Chapter 5
Topher hadn’t lied about how small his mom’s house was. It was a classic New Orleans shotgun house, tidy, with just enough space to get by. Cozy, some would call it, if they were trying to be polite.
Despite its size, the place had charm. The walls were covered in eclectic art: bright, bold pieces that gave the space a lively feel. Each room was a burst of color, from the deep blues and greens in the kitchen to the warm yellows and reds in the living room.
Topher, all six feet four inches of him, looked almost comically out of place in the living room, like a giant trying to fit into a dollhouse.
He had changed out of his suit but was still dressed for the office, sporting crisp slacks and a button-down shirt that looked far too polished for the task at hand.
He was crouched under a table, his broad shoulders nearly wedged into the cramped space as he fiddled with the internet router.
“I just fixed the internet,” he announced as he stood, brushing off his hands with the same precision he probably used after closing a big deal. “It was down because Mom plugged an old toaster in next to the router. Completely fried the signal.”
I coughed. “Wait, plugged a toaster next to the router?”
“Yeah, I’m guessing that there aren’t enough outlets in the kitchen.” Topher sighed. “I’ll have to explain to her that Wi-Fi doesn’t mix well with kitchen appliances, especially ones that have a habit of short-circuiting.”
As I looked around the room, my eyes landed on a wall entirely covered with magazine covers. Fortune, Forbes, GQ, Vanity Fair, even some obscure business mags I’d never heard of.
Each one featured a ridiculously good-looking man in a designer suit, striking that classic billionaire pose: chin tilted, smolder dialed to ten, staring off like the meaning of life was hiding just out of frame.
I walked closer. They all looked vaguely familiar. Then it hit me.
They were all Topher. Every. Single. One. Some had him mid-laugh with supermodels. One had him in front of a private jet with “Brodie” emblazoned on the wing in gold lettering.
When I first saw him at the airport—and later at the hospital—I hadn’t recognized him at all.
He was just another arrogant guy in a suit, someone who got under my skin.
But now, seeing these magazine covers, it clicked.
This was the Topher Brodie, the hometown boy who somehow made a gazillion dollars doing.
.. well, something with money. I wasn’t entirely sure what, but apparently, he was good enough at it to end up on the cover of every financial magazine known to man.
The pieces were finally falling into place, and I couldn’t help but wonder how I hadn’t connected the dots sooner.
I cleared my throat. “So, what exactly does your company do?”
Topher’s eyes lit up, clearly thrilled to elaborate.
“We strategically hedge against potential market volatilities through a complex series of predictive algorithms. Then, we leverage these insights to invest at exponentially higher interest rates. We acquire undervalued debt portfolios, which we then dynamically reposition within the market using a proprietary blend of quantitative easing and fiscal alchemy. Pretty fascinating, don’t you think? "
I squinted. “I’ll take your word for it.” Crossing my arms, I glanced at the magazine covers again. “Didn’t know I was dealing with the world’s most eligible bachelor. Should I be asking for your autograph?”
He shot me an annoyed look. “My PR team’s in charge of those. I’d never even talked with half of those women before the shoots.”
“Right,” I said, still trying to wrap my head around being in a fake relationship with a billionaire.
He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, he sounded a bit weary. “It’s all part of the image I’m selling. Looking the part is half the job.”
I glanced back at the wall of magazine covers, and a wave of unease washed over me.
Here was this guy, looking like he’d just stepped out of a fashion shoot.
And then there was me. I was definitely not a supermodel, and not a high-powered businesswoman by anyone’s definition.
My resume was a patchwork of jobs I hadn’t even managed to hold onto.
I couldn’t help but feel a pang of inadequacy.
Who was going to believe that I was dating him? The math wasn’t mathing. It was like adding two plus two and ending up with a potato. How in the world was I going to pull this off?
The reality of the situation was settling in. “Where are we supposed to sleep?” Staying here with him in such close quarters…kind of made me want to throw up.
Topher walked to the only closed door in the house. “This is my childhood bedroom,” he said, giving the handle a tentative jiggle. The door didn’t budge. He frowned, applying more force.
With one final push, the door popped open with a loud creak.
Before we could even take a step inside, a cascade of holiday decorations burst out like an overstuffed closet finally giving way.
