Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Bella
The following morning, I walked into the kitchen and saw Simon sitting at the island, scrolling through his phone and drinking a cup of coffee, his clean, masculine, woodsy scent lingering in the air.
The kind of scent that any sane woman couldn’t ignore.
He was already dressed for work in a charcoal suit and white shirt, with a burgundy tie.
After everything that had happened last night, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Things between us weren’t bad. He apologized, and I accepted.
“Good morning,” he said, looking up from his phone.
“Morning.” I brewed a cup of coffee.
“How did you sleep?” he asked.
“Fine. You?”
“Pretty good. I was thinking last night about how I don’t have your phone number. You should probably give it to me in case I need to get a hold of you.” He tipped the mug to his lips.
“Yeah, sure.” I rattled off my number while he entered it into his phone.
“Thanks. I just sent you a text so you’ll have my number in case you need to get a hold of me.” He stood up, shoved his phone into his pocket, and placed his coffee cup in the dishwasher. “I have a meeting to get to.”
“This early?” I sipped my coffee.
“The client I’m meeting with is leaving for Japan this afternoon. Have a good day. And no pumpkin patches in my house.”
I rolled my eyes and didn’t say anything as he walked to the elevator.
After I showered and got dressed, I grabbed my camera and turned his pristine glass coffee table into a fall explosion.
Harold, the pumpkin, sat proudly in the middle, his bow tie perfectly straight.
I’d spread a soft cream-colored knit throw beneath him, letting the corner hang off one side of the table.
Around him were perfectly placed clusters of orange and deep red maple leaves, tiny white pumpkins, and a few sprigs of eucalyptus.
Three amber glass candles sat at different heights behind him, and a ceramic fall mug sat on a stack of decorative fall books to the side.
I took a step back and stared at the display, making sure nothing was missing.
“You are very handsome, Harold.” I crouched down in front of the table and lifted my camera, taking several shots. These were the kind of pictures that made you want to put on an oversized sweater and curl up with a blanket.
“You, Harold, are a natural.”
I heard the elevator ding, and I froze. Simon had left an hour ago. What the hell was he doing back?
“Simon, before you say anything, I can explain—” I stopped.
A man who looked to be in his early sixties, tall, distinguished, wearing a dark suit beneath an expensive-looking overcoat, stood there, staring at me. The resemblance was uncanny. I was staring at an older version of Simon.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi.”
He glanced around the living room and noticed the autumn explosion I’d created on Simon’s coffee table.
“Am I in the right penthouse?” His brows furrowed.
“Yes.” I breathed out a laugh.
“Are you sure?”
“Uh, pretty sure.”
“And you are?” He continued to stare at me.
“Bella Castle.”
“And why are you in my son’s penthouse, Bella Castle?”
“You’re Simon’s father?” I asked.
“I am. William Montclair.” He extended his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I placed my hand in his.
“Where is my son?” He looked around.
“He left for work about an hour ago. He said something about a client meeting.”
“Damn. I was hoping to catch him before he left.” His gaze returned to the coffee table. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Working.” I smiled.
He looked at Harold and then back at me. “You’re photographing a pumpkin?”
“Part of my job.” I nervously laughed.
“My son allows you to do that in his home?”
I bobbed my head back and forth. “He hates it. But I’ll make sure it’s all cleaned up before he gets home.”
His brows furrowed. “Are you staying here?”
“Yeah. Just for the month of October.”
“Hold on.” He raised his hand. “Simon is letting you stay in his penthouse, with him, for the month?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “There’s a story behind it.”
“I figured there would be. I want to hear it.”
“Your niece, Daisy, is a friend of mine from college. She told me Simon was on a three-month trip and that I could stay here while I was in New York for work.”
“Daisy gave you Simon’s penthouse?”
“She offered me one of his guest rooms.”
“In Simon’s penthouse?” he asked.
How many times was this man going to ask that?
“Yes.”
“Without asking Simon?”
“Yes. But in my defense, she told me that she told him and said he was fine with it. But then he came back two months early.”
“And my son didn’t kill either of you?” I could see the amusement on his face.
“Not yet.”
William chuckled. “I take it he wasn’t pleased.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I said.
“I know my son better than anyone. Mildly isn’t a word I’d use to describe his displeasure.”
“Well, he did try to kick me out.”
“Now that sounds more like him,” he smirked.
“I’m only in New York for the next month. Finding somewhere else to stay on short notice isn’t easy.”
“So Simon let you stay? That doesn’t sound like something my son would do.”
“Reluctantly,” I sighed.
“Very reluctantly, I imagine,” he said.
“You have no idea, Mr. Montclair.”
He walked closer to the coffee table and studied my display.
“There’s an arrangement,” I said.
William turned his head and looked at me. “An arrangement? What kind of arrangement?”
“He agreed to let me stay through the 31st if I follow his rules.”
“His rules?”
“Ten of them. They’re posted on the refrigerator.”
“You’re kidding.” He walked into the kitchen and over to the refrigerator. “Of course he wrote out rules.”
“You don’t seem surprised,” I said, standing behind him.
“Simon was making lists before he could even spell half the words on them.”
I let out a laugh. He turned and looked at me.
“So which rule are you breaking by your coffee table display?” he asked.
“Technically, several. It’s a gray area.”
“I see.” He walked back into the living room, and I followed.
“I can’t believe what you did to his coffee table. Why is that pumpkin wearing a bow tie?”
“That’s Harold.” I smiled.
“Who?” His brows furrowed.
“The pumpkin. His name is Harold.”
“Strange. But I’ll go with it,” he smirked. He looked around the immaculate living room and then back at the coffee table. “Simon must hate this.” He grinned.
“He does. One hundred percent. Last night, he went off on me about making poor life choices.”
“I’m not surprised,” he sighed.
“So, what brings you here?” I asked.
“He has some documents I need for a meeting this afternoon. I’m assuming they’re in his office.”
“His office is down the hall,” I said.
“I know where his office is, Bella.”
“Right. Obviously, you do.”
He started toward the hallway and stopped.
“Bella?”
“Yes?”
“How long did you say you’re staying here?”
“Until October 31st.”
A grin crossed his lips.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. I was just thinking how this might be the most interesting October my son has ever had.” He headed toward Simon’s office.
A few moments later, he returned to the living room with a file folder.
“It was nice to meet you, Bella,” he said.
“You as well, Mr. Montclair. If Simon asks, you didn’t see any of this.”
“I didn’t see what?” He winked.
I smiled and decided that I really liked Simon’s father.