13. Amara
Chapter thirteen
Amara
I wake up to Pumpkin licking my face.
Liam used to hate it, but it never really bothered me. I like to think it’s her way of giving me little kisses.
What does catch me off guard though, is the light spilling in through the sheer, white curtains.
I blink a few times, my brain slowly booting up, trying to recall where the hell I am and if I’ve somehow entered an alternate universe, until it finally hits me.
This isn’t my apartment, or an alternate universe.
I’m in a New York Penthouse.
My boss’s penthouse.
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I sit up and glance around the room, trying not to gape like I did when I first walked in last night. But it’s impossible. The hardwood floors gleam, polished to perfection, the vanity across from the bed looks like it was ripped straight out of an old Hollywood set, and the bed…
God, this bed.
Stretching out on the mattress, I sink into it deeper, wondering if it’s made of actual clouds.
I could write a poem about this bed.
It probably wouldn’t be good, considering I’ve never written a poem in my life, but I’d still try.
Rolling onto my stomach, I grab my phone off the nightstand, only to see a series of missed calls lighting up the screen.
Crap.
I completely forgot that the news of our engagement would be plastered everywhere by now.
I swipe through the notifications, my stomach sinking with each one.
A few more texts from my sister, along with a string of missed calls from my grandma.
But then, my eyes catch on something else. I linger on his name, the sight sending a weird, unsettling feeling through me.
Liam :
You’re engaged? What the fuck?
My heart clenches. I haven’t heard from him since he broke my heart. And now, after seeing me with someone else, he wants to contact me?
I stare at the message for a moment, wondering what on earth his message even means. But there’s no point in replying.
I can’t deal with him now. Or ever again, really.
What would I even say to him anyway?
I ignore his message, swiping away until I see a chain of texts from Sophie.
Sophie :
Are you kidding me?
How did this happen?
Why don’t I know about it?
What is going on?
I close my eyes, hating that I’m lying to them. The engagement was supposed to be a solution to Nicholas’s problem and my chance to finally get what I’ve always wanted. But it feels like everyone and their dog has something to say about it. Social media, the news—hell, even my hairdresser probably knows by now.
My thumb hovers over the reply button, but I can’t bring myself to type anything.
The lie feels too big, too tangled, and I don’t know how to get myself out of this.
I swipe all the messages away and set the phone down.
I know I’m avoiding the inevitable conversation. I’ll have to talk to them eventually.
But not today.
Today, I’m going to pretend I don’t have to deal with any of it.
At least, until I go to work.
I shuffle out of bed, dragging the covers with me, and head straight for the wall of windows hidden behind thin curtains. My eyes widen at the sight in front of me, the entire city sprawled out below me. I’ve lived in New York for over five years, but I’ve never seen it like this.
How the hell did this even happen?
Last night, I was on the arm of a billionaire, announcing to the world that we’re engaged. And today? My entire world has flipped on its head in less than twenty-four hours, all thanks to my boss. The man who casually told me to move in here like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like he wasn’t offering me a place big enough to fit my entire childhood home.
“I need coffee,” I mutter, dragging myself away from the stunning view before my brain starts spiraling.
First order of business? Shower. Second? Caffeine.
I shuffle toward the bathroom, my eyes widening when I enter the bathroom. It’s insane, like something out of a luxury magazine. Double sinks, a massive mirror, and a shower that looks like it belongs in a five-star spa.
The shower in my apartment had the worst water pressure known to man, not to mention it was crusted with limescale. But this? This is what dreams are made of.
I can’t wait to step into this thing.
I strip out of my pajamas, letting them pool on the marble floor, and step inside the glass-walled shower. Reaching out, I twist the sleek gold knob, anticipation building as I imagine the warm water hitting my skin.
Nothing happens.
“Huh?” I twist it the other way, frowning.
Still nothing.
I jiggle the knob, giving it an extra push this time. Not a single drop of water.
“No, no, no…” I mutter, twisting it again with a bit more desperation. I press my palm against the wall for leverage and give the damn thing one final turn.
Still. Nothing.
“Are you kidding me?” I groan, dropping my head against the cool glass door.
All I wanted was a nice, hot shower to clear my head and maybe wash away the insanity of the past twenty-four hours.
“This cannot be happening,” I mutter, my forehead still pressed against the glass.
Grabbing a fresh, white towel, I wrap it tightly around myself and head for the door. Maybe there’s someone around who can help. Nicholas mentioned he had a maid who came in the mornings. Maybe she’ll know how to fix the shower.
With one hand clutching the towel and the other reaching for the door handle, I pull it open and—
Wham .
I slam right into a solid, very male chest.
“What the—”
A deep voice rumbles above me, and I stumble back, my brain struggling to catch up.
And then it happens.
The towel slips.
It takes a beat—one painfully long beat—for my brain to process the situation. But by the time reality sinks in, I’m standing there. Completely. Butt. Fucking. Naked.
In front of none other than my boss.
“Oh my God!” I yelp, frantically grabbing for the towel as it falls in what feels like slow motion.
