Page 66 of Grumpy Billionaire Bad Boy

"Okay. Sure. I'll think about it. Maybe we could chat sometime. Are you free next Tuesday morning?" Camille says to London, no doubt just being polite since we're neighbors.

"Absolutely," London tells her enthusiastically. "Works for me."

"Great, just give me your number…" Camille opens her phone screen and hands it to London, who has to pull her own phone out and locate the digits.

"Sorry, new phone. I haven't memorized it yet."

Camille laughs. "I get that. Anyway, it was good meeting you. I'll text you Monday with a more specific time, my work schedule changes from day to day."

"Sounds good, see you later," London says.

I offer her a wave and she disappears behind the door of her apartment.

"I wouldn't hold your breath," I tell London and make my way toward the stairs. "I'm sure she's had dozens of applicants."

London stops in her tracks. "You act like Mister Big and Bad and have no sway over who she chooses? I would think you'dbe thrilled about this. The sooner I find a place, the sooner I'm out of your hair. Not to mention it's the closest I can be without being inside your apartment, allowing you to keep your word to Silver until I get things figured out. Why don't you want this?" Her eyes widen. "You like me living with you, don't you?"

"No. I don't. What did you call it…unbearable? Yeah, it's that." I leave her and head down the stairs, not wanting to continue this conversation.

"That's the only explanation there is. Either you want me to live with you, or it's something else, and until you tell me what it is, I'm going with the former." London follows me, her pace slower than mine, reminding me she's still injured, even if she pretends like she's fine.

"I don't want you to live with me, London. You're a disaster." I lead her to the front entrance of the complex and open the door for her, my gaze already scanning outside at what's going on.

"Ouch." London steps through, her head held high in her attempt not to feign hurt from my remark. But she and I both know it's true. "You're not fun to live with either, big boy."

"Yeah? How so?" I position myself between London and the street and walk beside her on our way to the corner store.

"The clean freak thing is a bit much. And heaven forbid anyone even blink in the direction of yourpreciouscomputers." London talks with her hands and I fight the urge to shut her up the same way I have in the past.

"Please," I huff. "You're being dramatic."

"I am? Are you serious? Everything has to be in its specific place. It has to be tiring constantly arranging and rearranging things."

"I wouldn't have to if you put things back where they belong."

"It's not just that. Have you counted how many times you check the windows daily? You'd think there was a sniper out there you were watching out for."

"They're bulletproof," I let slip out.

"What?"

I sigh. "The windows, they're bulletproof."

London throws her hands up. "Of course they are. Is there anything you aren't prepared for?"

We reach the corner store, and I pause with my hand on the door handle. "I wasn't prepared for you." I open it a second later, and the store clerk greets me once we're inside.

"Archie!" the old woman says and rushes around the counter to wrap her arms around me. "My favorite customer. And who is this?" Her big round eyes get even bigger as she gawks at London. "A girl. He’s never brought a girl in here."

"Ruth, this is London. London, this is Ruth," I say to them.

"London." Ruth smiles a borderline toothless smile and shakes London's hand. "Oh, sweet angel, what happened to your arm?"

"I'm accident-prone," London tells her.

Ruth laughs and nods. "Me too, my girl, me too."

"I'm going to grab a basket," I tell them, disappearing for the nine seconds it takes me to walk to where Ruth keeps them. When I return, Ruth and London stop talking, both of their lips pinched together like they were already sharing secrets.

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