A string of tangled Christmas lights flew at us, wrapping around my arm like some sort of festive snake, while a deflated Santa hat drifted lazily to the floor.
“Oh, well, hello,” I murmured, trying to untangle myself from the lights as a plastic Easter egg rolled out and bounced off my shoe.
Topher stood there, wide-eyed, as a few more holiday items tumbled out, including a glittery Valentine’s Day heart smacked him right in the chest, and a Halloween witch on a broomstick landed at his feet with a cackle that echoed through the tiny hallway.
As we stepped into the bedroom, I immediately felt a chill run down my spine.
The room was an explosion of every holiday imaginable.
Christmas lights tangled with Halloween cobwebs, Easter eggs mixed in with Thanksgiving cornucopias, and a giant inflatable turkey wearing a Santa hat wedged in the corner.
But what caught my eye, and made my stomach drop, was the massive, grinning clown face that loomed from the corner, illuminated by a flickering, ghostly light.
“Oh, heck no,” I whispered, taking an involuntary step back.
Topher, oblivious, wandered farther into the room, casually brushing aside a Halloween bat that had swooped down from a string of Christmas lights.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me.
“That.” I pointed a shaky finger at the clown. “That thing. Why is it looking at me like that?”
Topher turned to the clown, a giant inflatable with a face painted in garish colors, its eyes wide and unblinking. A creepy smile stretched from ear to ear, and I could swear its head tilted slightly in my direction.
“It’s just a Halloween decoration,” he said, barely suppressing a grin. “You’re not seriously scared of that, are you?”
“Of course not,” I retorted, but my voice edged toward panic, betraying me.
Topher chuckled and walked over to the clown, giving it a nudge.
It swayed ominously, its creepy grin never faltering.
“It’s just an inflatable, Kathleen. Look, I’ll even deflate it for you.
” He leaned down to find the valve, but just as he did, the clown’s mechanical arm sprang to life, raising a butcher knife in a slow, menacing motion.
“It’s armed!” I screamed, stumbling back into a pile of faux gravestones and knocking over a menorah that was somehow nestled in a bed of plastic shamrocks.
Topher burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as he watched me try to scramble away from the murderous clown. “It’s not armed, it’s automated! It’s supposed to do that!”
“That’s not helping!” I frantically waved my arms to ward off the imaginary attack. The clown’s knife-wielding hand continued its mechanical swing, and my heart pounded in my chest.
Topher, still shaking with laughter, reached over and pulled the plug on the inflatable. It hissed as it began to deflate, the knife-wielding arm sagging pathetically as the clown crumpled to the floor, landing on top of a stack of Fourth of July sparklers.
“There, see? Harmless,” he said, grinning as he turned back to me.
“Harmless?” I echoed, still trying to catch my breath. “That thing was one creepy laugh away from giving me a heart attack!”
Topher wiped a tear from his eye, clearly amused by the whole ordeal. “You’re seriously afraid of a deflating clown?”
“Clowns are bad enough,” I crossed my arms defensively. “But clowns with weapons? That’s a hard no.”
Topher’s face relaxed into a big grin. “I didn’t expect to laugh today, so thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome, I guess.” I rolled my eyes. “I take it this isn’t how your room looked when you were a kid?”
Topher shot me a dry look. “Oh, sure. Every teenage boy dreams of waking up to an inflatable Santa and a bunch of heart-shaped glitter bombs. I guess I’ve been gone so long that my mom decided to use my room for storage.”
He grimaced and nudged a stack of shamrock-covered St. Patrick’s Day hats that were somehow tangled in a mess of Fourth of July sparklers. “And here I thought my worst nightmare was getting roped into a reality dating show.”
I glanced around at the chaos. “At this rate, we’ll be lucky if we can even find the bed under all this.”
We both turned to face the bed. Or what I assumed was the bed, given that it was buried under a mountain of patriotic decorations.
American flags, Uncle Sam hats, and red, white, and blue streamers were piled so high that they nearly obscured a cardboard cutout of George Washington, who somehow managed to remain upright in the chaos.
His stern expression seemed to judge us for even thinking we could sleep in such a place.
Topher sighed, rubbing his temples. “All right. We need a plan. You start untangling whatever holiday monstrosity is hanging from the ceiling, and I’ll try to find the actual bed under George Washington and his army of flags.”