Page 86 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

“It’s not cake, dammit!”

His stare was drier than the Sahara. “You said it was cake.”

“Yeah, well, I say a lot of things. It’s tiramisu, for goodness’ sake. Give it to one of the women you con into your bed. I promise, she’ll fall madly in love with you, and you won’t have to be lonely anymore.”

“Just fuck her and give her some dessert. Is that all there is to it?”

“Pretty much.”

“And to think I’ve been doing it wrong all these years.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, musing, “You seem to have a vested interest in the women I’m with.”

I laughed. Twenty grand, to be exact.

His eyes narrowed as if he’d read my mind.

I batted my eyelashes in innocence. “So, I know this isn’t the most ideal living arrangement—I’d prefer you were back in your frigid homeland, working to sit the next Stalin on the throne, or whatever else it is you do—but we’ll just have to deal with it like two mature adults.”

He was not convinced by his monotone response. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“Easy.” I drew an imaginary line down the middle of the hall with my foot. “I get this part of the hallway, and you can have this part. As for the pool and gym, I get to use them dur

ing the day. You can have them once the sun sets, right after you get home from corrupting good Christian women.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Anything else?”

“Sometimes, I run out of eggs and sugar. In exchange, I’ll make sure to keep condoms on hand in case you have company and misplace yours again.” My smile was all teeth.

“You’ve really thought this out,” he drawled.

“I have.”

“And you even baked for me.”

I bristled. “Well, I didn’t know it was you I was baking for, if it’s any consolation.”

He looked at the dessert in my hands as though he’d never tried sugar before. He nodded toward it. “Chocolate?”

“Arsenic.”

“My favorite.”

He took the plate from my hand and slammed the door.

I sighed.

My neighbors sucked.

Awareness connected me to the door across the hall like a line of static electricity. He was just over there, probably talking Russian on the phone and lounging around in a dress shirt and tie. My skin buzzed with hypersensitivity whenever I changed my clothes, knowing he was so close. My breath caught whenever I heard the smallest noise from the hall, only to realize it was the air conditioner kicking on or Muumuu’s walker dragging across the floor.

I was frustrated with all of it.

This living arrangement wasn’t going to work out, but I refused to be the one to concede and check into a hotel until he went back to Seattle.

We’d run into each other in the hall twice this week, and he’d made it clear I was on his mind about as much as world peace. He’d even gone so far as to ignore one of my cheery, “Good morning, neighbor’s!” completely.

If he could handle this, then so could I.

I fought with my doorknob and the stupid key that needed the perfect wiggle to turn in the lock, an irritable edge biting beneath my skin at the picture Valentina had sent me earlier. Of course, it had been Aleksandra and Christian. They’d seen each other again last night. I bet he let her take off his stupid shirt.