Page 230 of The Billionaires

“We’re here,” Adrian says when we approach a skyscraper that, in my opinion, is much more impressive than the picture he showed me. It has a steel framework that seems very masculine, though I’m sure there’s a better architectural term for that. “I live in the penthouse at the top.”

I whistle. “I thought this was a retail building, with offices and the like.”

He shrugs. “It’s that too. When I designed it, I?—”

“Wait.” I gape at him. “You designed this building?”

“I did.” A wistful expression flits over his features. “It even earned a rare approval from my father. That is, until he learned that I’m not going to go on to become an architect, or open my own architectural firm.”

There seems to be more there, but I’m reluctant to pry.

Leo pulls Adrian toward a shiny fire hydrant on the sidewalk near the building.

“Sure,” Adrian says with a grin. To me, he explains, “I put that there for him.”

Yep. Leo walks up to the hydrant, lifts his hind leg almost to my height, and does his business so proudly you’d think he was being knighted by the Queen.

“A sushi meal and then draining my snake.” Adrian adds a large dose of contentedness to “Leo’s” voice. “Now if I could just catch a squirrel and romance a poodle bitch, my life would be complete.”

Miss Miller is mortified. Even this so-called gentleman’s dog is a rake.

“Let’s go,” Adrian says and leads me into the lobby.

For some unknown reason, more than half of the security guards in this building are women—which I guess speaks favorably for whoever is in charge of hiring. That most of them are gorgeous is a little peculiar, and I’m sure I’m just being paranoid when I spot some of them ogling Adrian appreciatively.

“Hi,” Adrian says to everyone. “This is Jane Miller. Please add her to the permanent approved visitors’ list.”

The tallest of the women types something into her computer while I stare at the artwork adorning the walls—paintings, statues, murals, and so on, each more beautiful than the last.

“Those are all works of Mr. Westfield,” says the tall woman after she looks up from her computer.

I gape at Adrian.

He smirks. “Guilty as charged—and thanks to Susan, I didn’t even have to brag about it.”

“So you’re a sculptor too?” I ask. “And a muralist?”

“I dabble,” Adrian says with false modesty.

“Here.” Susan hands me a swipe card. “We’ll also need you to set a password.” She turns her monitor so I can see, then slides her keyboard in front of me.

Pocketing the ID, I type in the password I’ve used everywhere since I was a teen: “MineTill12AM.” It’s based on my favorite novel, Mine Till Midnight by Lisa Kleypas, and therefore is not something I’m going to forget.

“That’s not strong enough,” Susan says when she spots what I wrote. “There shouldn’t be any recognizable words in a password. There should be at least one special character, as well as?—”

“How about this?” I replace each “i” in my password with an exclamation point—a trick I use whenever I’m forced to.

She frowns. “It’s better, but?—”

“What’s this for, anyway?” I ask.

“My private elevator,” Adrian chimes in. “The security team isn’t here at night, but with that ID and the password, you can come and go whenever you want.” Turning to Susan, he adds, “Whatever password she chose is fine. My apartment isn’t exactly Fort Knox.”

He puts his hand gently on my lower back and leads me toward the swipe thingy.

Rendered speechless by his touch, I swipe my new card and test my new password with trembling fingers, then let myself be herded into the posh elevator.

The doors slide shut, and I inhale the drugging scent of Adrian’s wood, honey, and mandarin cologne—that is, until I also catch a hint of something barn-like. Wet sheep? It’s coming from Leo.

---