Chapter 39
Jamie
The elevator doors slide open, and I step into Ethan's penthouse, my heart still racing from the adrenaline of the day.
The smell of chocolate greets me, and I drag in a lungful of my favorite aroma. Hopefully Marcus left us some desert. After the day we’ve had, I could eat my way through an entire chocolate factory.
Beside me, Ethan moves with careful steps, favoring his left side. His face is puffy, and his jaw is darkening, bruises appearing. He’ll definitely have a black eye tomorrow.
“Come into the bedroom,” I say, starting down the hall. “I’ll rub some anti-inflammatory cream on...” I stop dead outside the open door of his office.
It’s different.
"What did you do?" I ask, walking into the room.
He shrugs, wincing slightly at the movement. "Made a few changes."
'A few' is an understatement. His enormous, bare desk is gone, and so is the wall of leather coated books. Now there are some comfy-looking couches in front of a massive TV that’s playing ESPN highlights. A foosball table is tucked into one corner. In the other corner is…
Wait.
Oh. My. God.
“Is that a snack dispenser?” I demand, walking over to the glass-fronted machine. Inside are my favorite chocolate bars and a whole lot of other candy.
“I redecorated,” he says.
I turn my shocked gaze to him. “Did your interior designer have a stroke?"
He huffs a laugh. “I’ll have you know that I designed this room myself.”
My chest is going tight. My throat threatening to close. “You did all this after I left yesterday? How?”
Another shrug. Another wince. “Paid some people.”
“Of course you did.” I give him a shaky smile. I remember when we were joking about it, and I described my version of an ideal room. Now he’s created it for me.
This is so incredibly sweet and thoughtful. But what else would I expect? I can’t believe I got so scared that I would accuse him of trying to change me. All he’s ever done is help me.
“I wanted to do more,” he says. “To put more of you in here. But I didn’t want to go through your boxes without your permission.”
“My boxes?” I blink at him, confused. “What boxes?”
“The ones from the gym. I had them bought up from storage, and they’re in the guest bedroom. Unopened.”
“The stuff from my old bedroom?”
“And the other things.”
“Other things?” Instead of waiting for him to explain, I head to the guest room to find three large boxes against the wall. I manage to awkwardly tear the tape off the first box with one hand. But when the box opens, I can only gape in shock.
My poster of Micky the Fist is inside, right at the top. It’s not even torn, so someone must have carefully detached it from the wall. Below it are the other posters from the gym, all carefully stacked between sheets of tissue paper.
I stroke my fingers over the precious paper, and my eyes burn. “You saved these,” I whisper.
He frowns. “Of course. Didn’t my foreman tell you they’d packed up all your stuff?”
Now that he mentions it, I remember Petrov saying something about it when I was looking around the gym, but I’d been too overwhelmed to take it in, or to realize that he meant all the posters off the walls, as well as the things I’d left in my bedroom.
“So,” he says. “If you want to stay here, we could redecorate the other rooms together. Your photos could go in our bedroom, and some posters in the living room. Whichever ones you don’t want to take back and hang in the gym, of course.”
Opening the next box, I see my basketball hoop. “What about this?”
“Bedroom,” he says. “We can shoot hoops from the bed. Winner gets to be on top.”
I don’t know whether to laugh, or to cry tears of happiness.
“Thank you,” I say, going to him.
He kisses me gently, keeping his body clear of my wounded arm.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips.
“Because of the chocolate dispenser or the basketball sex games I’m making up in my head?”
“Both.”
He pulls back and looks down at my sling. “Problem is that those games will have to wait until you’re healed.”
“And you.” I lift my hand and brush the tips of my fingers gently against his poor swollen face.
He sighs. “So, while we wait, let’s lie on the couch, eat some chocolate, and you can tell me all about how you got injured.”
“Ugh.” I grimace. “Okay. But before I say anything, you have to promise not to lock me in your tower and stand guard over me forever.”
He looks alarmed. “Jamie, tell me.” He growls the words like the scary dragon he is, and I can’t help but smile as I lean in for another kiss.
“Oh my God, you’re going to hate this story so much,” I murmur.