Page 31

I swipe it against the panel, the door clicking open with a soft beep. “Okay. Door’s open. I’m leaving now.”

Eli steps past me, tossing his keys onto a sleek black console table. “You hungry?”

I blink at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“Dinner. Have you eaten?”

“No. Why?”

He shrugs, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll order something.”

“I don’t need—”

“What if I need help opening the containers?” He cuts me off, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

I narrow my eyes. “I’m pretty sure you’re capable of opening takeout boxes.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He smirks. “Chinese okay?”

I sigh, giving in because I’m starving and honestly, I’m too tired to argue. “Fine. Chinese.”

We bicker over the menu for a few minutes, settling on dumplings, fried rice, and some spicy noodle dish he insists is the best thing ever.

While he makes the call, I wander into the living room. It’s massive, all floor-to-ceiling windows and modern furniture straight out of Architectural Digest. No personal touches though. No photos, no knick-knacks. Just clean lines and ridiculous luxury.

Eli is fucking rich. Like, disgustingly rich.

I sink into a gray leather sofa, letting it swallow me whole. The view alone is worth more than my life savings.

“You’re making yourself at home,” Eli says, strolling in.

I glance up at him. He’s leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me like I’m more interesting than I actually am.

“Hard not to,” I admit, waving a hand at the room. “This place is insane.”

He grins, pushing off the frame and walking toward me. “Insane in a good way?”

I roll my eyes. “Obviously.”

“Good.” He plops down beside me, way too close for comfort. “Food will be here in twenty.”

Great. Now I’m stuck here for at least another half hour.

“Thanks for letting me drive your car,” I say, trying to fill the silence. “Even though you tricked me into taking the long way.”

“You’re welcome.” His tone is so smug I want to escape.

Instead, I settle deeper into the couch, trying not to notice how the space between us keeps shrinking. His thigh brushes mine, and I pretend not to notice.

“So,” he says, his voice dropping, “what’s your deal with dogs?”

“What?” I glance at him, caught off guard.

“In the elevator. You practically jumped into my arms.”

“I did not,” I lie, my cheeks heating.

He chuckles, low and rough. “You did. Don’t worry, I didn’t mind.”