Page 7 of Mine to Tease

“I was laughing,” I admit. She nods, accepting my admission with no comment on how the unexpected encounter made her feel. How did it make me feel? I shake my head. It doesn’t matter.

Anastasia turns, once more continuing her trek up the stairs. Although, it’s only a moment before she suddenly stops again. “And what do you mean you’re not thrilled about this arrangement?” she asks, spinning toward me.

“Whoa, looking for a round two? You’ve got to give me some sort of warning when you’re going to pump the brakes.”

“Answer the question. This is your building. You can lease it to whomever you want. Why me, if you’re going to be such a prick about it?” At that, Anastasia cocks her hip, placing her hand on it. She’s a defiant little thing, isn’t she?

I lift my hand to the back of my neck, massaging away some of the tension there as I think of the best way to say this. I can’t mention Aidan or she’ll grow suspicious. Men as powerful as him rarely take meetings with low-level individuals like I’m supposed to be. They have people who do it for them.

“Your representative,” I say. “He was very insistent and persuasive that you have this unit. Offered me double the monthly fee just to make sure it went to you. You aren’t aware of the terms?” I ask, knowing damn well she’s not. One, because I gather Aidan didn’t consult her in the making of her arrangements and two, because I just made those terms up.

“Of course I am,” she says. As she lies, she loses her confident pose and moves her hand from her hip to Brinkley. Aha, another tell. “I just figured your attitude would be a little more pleasant given how much money I’m paying you. And, if double a month isn’t enough for a little decency, then I don’t understand why you’d accept.”

“Well, you’re not paying me for my pleasant demeanor, Anastasia. You’re paying me for the room upstairs. Now, are you ready to see it?”

As my words hit her, she purses her lips, but offers me nothing but a nod. Hmm, I bet she’s not used to being spoken to or treated this way. I’m sure men crumble at her feet, either because they’re being paid to or out of sheer admiration for her beauty. But I can’t be so easily enticed or bought like other men, no matter how good she looks walking away from me.

Anastasia turns then and stomps up the remaining few steps to her shop. I give her a large lead so as to avoid another encounter like the one before. Though all it accomplishes is giving me a perfect view of her as she storms away. The tiny muscles in her toned legs contract with each step she takes while the thin fabric of her skirt lifts and falls, creating movement around her ass that is all too mesmerizing. Yeah, Anastasia in a skirt is going to be a problem—for the men who work here, their clients. Hell, maybe even for me.

As Anastasia hooks a right, entering through the doorless entry to her unit, I take a deep breath and refocus on everything about her that is annoying, entitled, and pretentious. Not her soft skin. Not her sweet scent. Not her gorgeous hair, siren-like eyes, or plush lips just begging to be kissed. Not the way she speaks her mind, takes no bullshit, and is clearly unaware of how easy it would be for me to break her. And certainly not the way she looks in that skirt. Yeah, no, I’m not focused on that at all.

“Are you coming?” she says, reappearing at the top of the stairs, wearing a look of frustration I expect to see a lot.

“Yep, mm-hmm,” I say, jogging up the rest of the steps, meeting her in a matter of seconds.

8

I offer Damon one final glare as he reaches me before turning my attention to the space before me. The god-awful music was one thing to overcome, but dealing with him and his arrogance, mischievousness, and all the other words evading me right now may not be as easy of a task. As if any of this is easy. Though, as I inspect the room, I’m reminded of why I’m here and the possibilities that lie before me.

Slowly but surely, my anger gives way to hope. I move farther into the space, taking in the raw wood floors and brick walls, same as the first floor except mine are the natural red tone you see on the exterior rather than painted black. The space itself is rather on the small side, a bit narrow. But it has a good-sized storage closet I can use to store my inventory, a bathroom, and charming character in the way of the antique brick, wood floors, two fireplaces I know must be original to the property, and the three sets of French doors, which open onto the balcony with the most exquisite ironwork.

