Page 54 of Crash

“Do I like it?” I swept my gaze around, trying not to gawk like a tourist at the soaring ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a glittering city view. “Have you ever met a human being who doesn’t?”

He shifted his weight, and I caught something unexpected in his expression. Was that nervousness? The great Blake Morrison, brilliant doctor and owner of this spectacular penthouse, actually seemed to care what I thought.

“I don’t let many people up here,” he admitted.

“Seriously?” I spun around, unable to contain my disbelief. “If I lived in a place like this, I’d host dinner parties every weekend. Hell, I’d invent reasons to throw parties.”

“Well, I work long hours.” He shrugged.

I cocked my head, studying him. “And if you didn’t? Would you host parties then?”

His pause told me everything I needed to know.

“No,” he finally admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I suppose not.”

I returned to taking in this alternate universe, where even the baseboards sparkled and everything looked like it had been plucked straight from an architectural magazine. My fingers itched to trail along the foyer table, though touching something that probably belonged in a museum felt sacrilegious.

“Seriously though … this place is …”

“Pretentious? Obnoxious?”

I smirked, meeting his gaze. “I was going to say incredible. Though I have to ask, don’t doctors usually have a zillion dollars in student debt?” At least in the first couple of decades of their careers.

Blake rubbed the back of his neck. “Friend of mine is a savvy businessman.”

“Jace,” I said, memories flooding back of my brother’s endless stories about his infamous college friend. The guy was practically a legend, showing up in business magazines before he’d even graduated. “Your guardian angel of investments?”

“He let me in on something when I probably should’ve been using that money to pay off my loans.” Blake’s eyes met mine, a hint of that old rebellious glint I remembered from high school.

“Looks like it turned out well.”

So, this must be why my brother lived like a king. My jaw clenched.Thanks for the heads-up, Ryker. Thanks for letting your own sister in on this little gold mine.But who was I kidding? He knew exactly why he’d kept quiet. I would never have risked my business savings on a gamble, no matter how much of a “sure thing” it supposedly was.

Blake shoved his hands into his jean pockets—and sweet mercy, those jeans should be illegal. They hugged his hips in a way that made my mouth go dry. Not that I was noticing the way every stitch got to touch him places I never had. Definitely not.

I drifted toward the statue on the foyer table, drawn to the way the light caught the wooden caduceus—twin snakes coiled around a winged staff, the ancient symbol of medicine. It looked like an artifact that belonged in a museum, not perched on Blake’s entry table.

“My mentor gave me that when I finished residency,” Blake said, and something in his voice made me glance over. He was looking at the statue the way most people looked at old family photos. “He said great doctors were like those snakes. Always adapting, always healing.” His fingers ghosted over the wood, barely touching. “I’ve thought about moving it somewhere safer.”

“It’s beautiful.” Just like the career he’d built. Just like his home. And just like his heart.

“So,” he said, rocking back on his heels, “want the grand tour?”

“Before we do that?—”

He held up his palm, stopping me mid-sentence. “Let’s skip the part where you thank me profusely and tell me how guilty you feel for ‘invading my space’ and promise to be a ghost.” His impression of my voice was terrible and oddly endearing.

“How did you?—”

“Know exactly what you were about to say?” Those dark eyes locked on to mine, seeing straight through me, like they always had. “Because you’d rather perform heart surgery on yourself, using a rusty spoon, than accept help from anyone. You’re infuriatingly independent like that.” His lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Some things never change.”

“You’re one to talk,” I shot back.

“At least I never moved next door to a stalker.”

“My neighbor isn’t a stalker!”

“Please.” Something flickered across his face. “I saw how he looked at you, Cupcake. And I didn’t like it.”