Nicholas’s jaw tightens, his gaze snapping upward to the ceiling as if it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “Amara,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, “what the hell are you doing?”
“I—I didn’t think you’d be here!” I stammer, clutching the towel to my chest as if my life depends on it. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat, my face heating like I’ve been set on fire.
“Clearly,” he mutters, his tone dry.
His eyes flick downward for half a second—just a second—before snapping back to the ceiling.
I scramble to readjust the towel, fumbling so badly I’m surprised I don’t drop it again. My fingers have apparently forgotten how to function, and I’m left clutching the towel like it’s a shield against my growing humiliation.
This cannot be happening.
“Why are you here?” I blurt out.
His brow lifts, though his gaze remains firmly fixed above my head. “I live here.”
“Well, yeah, but—I thought you’d left for work by now.” I gesture wildly with one hand before realizing it’s better to keep both hands on the towel.
His eyes finally meet mine, dark and unreadable. “Can I ask why you’re wandering around… like this.”
“I wasn’t wandering,” I sigh. “The stupid shower isn’t working.”
“And your solution was to walk out here naked?”
“I didn’t know you were home.”
“Well, I am.” Silence stretches, and his eyes flick down, landing on the towel and then back to my face. “What do you mean the shower isn’t working?” he asks.
I lift my shoulder. “I mean it’s broken. Or cursed. Or both.”
His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. “Cursed?”
“It’s not my fault,” I grumble, tightening the towel around me. “I twisted the handle twice, and nothing came out.”
“Must be a problem with the plumbing. That bathroom hasn’t been used in years,” he replies, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Maybe you should’ve mentioned that before I got naked,” I mutter under my breath.
His lips twitch. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly.
He crosses his arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe. “You can use mine.”
I blink at him. “Yours?”
“Yes, Amara. My shower. Unless you’d prefer to stay like this all morning?”
His gaze flicks to the towel again—a flicker so quick it might as well have been imagined, but the tightening of his jaw says otherwise.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”
“Don’t argue,” he cuts me off. “This is your place now, too. I’ll get someone to fix the other one. In the meantime, you’ll use mine.”
I open my mouth to protest, but his tone stops me. Instead, I nod, mortified and flustered.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t know you were here and—”
“Stop,” he cuts me off, stepping closer. His hand brushes my arm, warm and firm. The touch lingers, his fingers curling slightly as if deciding whether to let go. Then, with a soft sigh, he does. “Don’t apologize.” His jaw ticks. “ Please .”
“Okay,” I murmur.
“Come on.” He turns and gestures for me to follow, his stride confident as he moves down the hall.
I hesitate, clutching the towel tighter before trailing after him, my thoughts spinning. My boss. His shower. Naked. This is going to be a long morning .
My mind is still spinning with the mortifying image of him walking in on me, rolls and all, as Nicholas leads me down the hallway.
He doesn’t say anything, the only sound is the soft click of our footsteps on the hardwood floors.
Just before we reach the end of the hall, he stops in front of a door, pushing it open. His room is even more intimidating than mine—dark, sleek, and impossibly neat.
“The bathroom’s through there.” He tilts his head, nodding toward a door on the far side of the room.
“Thank you.” I hover awkwardly, unsure if I’m supposed to say more, but he doesn’t move, his eyes lingering on me just long enough to make my pulse quicken.
Gathering what’s left of my dignity, I shuffle toward the bathroom. But before I can reach the door, his voice cuts through the silence.
“Amara, I think it’s best if you stay at home today.”
I turn, startled. “What?”
“Our engagement is everywhere, and people will have questions. The press will be crazier than ever. Stay home. Let me handle what I can. Just until it dies down a little.”
I press my lips together, reluctant to argue, and nod.
He gives a single nod in return before adding, “And from now on, you’ll be riding with me to work.”
I blink at him, trying to process. “What are you talking about? I always take the subway.”
“Not anymore,” he replies. “Not while you’re my fiancée.”
I freeze, my brain short-circuiting at the casual way he drops the word. “Nicholas. We’re not actually—”
“We are, as far as anyone else is concerned,” he interrupts. “You agreed to this arrangement, and that includes letting me take care of you.”
“I didn’t agree to being chauffeured,” I reply, my arms folding across my chest instinctively, even though it nearly dislodges the towel.
His gaze flickers downward briefly, and his lips press into a thin line, as if he’s holding back a comment. “You’re living in my house, Amara. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re safe.”
“I don’t need a ride, Nicholas. I can manage just fine on my own.”
He takes a step closer, the space between us shrinking. “You’re not taking the subway. End of discussion. Now, get in the shower.”
Without another word, he turns and strides out, leaving me standing there in my towel with a boatload of conflicting feelings.
Heading into his bathroom, I close the door and let the towel pool at my feet, before stepping into the shower. It’s as sleek and luxurious as the rest of his space, with dark tiles and gleaming fixtures. The water is hot, cascading down my back, washing away the tension knotting my shoulders.
I close my eyes, letting out a sigh of relief as I smooth my wet hair back.
Maybe living here won’t be so bad after all.
That is, if I survive my boss’s very distracting presence.