4. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
ANDREA
The rich and earthy smell of cinnamon fills the air as I dance barefoot around the kitchen with a wooden spoon as my microphone—music blasts from the speaker on the counter.
When there’s a knock on the front door, I grab the speaker before running and sliding with my socks across the floor. “Coming!”
This place is changing me. I’m in a different world up here; I can be whoever I want to be when the world stops watching.
It’s a dangerous thing to feel untouchable.
Even though I find myself getting more enthralled with this lifestyle, a part of me still senses the impending doom of my reality check that’s surely going to send me overboard on an already sinking boat.
It’s been a week and I’m already dreading the instant I’ll have to leave.
The moment I open the door, my best friend, Maisie Dupont, joins my shenanigans without hesitation to the soundtrack of “Promiscuous” by Nelly Furtado featuring Timbaland.
Running into the sitting room, I jump on the couch, singing at the top of my lungs. She dances with me, laughing at the moves I know I’ll feel tomorrow. Her honey-blonde hair bounces with her movements and a wide smile takes over her face.
We dance until we’re breathless and by the time the song ends, we’re both flat on our backs in the middle of the floor.
Her sharp blue eyes meet mine and my heart squeezes at the realization of how much I missed her. She’s been in California filming a new movie for the past two months and our phone calls have been pretty slim. I’m glad she’s back in the city—granted, who knows for how long.
I think that’s what drew me to her in the first place.
She’s good at going with the flow and taking life as it throws itself at her.
Carter introduced us in the most nonchalant way ever.
I was still new to the city and struggling to make friends when he took it upon himself to set up a “meet-cute” by tricking us both into a blind brunch date.
We were both confused and able to build a friendship over a mutual vendetta.
While mine has been long since buried, hers is still strong.
That was all back when her career as an actress was only beginning. To say she’s growing fast might be an understatement. She’s noticed by fans six times out of ten whenever we go out. It’d be annoying if I wasn’t so proud of her.
“I think we should always greet like that,” she pants, laughing.
I blow out a breath. “That was fun, right?”
When I look over at her, she’s looking around the apartment. “This place is fucking sick.”
I push myself up onto my elbows and she does the same. Sighing, I admit, “It really is. I think I could stay forever.”
“Uh oh.”
My brows furrow at her tone. “What?”
“You’re totally falling head over heels, aren’t you?”
“No!” I say, my voice squeaking. “I have it completely under control. In fact, I have an apartment tour this afternoon.” I’m lying to myself—I don’t have it under control whatsoever, but I am meeting with a real estate agent this afternoon.
It’s the first response I’ve been able to get since applying to dozens of applications.
Between juggling work, studio sessions for sanity, and apartment hunting, I’m feeling pretty burned out.
All I have are these little beautiful moments of playing pretend with an insane view.
Maisie opens her mouth to respond but pauses, her button nose scrunching as she sniffs the air. “Is something burning?”
My eyes widen as my heart drops to my stomach. “My frittata!”
I lunge off the floor and charge toward the kitchen. I hurriedly put on oven mitts, fling open the oven door, and pull out the ruined frittata that I will undoubtedly still eat.
Maisie comes around the corner as I close the oven to trap the smoke, waving a hand to avoid inhaling it. “Oh. It’s not too bad,” she states unhelpfully.
The alarm sounds around us and we both freeze, staring at each other in horror before jumping into action.
I climb on top of the counter and start fanning around the alarm with my mitts and she turns the oven off before using a dish towel to fan the air.
It feels like forever and a minute before the alarm finally stops.
“Never a dull moment, huh?” she chides, on the verge of laughter as she slumps over in exhaustion.
I try to give her a stern look, but it has no backbone. “A dull moment would actually be nice every once in a while.”
She taps her black nails on the surface of the counter in thought. “Since when do you cook?”
“What do you mean?” I ask as I climb back down less than gracefully. “I cook. . .things.”
“Really?” She frowns. “Then why have you never cooked for me?”
I place my hands on my hips. “Why would I cook for you? You have a private chef on call.”
She sighs but still pouts. “I suppose that’s valid.”
My phone dings from where it sits next to the glass stove top, alerting me of a new message. I already know it’s Carter without looking. He’s been sending me new listings daily, refusing to be unhelpful. It’s super annoying.
“Tell Carter to get a life,” Maisie says, knowing him well.
“I tried. He told me he wouldn’t dare.”
“He smothers you.”
My brows rise to my hairline. “Is that hostility I’m hearing in your voice?” I ask. “I thought you said he didn’t get under your skin.”
There’s always been a strange rift between my best friend and my cousin. I’ve never been able to put a finger on it. One minute they act like they’re disgusted with each other and the next, they’re cracking jokes. The two of them in the same room usually gives me a migraine.
“He doesn’t,” she responds coolly, brushing invisible crumbs off the counter and rubbing her hands together. She presses a smile onto her face and then asks, “So, what’s the deal with this guy, anyway?”
I reach for my now room-temperature coffee. “What guy?”
