Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
The process goes smoother than I expected.
Anita handles it—a woman who looks to be in her mid-twenties, all long, glossy black hair that she flips every so often like punctuation.
Her red dress is tight, her heels high and loud.
She’s the one assigned to program my fingerprint into the system so I can access every elevator in the building—especially the ones leading to Jaxon’s private residence and the garage, where a parking space awaits me, should I ever decide to drive my own car.
“You also have free access to our rental car service through Jaxon,” she says after asking me to test the elevator by pressing my fingertip to the glass pad.
A green light flashes. The doors slide open. Everything works.
“Perfect,” she says, satisfied.
She steps in beside me. Once the doors close and the elevator begins its silent climb, I catch the full force of her perfume.
It’s nothing like what the WAGs wear—sweet, sophisticated, the scent of restraint.
Hers is heavy, almost edible, wrapping the small space until I can taste it. The air thickens. My stomach turns.
“Jaxon is one of our premier residents. He’s so personal and down-to-earth. All the girls love him. You know…” She shrugs a shoulder. “He’s the best.”
I smile. This is the part where I’m supposed to say something to prove I agree—that he’s so damn great, the best boyfriend in the world, and how lucky I am to have found him. Something like that.
But all she does is trigger a memory I’ve worked hard to suppress—successfully, until now. Jaxon, too close, his lips near mine, my desire battling my will. This little thing between us isn’t real. It’s fake and will always stay that way.
Thankfully, she doesn’t require a response. The doors slide open, revealing a sun-drenched entryway that feels more like an art gallery than a hallway. We step onto polished concrete floors, reflecting the natural light pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows just beyond.
“Wow,” is all I can manage as I take in the shimmering blue of the Pacific, the curve of the marina, and the clusters of anchored boats bobbing gently in the harbor.
“I know. It’s quite stunning, especially for one gorgeous, single man.” The way her eyes flit across my face—she’s looking for a reaction.
I fold my arms across my chest, letting an old, uncomfortable sensation ripple through my stomach. The last time I felt this way was when Blaine broke my heart—known publicly as ladies’ man Toby Lane.
I don’t want to feel this way, especially not while Anita continues her tour, showing off a stylish living room with low-profile Italian sectionals anchoring the wide-open space.
A glass coffee table disappears almost entirely into the design.
I never thought of Jaxon as an art person, but among the succulents in concrete planters are a few well-chosen abstract murals that add tasteful pops of color.
One side of the room features an enormous television mounted to the wall.
“He likes hanging out in this room,” she says, eyes again drifting to gauge my reaction.
The more she drops these little hints about knowing Jaxon personally, the easier it is to forget our elevator moment earlier. That? That was a game. He was trying to seduce me into submission.
Well, it didn’t work.
Cue slightly jealous girlfriend.
“And you know this how?” I ask, injecting the perfect amount of agitation.
“Oh…” She chuckles happily, oddly satisfied. “Sometimes he calls for help, and I come by and he’s here, watching TV. Or I help out with room service, you know.”
I can’t help but grin at how obvious she’s being—which isn’t exactly on script. I should be a little infuriated, not amused by how hard she’s trying to stake her claim on my fake boyfriend.
“Oh, and speaking of room service,” she continues, leading me into the kitchen, “you have 24-hour access for all meals. You seriously never have to cook. Concierge handles laundry and dry cleaning. There’s daily maid service.”
Why would Jaxon have a kitchen like this if he never intended to cook in it?
It’s a proper chef’s kitchen, outfitted with high-end stainless steel appliances and a full barista setup.
I probably won’t need my plug-in tea kettle after all.
The floating curved island, lit from below with a soft ambient glow, adds to the illusion of weightlessness.
Its edges are wrapped in sleek wood paneling, and the top is a slab of pristine white marble.
She keeps going—shows me a state-of-the-art workout room, a theater where she claims Jaxon reviews game footage (again, how does she know?), a sauna, jacuzzi, and even a massage table.
“Let me guess—you sometimes massage him?” I ask, smirking.
“I’m a trained masseuse,” she announces proudly.
I burst out laughing. “No way.”
Her eyes widen, clearly unsure what’s funny.
I shake my head as my laughter fades. “So, um, does he get happy endings?”
Her jaw drops. “Excuse me?” Her face pinches into something between offense and scandal.
I tilt my head, surprised by her reaction. I know her type. They love to toe the line and then act offended when someone calls them on it.
“You’ve been hinting at how well you know my boyfriend since we started this little tour, and now you tell me you’re his masseuse…”
“I didn’t say that,” she snaps, defensive. “Don’t tell him I said that—you’d be lying.”
I narrow my eyes. Frankly, I’m over this tour. I’m tired and ready to be alone.
“Okay, whatever. Where’s my bedroom? Did Jaxon tell you where it is?”
Without a word, she stomps off like a petulant child. I follow her down a long hallway lined with private rooms until she stops at one that feels like a five-star coastal retreat.
The moment I step inside, I feel calm. Muted tones of sand, cream, and driftwood gray create a sense of quiet luxury.
A king-sized bed dressed in crisp white linens and layered with a peach cashmere throw sits beneath a large abstract canvas in soft ocean hues.
Walnut nightstands hold sculptural lamps that cast a warm, ambient glow.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a partial view of the marina.
“You have blackout shades all around,” Anita says, clearly annoyed now. She demonstrates how they work.
Her tone shifts toward professional again as she shows me how to open the media cabinet and use another massive television.
Then we enter the spa bathroom. She demonstrates the heated marble floors.
I take in the freestanding soaking tub under a skylight, a walk-in rain shower with floor-to-ceiling stone tile, a teak bench, eucalyptus bundles hanging from the brass rainfall head, a floating double vanity framed in pale oak, soft-close drawers, creamy quartz counters, backlit mirrors, and heated towel racks.
I didn’t expect this level of luxury. I might need to step up my home game. Still, I’m genuinely impressed with Jaxon’s taste.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing back in the bedroom.
A card and a bundle of silver-foil chocolates rest on one of the pillows.
“Looks like a note,” she says.
I pick it up. It’s from Jaxon.
Remember, Sweet.
JM
I snort and roll my eyes.
“We’re done. Goodbye,” Anita says, turning on her heels and leaving abruptly.
It’s only when I start to drop my jaw in response to her dramatic exit that I realize I’m smiling.
I don’t think she liked how much Jaxon’s little note made me grin.
And there was nothing to be jealous of. Had she stuck around a moment longer, I might’ve even read it to her. Not that she would’ve understood.
Oh well.
I pop a chocolate in my mouth and head to order lunch.
Oddly, and thankfully, my appetite’s back—and I’m starving.