Page 30 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

“ H ey, Monty.”

Collins glances up from her phone at the sound of my voice. She swallows twice before replying, “Hey.”

She looks tired, leaning against the wall across from the elevator. And beautiful. So, so beautiful. Always, but especially waiting in my building’s lobby. For a few seconds, I let myself fantasize, pretending this is a regular occurrence.

“You didn’t have to wait down here.” In addition to my address, I texted her the elevator code and where I keep a spare key.

“I didn’t want to … invade your space.”

“It’s not an invasion if you’re invited.”

She bites on her bottom lip. “I’m not sure this is the best idea …”

So, that’s why she’s down here. Talking herself out of this.

“We said boundaries, Kit,” she adds.

That was part of my pitch to convince her to stay in New York and at Kensington Consolidated. So far, it’s been pretty successful. But …

“We also have a lot to talk about, right?”

All our last conversation established was that she was keeping the baby, remaining as my assistant—at least for the time being—and that I wasn’t going to skip off into the sunset solo.

We haven’t discussed her moving. Her changing jobs.

Telling my family. Not to mention what happens after the baby is born.

Child support and custody arrangements and day care and holidays and birthdays and weekends.

It’s one of the reasons I asked her to come here rather than offering to meet Collins at her apartment.

I want her to move in with me. Being in the same place will make co-parenting a lot easier. I have plenty of space. She’ll save money on rent.

Practically, it makes sense. Realistically? I’m not anticipating an easy agreement.

Collins has focused on the paper bag I’m carrying.

“Hungry?” I ask, nudging the Up button on the elevator with my elbow. I’m not above luring her upstairs with the promise of food.

“Starving,” she admits.

“Cocktail wasn’t very filling?”

That comment earns me a dirty look. I don’t miss the slight upward curve to her lips though, which tells me she found my question a little funny .

“No, it wasn’t.”

I chuckle as the doors slide open, stifling a sigh of relief when Collins follows me inside. The doors shut, and the elevator starts to ascend a second later.

I lift the bag I’m holding. “At least we have food if it breaks down.”

She rolls her eyes. “Have you lived here long?”

“Since June,” I reply.

Collins nods, sucking her bottom lip in between her teeth as she leans against the brass railing.

My money makes her uncomfortable, and it’s one of many things that’s always intrigued me about her.

I’m accustomed to women treating time with me like literally winning the lottery—eagerly agreeing to luxurious vacations and ordering the most expensive wine on the menu and dropping hints about designer accessories they’ve always coveted.

So, it figures that the one woman I’m tied to for the rest of my life argues about me buying her dinner.

“There’s a pool,” I state. “And a full gym. Plus a twenty-four-hour doorman. My place has private rooftop access.”

Collins’s expression remains impassive as I list off the amenities.

It sounds like I’m bragging, but this isn’t me trying to impress her.

I’m trying to highlight convenience more than anything.

A safe, easy place to exercise. Someone to help with packages.

The roof? Yeah, maybe that was plain old boasting.

But she should see the nighttime view of Central Park. That’s what sold me on this location.

The elevator stops a few floors shy of the top. The doors open to reveal Mrs. Van Lewan, dressed like a butterfly.

She waves when she sees me. “Hello there, Christopher!”

I smile back. “Edna! You look fabulous! Headed up? ”

She preens in response to my compliment, then frowns and opens her purse.

To search, I’m guessing, for the glasses perched on the top of her head.

“You go ahead,” she says, waving a wrinkled hand as she continues to rummage around.

“Forgot my damn spectacles again and hit the wrong button. Aging is a clusterfuck.”

Collins’s eyes widen, and I swallow a chuckle.

Edna is a sweet old lady with a penchant for swearing like a sailor at the slightest inconvenience. Her family’s wealth came from her grandfather’s ship-building company, and we bonded over boats when she showed up at my door to welcome me to the building over the summer.

“Your glasses are on the top of your head,” I inform her.

Edna’s hand flies upward to pat her white curls, nearly losing one of her wings. She locates the glasses a few seconds later. “Thank you, darling. I’ll just—” She smiles, catching sight of Collins. “And who’s this?”

The doors start to close, so I stick a hand out to keep them open. “This is Collins. She’s my older sister’s friend.”