I move about in silence. It’ll require a lot of work before it’s operational. The floors have been sanded but aren’t stained or painted. Speaking of paint, I’m not sure how this red brick will work with the kind of inventory I plan on stocking. I want this place to be a romantic haven for women, an escape just as much as a place to buy a cute dress or piece of lingerie. I’m thinking pastel pink or lilac walls, maybe mauve-painted floors for a touch of warmth. The fireplaces I’ll paint white and top their mantels with gold-framed mirrors, bouquets of flowers and some candles. Perhaps I could even sell the scents I choose to burn. Hmm. My mind runs wild with possibilities, so much so I put Brinkley down to do some exploring of his own while I process my thoughts.

I could put a clothing rack on the back wall, a few tables throughout for more clothes, intimates, select shoes, handbags, and, of course, jewelry. I’ll use my connections with designers to bring in a variety of things—some more affordable and others more luxury. And, like all the finest establishments I’ve shopped at, I’ll have complimentary drinks and treats for my customers. Champagne and macarons, anyone? This will be perfect. I’ll have the most stylish and Instagrammable shop in town. Although, where to start?

I find Damon staring at me as he props himself up against the wall between two sets of the French doors. What a way to ruin a gorgeous view? Realizing that those windows offer my only natural light, I make a mental note to shop for chandeliers.

“Can I help you?” I ask, acknowledging his unwanted presence. He smirks and pushes himself off the wall. As he takes a few steps toward me, my brows furrow, and I bristle at his advance.

“Calm down,” he says, noticing the shift in my stance. “I just need to go over a few things per the terms of the lease, and then you’re on your own.” It’s then that I notice the slip of paper in his hand. Oh, right. I give him a nod as he tells me how to access the security system and lists off my restrictions. No structural changes, no smoking, and on and on. None of his demands draw any complaints from me. That is, until he reaches the pet policy.

“Excuse me. I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” I ask. Damon pauses as I cross my arms over my chest, and his eyes shift just past me, drawing my attention to the back of the room. I gasp. “Brinkley, no!” I say, rushing toward him. But I’m too late. Assuming the position, he drops the biggest deuce of his life, and the smell rivals that of the New Orleans stench. “Aw, Brinkley!” Ignoring me, Brinkley takes a few steps away, kicks his feet, and then runs off to stand between Damon and me, waiting for me to clean up his mess. I guess it’s my fault. I never did find him a place for his morning poo. I thought there would be better options along the way to the shop, but it was a shorter walk than I expected.

“Yeah, so, like I said, no pets. Given the nature of the tattooing process, the little beast is a walking health code violation, and I’ll be damned if I’m shut down because of him,” Damon says, pointing at Brinkley. My skin still hot from our earlier altercation, I’m not willing to fight with him again, at least not today. So, I ignore the dig at Brinkley to pull out his paperwork from my wallet. I hand it to Damon. “What the Hell is this?”

“It’s a fuck you to your pet policy,” I say. “Brinkley is a certified emotional support dog, and therefore, he must be with me at all times.”

“Yeah, right,” Damon scoffs. “Who’d you pay off to get this forged?”

“Excuse me?” I mean, I did have help getting Brinkley approved, but how would he know that? I shake my head. It was just an off-handed, rude remark, Anastasia. Nothing more.

“Nothing.” Damon shakes his head, handing me back the slip of paper. “Fine, just keep the rat up here with you. You can use the stairwell off the back to take him out to relieve himself throughout the day.” Okay, that does it. Beast? Rat? Damon moves toward the back of the building, opening a door with a bright red exit sign over it.

“Don’t call him that! He’s not a beast or a rat. He’s a purebred Pomeranian and he has better manners than you.”

“Really?” Damon asks, turning toward me with an arched brow. “He just shit all over the floor. I guess the bar for manners is real low around here.”

“He couldn’t help himself,” I say. “We couldn’t find any grass on our way here, and even where I live, I’m surrounded by nothing but concrete.”

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