Lifting a brow, her index finger twirls in the air. “The one whose apartment you just almost burned down.”
“Oh, him.” I shrug, taking a sip of my coffee. “I have no idea. Carter was pretty cryptic about it.”
Her mouth tugs downward as she looks around skeptically. “Do you think he’s famous? I might know him.”
“I’m still pretty stuck on the fact that Carter knows someone who owns guest towels.” It was the first and last time I took a shower at Carter’s when the water went out at mine. I had to stand in the middle of the bathroom and air dry . I shiver at the memory.
She snorts. “It is odd.” Her mouth twists to the side in thought. “You don’t find it weird that you don’t even know who owns the place you’re squatting in?”
“I don’t see why it should matter. It’s not like I ever have to meet him. Though, I wouldn’t mind making it known that it’s me who brought his plants back to life after Carter attempted to murder them.”
“There has to be something here to identify him with.” Oh great, she’s ignoring me.
I watch her eyes narrow before the light bulb flashes above her head and I already know it’s a terrible idea.
She takes off down the hall and I know she’s going to the Master bedroom.
I know this because I’ve already thought of this before, but I was too chicken.
“Maisie!” I yell as I chase after her. “It’s not right to go through people’s things!”
“What do you care, you’ll be out of here soon enough,” she tells me, reaching the door. “He could be a serial killer and hoard the heads of his victims in his mattress for all you know.” Twisting the knob, the door swings open. “Oh shit.”
I’m panting by the time I reach her. “Have you been watching crime television withou—Woah!” I freeze in the doorframe, whereas Maisie lets herself into the room. It’s bigger than the one I’m staying in. Much bigger.
“It’s like walking into Narnia,” Maisie breathes, twirling and then trust falling onto the large, very neatly made bed.
“Be careful,” I hiss, and when she ignores me I add, “What about the severed heads?”
That gets her attention, and she shoots upward like her ass was bitten.
Since I’m already here, I let myself look around.
I creep in on the tips of my toes. There’s a big round pillar in the corner of the room and on either side of it are the floor-to-ceiling windows.
There’s a plush leather chair where I can imagine the owner sitting to stare out over the city with a glass of scotch on the rocks.
He probably wears a perfected brooding look on his face as he mentally checks off the people he screwed over in the stock market.
“He has not one, but two freaking walk-in closets!” Maisie exclaims in excitement, and I follow, finding exactly that.
Two sliding doors reveal gigantic walk-in closets.
“And he has taste,” she says with approval in her tone as she feels the fabric of one of his suits.
“It’s Brioni,” she breathes, sounding winded. “I think I love him.”
“You are being ridiculous,” I tell her, grabbing her shoulders to steer her out of the closet.
“How are you so underwhelmed right now?” she asks, looking at me over her shoulder.
I huff. “I honestly don’t understand why a man would need so many clothes.” Releasing her, I close the door behind us, glancing around the room to make sure nothing is out of place.
When I turn back around, I find Maisie staring at me with her arms crossed, and a brow arched.
“What?”
“You are being so high strung right now.”
Scoffing, my head draws back. “I am not.”
She pokes her fingers into my shoulder. “You totally are. Do you have a thing against fashion?”
“No,” I defend harshly, swatting her hand away. “I don’t know the guy! Like you said, he could be a murderer for all I know. ”
I brush past her and find another sliding door.
I push it open, half-expecting another closet, but instead, it reveals a bathroom with black marbled floor tiles and a gray countertop.
A long mirror stretches across the wall in front of two sinks.
On the left, is a huge glass shower. My eyes fall on the white freestanding bathtub.
The idea of bathing with the windows feels scandalous in a freeing sort of way—especially since no one would be able to see. Damn it, now I want to get in his tub.
Everything is so perfect and tidy that I’m almost afraid to move.
However, Maisie doesn’t feel the same as she barrels past me, heading straight for the shower.
“Don’t leave fingerprints!” I warn.
She waves a nonchalant hand at me. “Relax, would you?”
“This is a huge violation of privacy.” I pinch my shirt, fanning it. “I’m starting to stress sweat.”
Turning to look at me, she says, “We didn’t even get any information on him yet.”
“Why does it matter who he is?” I ask before exhaling a harsh breath.
She purses her lips. “I guess it doesn’t really, I just wanted to be nosy.”
My head falls back dramatically as I close my eyes. “Can we get out of here before I break out into hives?”
She laughs and then I feel her loop an arm through mine, guiding us out of the luxurious bathroom. When we both double-check that everything is exactly as it was, we leave the room and close the door gently behind us.
I let out a breath of relief, but my nerves still feel a little wired. “You know, I’m not totally against raiding his wine cellar.”
Maisie tosses me a look of approval. “There’s my little daredevil.”
I don’t mention that Carter already told me the owner wouldn’t mind. We start making our way back to the kitchen and I feel my shoulders start to loosen. “You just have to promise me that I’ll make it to my tour this afternoon.”
YEAH, that didn’t happen.