The Bucket List

11.2 The Apartment

The penthouse can only be described as austere. I rub my arms to hide a shiver as we enter the master bedroom—a white, monochromatic monstrosity. Just like the rest of the place.

Something warm and soft settles over my shoulders. "The air conditioning works," Nicholai says dryly. His jacket is comically large on my frame.

Patrick bobs his head, pleased. "It does, indeed." Kiss ass.

I grudgingly face the bank of windows along the eastern wall, peering down at the pavement far...far below. "Nice view," I manage, voice strained.

Nicholai peers at me, curiosity sparking behind blue eyes. "Not a fan of heights?"

"Um." I backpedal, trailing my hand along the edge of the ridiculously large king bed, adorned with grey silk sheets; the material slides beneath my fingers like water. "No."

Nicholai saunters over to the bed. "Shame. You really can't beat the view from up here."

Patrick clears his throat. "If the lady prefers—"

"What does the lady prefer?" Nicholai asks, pausing only once we're close enough to touch.

I have no idea what sort of game this is. Does he often masquerade around with young women like this, playing house? If so, it's a very strange hobby.

Never one to refuse a good game, I press closer to his side, winding my arms around his waist. He glances down at me, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "The lady prefers a large bed. And the bed is certainly big enough," I purr. Surprise—and something else—flickers in his eyes.

Patrick claps his hands together nervously. "Well. Yes. I'll just, ah...wait out in the kitchen."

"Good idea," Nicholai murmurs, brushing his hand along my jaw. My breath catches.

Patrick backs out of the room, wringing his hands. "I hate you," I say through gritted teeth.

"What? It's just a bit of fun." Nicholai grins. "Patrick would probably let us try out the bed if it meant making this sale."

I splutter. "You—you've got a lot of nerve—"

He hums in agreement, running his thumb along my lower lip. "I can't help it if I'm right."

"Would you focus," I hiss, jerking away from him. I shed his jacket and throw it at his chest, ignoring the smug satisfaction on his face. "And take that back."

"It is getting warm in here."

"Nicholai!"

He laughs quietly, shaking his head and shrugging the jacket back on. "Oh, Amara. Come," he says, wiggling his index finger at me before disappearing out into the living area.

"You and your innuendos," I mutter under my breath, following him out of the bedroom.

I spend the rest of the tour trailing after the other two, trying to reign in my growing hunger. But my stomach has other plans, rumbling steadily until finally, Nicholai takes pity on me.

I stare longingly at the fridge while Nicholai clasps Patrick's hand. "We'll take it."

We.

Patrick grins. "You're going to love it here, sir. And you, madam," he adds hastily, nodding in my general direction. I barely notice. I'm still stuck on the fact that he called me madam.

TJ and Gabby are going to have a field day with that one.

"I'll draw the papers," Patrick continues. "We can get you settled in tomorrow—"

"Tonight." Nicholai checks his phone absentmindedly. "If that's possible?"

"Oh. Well. Certainly, certainly." Despite his words, Patrick has turned an interesting shade of puce. "We'll...we'll get right on it, sir. Of course."

"Excellent." Nicholai braces his hip against the counter and pockets his phone. "I'll be available to sign the papers in..." A glance at his watch. "Three hours?"

"Three hours," Patrick repeats. Poor guy. I can practically see the headache forming between his eyes. "Of course."

Nicholai gives him a small, tight smile. "See you then."

"Oh. Yes." Patrick scurries out of the room, sweat already gleaming on his brow.

An ungodly snarl emanates from my stomach. Nicholai grins. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

He nods. "I know a place. Italian. Just down the street—"

"But you need groceries," I argue.

"I'll have my people—"

"Nope." I shake my head. "Have you ever even been inside a grocery store?"

He just stares at me, bewildered. As if the thought has never occurred to him before.

"You're insufferable." I head for the foyer. "Come on. Time for another new experience."

"You can't be serious?" he calls.

"We have three hours to kill," I remind him. "Now, get off your lazy ass and kindly accompany me to the grocery store." At the elevator, I turn and raise a skeptical brow. "Or stay here. Alone. Ruminating on life—"

He scowls and pushes away from the counter. I watch him, apprehension and anticipation warring inside me at his approach.

At my back, the elevator doors slide open. I back inside. Nicholai follows, eyes dancing as he presses close—and then closer still, forcing my back against the far wall. I swallow thickly, heat racing along my skin.

His cologne tickles my nose. "This is cozy," he murmurs, reaching over to press the button for the ground floor.

I stare at a freckle on his neck, willing myself not to lose focus. The elevator lurches, causing his body to brush against mine for a fleeting second. He's just a man, I remind myself over and over again as his eyes snap to my face.

"You're a very convincing actress," he says, that damn smile settling back into place.

Yeah. That's me. Actress extraordinaire.

I shift under his scrutiny. The movement draws my thighs against the soft material of his suit. Nicholai stiffens, breath catching—

The elevator doors open. He steps away, the spell broken. "After you," he manages, voice rough.

The hunger in my belly shifts, becoming more potent. I ignore it entirely, shoving it down, down, down. Not appropriate, I tell myself, stepping out of the elevator. He's my boss.

Sure, the little act we put on upstairs was fun. I can admit that. But this...this has to stop. I can't risk jeopardizing the contract. I won't.

No man is worth the price of my financial freedom.