Mark shoved his rolling suitcase down the hall and scowled. “Almost settled; which room’s mine?”
Dustin’s grin had me narrowing my eyes as Mark slowly started trying each of the doors down the hall, frowning as none of them opened.
“You’ll be sharing the bathroom at the end of the hall, and for now, you’ll share the living room.”
I gaped.
Two large white leather couches sat in a gorgeous living room with wood paneling and twenty-foot ceilings. A flat-screen TV hung against the stark wall, and a long narrow fireplace occupied the space directly below it.
The apartment was basically cold and empty, beautiful but weirdly nothing I would ever pick out for myself. Maybe it was because there weren’t many decorations, and things just appeared too clean.
“Both of us?” Mark asked in a choked voice. “Are in the living room? Why don’t we get bedrooms?”
“You will.” Dustin grinned. “Eventually. Mr. Emory is…careful in how he approaches training his interns. If you’ll just read the welcome packets I’ve left on the kitchen bar, please. And if you have no other needs, then I’ll be going.”
He stomped out of the room, clicking the door shut behind him.
I was almost afraid to go over to the counter, but after seeing Mark’s horrified face, I decided that I needed to appear calm and in control, not freaking the hell out that I was going to be sleeping next to him every night and working with him every day.
I had self-control.
Hah, my body has probably already forgotten what he tastes like.
I gulped.
My brain did a little chant, oh, I know, I know! As if it was raising its hand then shouting out for my hormones to hear, Hot whiskey and spice!
I made a face.
Mark backed up like I was seconds away from announcing that I would eat my own young, hands up in surrender.
Good, I was scaring the villain away.
I grabbed the key on top of one of the packets and shoved it into my Michael Kors purse that I still had draped across my body. Then I reached for the packet.
It was pretty heavy.
Huh.
“What’s it say?” Mark asked.
“You can read,” I mumbled, then looked up. “Or can’t you?”
He gave me the finger then grabbed the other packet.
It didn’t seem that terrifying, just a welcoming note from Max himself, a thank you for being part of the company.
And then I turned the page.
Mark’s curse matched my gasp as we both stared at page two.
“No. Way.” I hissed. “We have to test each apartment and room for maximum comfort and hospitality and offer suggestions after each evening? Wait, couch comfort? How is this not a sexual harassment lawsuit, and I’m sure as hell not testing the couch for make-out potential!”
“It’s a prank,” Mark announced. “It has to be.”
“Um…” I kept reading. “We have to test out a total of three penthouse apartments that are meant for rich single clientele, including bedrooms. There’s a freaking checklist!”
“Well, that’s convenient,” Mark said. “Look, we’re adults, it’s fine. I mean, I can understand him being anal about this, all things considered. He wants potential buyers to feel at home while still in luxury.”
“Well…” I sighed, looking around. “I don’t care how much money you have, this feels like a museum. They need more warmth.”
“I thought so too,” he said almost absentmindedly.
And then both of our eyes locked. “That was my suggestion.”
“Mine too.”
“Am I going to need to cover my suggestion boxes to keep you from looking over my shoulder and cheating?”
“I haven’t cheated a day in my life,” he sneered. “Not gonna start now.”
I tapped the packet against my thigh and cleared my throat. “Not even on a girlfriend?”
“Never,” he rasped.
“Oh.” I licked my lips.
His eyes fell to my mouth, then back up.
My body swayed a bit.
And then the doorbell sounded, causing me to jump. I quickly walked over and opened it, thankful that it was a delivery guy with food that smelled like heaven. He looked vaguely familiar, and then it hit me when Mark suddenly spoke.
“Damon?” Mark asked. “Is that you?”
Damon had gone to college with us. I’d had a few classes with him, but he’d hung out with Mark’s group a lot.
Basically, he knew the hatred between us as well as anyone who hung out with Mark. Damn it.
Damon peered around me, eyes huge. “Mark? What the hell man, you live here?”
“Sort of?” he answered, then sighed. “It’s complicated.”
Damon looked back at me and grinned. “Ah, I see, complicated.”
“No, no, no.” I held up my hands.
“Relax.” Damon shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a bit of cohabitation in a sick penthouse with enemy number one. Enjoy your takeout. And Mark?” He did that chin jerk thing guys did when they’d hit their limit on words and maturity for the day. “We should hang soon.”
“Sure.” Mark mimicked the movement back.
Men.
“See ya.” Damon took one last look, grin wide, then walked back down the hall. I closed the door and slump-walked my way back to the kitchen. “At least they’re feeding us.”
“Yeah, and now Damon’s going to tell every mutual friend we have that we’re living together. Fantastic.”
“Sorry, it’s so horrifying to you.” My stomach grumbled as I reached inside the bag and started pulling out all the cartons. Ah, Chinese food. “We should at least attempt to get through the rest of the packet and get along. Pretty sure blood isn’t going to come out of those white couches.”
“Who has white couches?”
I snorted. “Rich people who don’t sit on them?”
“Probably true.” He relaxed, grabbed the cartons, and moved them over to the table in front of one couch, spreading everything out like a feast then coming back for his packet.
I had no choice but to follow.
We ate in relative silence. I chose to eat first then look at the rest of the packet.
Mark, however, chose multi-tasking.
Surprising, but whatever.
He turned to the next page then started to choke.
I slapped him on the back, smack, smack, smack. He finally stopped coughing, eyes watery as he rasped up at me, “I’d say thanks, but I think you left a bruise.”
“I saved your life.”
“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “That’s what I was thinking when my ribs were puncturing my spleen—life-saving strategy, party of one.”
I rolled my eyes. “What has your panties in a twist?”
“Remember that part of the intern questionnaire where they asked your preference of pet?”
I frowned. “Yeah, so? It was probably one of those personality tests like questions that check compatibility.”
“Or not.” He flashed me the page.
“We both chose gecko?”
“We both chose gecko,” he confirmed. “It’s one of our first tasks, keep the boss’s pet gecko alive overnight, which at first look doesn’t seem so hard, but he wants us to take shifts.”