Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
WEST
For the first time in my life, someone besides one of my brothers was sleeping in my penthouse, and it messed with my head more than I wanted to admit. Showing her around last night made me feel off. As if I was trying too hard, and I came across as pretentious.
But I had to remind myself that it didn’t really matter. I was her boss. By next weekend, I’d be her husband. And a few weeks after that? Her ex. Clean. Simple. Cut and dried.
Every morning, I got up at five, worked out, and took a quick shower. Today was no different. When I came out fully dressed, Ruby, my housekeeper and chef, was setting breakfast at the bar where I always ate.
Actually, she’d set two plates since I’d told her I had a guest. But by 6:15, Blue still hadn’t appeared and her food was getting cold.
“Leave them,” I told Ruby, nodding to both plates before heading across the penthouse toward the guest room. I knocked, lightly, but with purpose. I didn’t want to come across as a psycho, but I also didn’t want her thinking she could just ignore our schedule.
When she didn’t respond, I considered texting. But my phone was back at the bar, next to my half-eaten breakfast. Instead of going back, I turned the handle and walked in.
She was still in bed, of course. Hair spread across the white pillow, one arm flung above her head, one leg sticking out from the covers. She looked peaceful. And if I wasn’t on such a tight schedule, I might’ve let her stay that way.
Instead, I clapped my hands loudly together to get her attention. “Blue. The stylist will be here any minute and you haven’t even eaten. Wake up.”
She moaned and turned over, fully ignoring me.
“Come on,” I said, moving closer and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Wake up, Blue.”
She rolled back toward me, blinking at the light pouring in through the windows. “This bed is the best thing I’ve ever lain on.”
I cracked a smile. At least she was enjoying something I had to offer, even if I didn’t personally pick it out.
“Breakfast is ready.” I clapped again for effect.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and I took that as my cue to back away. I was almost to the door when she flopped back down, pulling the pillow over her head.
“Oh, fuck no, Blue.” I moaned. “Come on. We have to meet with my lawyer, and I have a damn meeting. Don’t go back to sleep.”
“I’m not,” she mumbled. “But I am lying here until the last possible second.”
As if on cue, the doorbell chimed so I raised an eyebrow. “Time’s up.”
She threw back the covers, dragging herself toward the bathroom. She stuck her tongue out at me and gave a half-hearted salute before shutting the door behind her.
“Five minutes,” I called after her, then left her alone.
I stepped into the open living space just as Connie, the stylist I’d used for years, breezed in with two assistants. They were wheeling racks of clothes into the foyer, already setting up with the efficiency I paid for.
“West Brooks,” Connie said with that signature sway of her hips. She was older than me, confident, and always made jokes about how we’d be perfect together. I bantered back occasionally, but never crossed any lines. I didn’t risk what I’d built just to play games with emotions.
Connie had long accepted that I was destined to be a bachelor forever. Always in control. Always professional. So when Blue strolled out of the guest room, rubbing her head and yawning, Connie went right for assumptions.
“You must be West’s niece!” she said cheerfully, extending a hand.
Blue blinked, confused, and slowly shook it, glancing back at me.
“Connie,” I said, walking over and wrapping an arm around Blue’s shoulders, “I said I need a stylist for a woman, but I guess I didn’t specify that Blue is my fiancée.” I looked down at Blue, who was nervously licking her lips, and added, “By this weekend, she’ll be my wife.”
Connie took several steps back until her legs hit the couch and she sat down hard. “You’re getting married?”
“Yeah,” I said with a smile, squeezing Blue gently. “It happened kinda quick.”
Connie nodded in acceptance, but her expression said otherwise. I didn’t need her to believe it, though. I needed Mr. McConnell to. Connie’s only job was to make sure Blue had what she needed to look the part, and maybe help sell the illusion a little more.
Blue still stood stiff in my arms, unsure of what to do.
I rubbed her arm again, hoping to ease her nerves.
Eventually, everyone moved on and did what they had to do.
Connie worked fast, pulling items and taking quick measurements.
I told her time was tight, and she adjusted accordingly as I sat back at the bar and supervised, making sure Connie treated Blue with the respect I expected her to.
Within minutes, Blue had plenty of new wardrobe additions and I took the last bite of my cold breakfast.
“Put those in her closet,” I said, not immediately considering my words.
Connie paused. “Her closet?”
“Her side of the closet,” I corrected. “Eventually, all her stuff will be here, but these will do while we’re still moving her in.”
“S-sure,” Connie muttered, waving to her assistant to follow my instructions.
Then I turned back to Blue, softening my tone just for show. “Blue, baby? You ready to head to the office with me?”
“Sure,” she said, looking every bit the small-town bartender she was. But instead of grabbing her things, she walked over and wrapped her arms around me, making me stiffen at the contact I hadn’t initiated. “What should I wear?” she whispered into my ear.
“For today, what you have on is perfect.”
She wore jeans, a t-shirt, and the same shoes from last night.
Simple. Real. Exactly who she was. I didn’t need her to be some glossy puppet version of herself.
I’d asked her for help because she appeared to be strong and sharp.
When the time came, she’d need to dress up, but I still wanted her to be Blue to her core.
“You sure?” she whispered again.
“Of course.”
She pulled back, snatched a piece of bacon from her plate, shoved it in her mouth, and grinned at me and Connie. “Ready when you are, honey.”
I laughed at her endearment, shook my head, and left Ruby to see Connie out.
When Blue started toward the private elevator we’d used the night before, I caught her hand and redirected her to the front door. “This way, dear.”
“Oh, right,” she said, clearly clueless there even was a front door. But once we exited and crossed the hall to the building’s main elevators, she let out a long, shaky breath. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”
“Just keep being yourself and everything will be fine,” I told her. “Let me do the talking when it comes to explaining us at the office.”
“Right,” she nodded, stepping into the elevator. “You talk, I nod.”