Collins spares a tight-lipped look for me before aiming a polite smile at Edna. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? Psst. Call me Edna, dearest. It’s so nice to finally meet a lady friend of Christopher’s. The only person he brings around here is that handsome Flynn.”

I beam at her.

“Really?” Collins sounds surprised.

I’m sure she pictured a rotating door of women coming in and out of my bedroom. But there are parts of my life I like to keep private, and where I live is one of them. If I’m hooking up with a woman—which hasn’t happened in a while—I’ll go to their place or a hotel .

Edna nods rapidly. “Oh, yes. I had half a mind to set him up with my granddaughter, but I thought he might be too spirited for her—” Edna’s phone starts ringing, cutting her off.

“Oh, dear. Where did I leave that blasted thing?” she wonders, patting the sides of her costume, which doesn’t appear to have pockets.

Collins’s smile is amused now, not just friendly. Spirited? she mouths at me.

Edna neglected to mention her granddaughter is in her mid-thirties.

“Happy Halloween, Edna,” I say. “Have a good night.”

“You too. You too,” she mumbles, distracted by the hunt for her phone.

I drop my arm. The doors shut a second later, and we continue to rise.

“You’re friends with your elderly neighbor?”

I glance over at Collins. “Yeah. Why?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, I get it.” I grin. “You thought I was too self-absorbed to notice anyone else lived here.”

“No. I might have assumed you only flirted with women under the age of forty.”

“Fifty is my hard limit actually.”

She huffs, shaking her head as the doors open again. This time, we’re on the right floor.

“Home sweet home,” I announce, striding down the hallway.

Collins trails behind.

I unlock the front door and push it open, gesturing for her to enter first.

She kicks her heels off as soon as she’s inside, which makes me smile. I follow her as she pads deeper into the penthouse, flicking on lights as I go.

“Wow.” Collins pauses when she reaches the edge of the living room.

The layout of the first floor is mostly open, mainly to maximize the aerial view of Central Park that she’s currently admiring. The scenery was more impressive over the summer, when the leaves and grass were green, but it’s still pretty spectacular.

“Not bad, huh?”

“Not bad,” she agrees, continuing to look around. Her eyes land right where I expect them to. “Do you play?”

I study the Steinway in the corner. “Not really. I just like the way it looks.”

Collins gravitates closer and closer to the instrument, an awed look on her face.

“Play it if you want,” I offer. “It was tuned a few weeks ago. I’m going to go change. Want to borrow something to wear?”

She’s still in her dress and blazer from work.

“Sure,” she replies absently, lifting the fallboard that covers the keys and letting her fingers run over the ivory. Gliding across, not pressing down.

I continue into the kitchen, leaving the takeout on the center island, then down the hallway and into my bedroom. I change into sweatpants and a T-shirt, then grab a pair of joggers that have a drawstring and a college sweatshirt from my closet.

Halfway down the hallway, I hear the music start.

My steps slow as I absorb the sound.

Lili told me Collins was talented. But no one in my family is particularly musical, so that statement didn’t tell me much. I’ve attended plenty of events where a professional was playing, but it never registered as anything more than pleasant background noise.

This is different. There’s no crowd or commotion to distract me from the music. And it’s Collins playing. I’d develop an interest in watching paint dry if that was an activity she was interested in.

I resume a normal pace, wanting a sight to accompany the sound.

I don’t get much of a chance. Collins glances over her shoulder and pauses her playing when I enter the living room, pink flushing her cheeks as she quickly stands from the bench.

“You sound a little rusty,” I comment.

She scowls. “I do not.”

“Prove it.”

Her laugh is wry. “I’m not falling for that trick again.”

“Technically, I fell for it.” I toss the clothes to her. “There’s a guest room down the hall on the left, if you want to change in there.”

Collins nods and starts that way. “Thanks.”

I head into the kitchen as she disappears down the hallway, pulling two plates out of the cabinet and setting them on the counter. I grab the containers out of the takeout bag, fold it up, then walk down the hallway and tap on the closed door.

“Collins? Do you want?—”

“One sec,” she interrupts.

The door opens a second later, and it’s a struggle not to react as I watch her tug the sweatshirt down and pull her hair free from the collar.

Meaning her hair is loose. The last time I saw her hair loose, it was spread wildly across white sheets.

And Collins Tate, standing in my home, wearing my clothes, carrying my baby ? It ignites some primal, possessive urge I never knew existed.