his stupid fame. I didn’t need his money. My sofa was fine! I hadn’t asked him for a new one. No insurance would pay for that kind of replacement. He’d been in my home without me there. So many things were wrong with this situation.
The elevator doors slid open, and there on the other side stood Dean, at his open doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. His chest was bare. All of his glorious tattoos and his pierced nipple on display.
I would not be distracted.
I started in his direction, not looking any lower than his eyes. I was angry, dammit. Not here to see him half-naked.
“I tried to go with a pearl or cream-colored one, but Clara insisted that you couldn’t do a light color,” he said with a shrug.
I paused and placed a hand on my hip.Clara? She was in on this? Dang it!
Now, I couldn’t be completely mad at him. I had to share that anger with my best friend, who had meant well but crossed a boundary. Which didn’t shock me. She was always crossing boundaries. She should have known I wouldn’t want him in my apartment. That just made sense. Privacy and all.
“I’ll deal with her next,” I said to him. “She didn’t pay for it, and she didn’t help herself into my apartment without my permission.”
His eyebrows rose, and he made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Ah, not exactly true. She used the key you’d given her and was there for the people who picked up your sofa and the people who delivered the new one. I’ve personally not seen inside your apartment. You’re a tenant after all. I respect your privacy.”
I cursed under my breath. “I’m taking my key back,” I muttered.
Then, I was relieved that he hadn’t been in my apartment. That Clara had handled it all even if she stepped out of line to do it.
Dean chuckled. “Can I offer you a soda? Slice of some fucking delicious cherry pie that Mrs. Jo made me? Or perhaps a beer?”
I dropped my hand from my hip and ran the other hand over my hair with a sigh. Right now, all I could think was that Dean was guilty of buying me a sofa I hadn’t asked for. It seemed my best friend was the one who should be the receiver of my anger. At least most of it.