Page 45 of Reluctantly Yours

“You saw my apartment. Don’t make it a thing.”

He sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. “Fine. Add it to the list. But my desk is off limits.”

My eyes return to the solid wood structure that is Barrett’s desk. Similar to his office, it is clean except for a lamp and a laptop computer. If Barrett was to have sex on his desk, a passionate sweep of all its contents wouldn’t even be necessary. He probably has a specific spot marked for a woman’s ass, maybe a couple of ‘place hand here’ signs if he’s bending her over it. Now I’m thinking about Barrett having sex at his desk. I want to pretend it would be mechanical but something tells me his art history degree isn’t the only surprise in this room.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

“Right,” I say, flustered those dirty thoughts about Barrett have again entered my brain.

On the way upstairs, Barrett walks us through the kitchen, informing me that Rose, his housekeeper, is here every day from seven to five. She oversees shopping, cleaning and other errands for the house. The pantry alone is larger than my apartment.

“Where is the food?”

“Dimitri prepares my meals and portions them out.” Barrett opens the refrigerator to reveal neatly stacked foil tins each labeled for the day and meal. I glance over the options. Mostly protein and a vegetable.

“No cheat day, huh?” I say, then reach for the freezer handle.

It’s empty.

“Do you even realize how much ice cream you could fit in here?” I ask.

Barrett’s response is to roll his eyes and start walking. I think I’m rubbing off on him.

I follow him up the natural wood staircase, stopping as we go to admire the art collection on the wall.

“Marcus will pick us up for work at eight o’clock sharp. Be ready.”

“I like to walk, especially now that I’m this close to my office.”

He nods, clearly indifferent about how I get to work.

“You can stay in this room.” He opens the door to the first room on the right.

Inside there’s a gray wood canopy bed with soft, white bedding. At the foot of the bed, a turquoise sofa sits under a white pearl chandelier. A coordinating oriental rug in teal, ivory and mossy green peeks out from under the bed and sofa.

“It’s perfect!” I exclaim as if Barrett hand chose everything in it for me, which he did not. He didn’t even know I’d be seeing his home until an hour ago. I take my response down a notch. “It’s nice. Thank you.”

I turn to find Barrett staring at me from the doorway. His once perfectly styled hair is now perfectly messy from the humidity and sweat that it endured. And his hands. They’ve been working through his tresses ever since I walked through the front door.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

“Yes. That would be great. Just point me in the right direction.” I glance down the hallway. “Unless you wanted to go first.”

I don’t even let my mind entertain the idea of Barrett naked in the shower.

“Unlike your apartment, there are multiple bathrooms here and none of them require a reservation system.”

“You’re hilarious,” I say, my tone devoid of humor.

Barrett moves to open the door on the left side of the room and it appears I have my own bathroom now. I think I might actually start to cry.

I’ve never had my own bathroom. Not growing up when I shared a bathroom with my two sisters, not when I went to college and used communal bathrooms, and definitely not at my current apartment.

There’s a huge soaking tubanda separate shower stall. A double vanity withtwosinks. I guess that’s what double means, but how the heck am I going to choose which one to use? I’ve never had access to two sinks that at least two to four other people haven’t been clamoring to get to. Maybe I’ll use one for morning and one for night. That makes the most sense.

There are white fluffy towels stacked on a shelf next to the shower. They’re so fluffy, only two can fit on the shelf. If I were a gymnast, I could do an entire floor routine in this room.

“Will this do?” Barrett asks from the doorway.