Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
LULU
“See you tomorrow,” Scarlett says with a sleepy smile. “I’m gonna go pass out for the next twenty-four hours.”
“You’re not working tonight?” I ask her.
“Nope. I’m gonna sleep and eat and do some laundry. Do you work tonight?”
“No, actually. I’m going to get some sleep, too, and then I’m going to cook.”
Scarlett’s eyebrows climb. “What are you going to cook?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” With a smile, I pull my phone out and pass it to her. “Give me your number, and if it sounds good to you, you’re welcome to come eat with me.”
She pauses. “I can’t come up and eat at the penthouse.”
“Why not?” I frown at her.
“Because I’m not allowed to be up there.”
“I live there,” I remind her. “And you’re my bestie. I’m inviting you.”
She takes the phone from me and plugs in her number. “Please just check with Mr. Alexander first, okay?”
“If it makes you feel better, I will. But it’ll be fine. Go get some rest.”
With a smile, I get into the elevator and press my hand to the glass for the penthouse. I came up right after work to change into the only leggings and T-shirt I have before going back to the gym to work out with Scarlett.
My muscles are going to ache tomorrow.
I step off the elevator and smile at the guard standing there and then smile again at the one in front of the penthouse door. There’s only one, so Rome isn’t home yet.
Which is kind of good. I need a shower and a little time alone.
I didn’t like that he went into the playroom earlier, which is totally stupid. This is his club. Of course, he makes the rounds and walks through the place. It doesn’t mean he’s touching anyone, or having sex, or even checking them out.
But yeah, the green-eyed monster appeared for the first time in my life.
I kick out of my shoes and carry them to the bedroom, where all my things are, but then I frown. I don’t know that Rome is okay with me being in his personal space. I know he said I’m living here, at least until things are settled with my father, but that doesn’t mean I’m living here.
I venture out and down the hall and find a guest room that is obviously rarely used. But the bed is nice, and it’s a good-sized space with an attached bathroom, so I decide to make this my home base.
I transfer most of my clothes to the closet and then the few toiletries I have to the bathroom, then check out the kitchen downstairs before I shower and go to sleep.
I wasn’t kidding when I said I could permanently squat in this kitchen.
It’s a chef’s dream with at least a square mile of counter space.
Gorgeous white marble countertops and a huge island make the room so bright.
The cabinets are light wood and stocked with all the tools I’ll need, including a gorgeous pasta maker just like Iris’s. Yes.
The six-burner gas stove is something I see in my sleep, and the fridge is enormous.
I could easily cook for twenty people at a time.
With a little shimmy, I pull out my phone and make a list of grocery items I want to stock the shelves and the fridge with.
I’m going to bake brownies later, and I’m going to make pasta from scratch with homemade marinara and meatballs.
Maybe even some bruschetta, but I’ll need to bake some bread if I do that.
I shimmy again and then head up to my new bedroom to take a shower and get cozy. I don’t know where Rome is, or when he’ll be home, and I don’t want to text him and bother him when he’s working, but I need to send this shopping list to someone.
Luke.
I decide to send it to Luke.
Me: Rome told me I should make a grocery list. Here it is. If anyone has any questions, I’m happy to answer them. Thank you.
I send it off and then start the water in the shower, and while that heats, I wipe my face with makeup wipes and brush out my hair so it doesn’t tangle as much when I wash it.
The hot water feels divine on my weary muscles. There’s even a handheld nozzle that I take down, set on blast, and press to my lower back.
I’m tired. I’m used to being on my feet a lot, but not for long shifts behind a bar. It’ll be good to have a night off.
Although I do plan to be on them in the kitchen all day. Does that count? I don’t know.
With a smirk, I hang up the nozzle, then shave my legs, wash my hair, and step out to dry off.
After moisturizing my face, I find a blow-dryer—the expensive kind—in a drawer and use it to dry my hair, which takes half the normal time with this awesome appliance.
When I step out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a towel, I jump when I see Rome leaning in the doorway.
And he looks pissed.