Page 26 of Holiday Hoax

Good

What time is it there? I hope I didn’t wake you

It’s six in the morning, I’ve been up for an hour

Glad I didn’t wake you

I’m getting ready to head to your penthouse for the art install

Marta will be there but if you need anything I’ll have my phone on

Okay, thank you again

I look around my living room and grab the first pair of shoes I opened. They’ll look too good with what I’m wearing not to wear them. I slap a couple band-aids on my heels and step into the pumps. The added four inches make me feel powerful and sexy as I strut around my kitchen like it’s a runway. After checking the clock, I realize I’m going to need to call up a ride from Uber to make it to the penthouse before the art.

Marta meets me at the elevator with a warm smile, and I’m immediately hit with the smell of fresh baked cookies. She’s never in a uniform, I’ve noticed. As someone who used to clean offices while I was in college, I appreciate how well he treats her.

“Welcome.” She takes my coat as I peel it off. “I’ll put this in the coat closet.”

“Thank you, Marta. I don’t think this should take too long. We’ve got it down to a science.”

“Take your time. I baked cookies this afternoon, help yourself. I’ll be dusting.” She wanders off down the hall into the library.

I walk into the living room, taking in the double-height windows showcasing the iconic skyline of the city, and take a deep breath. It’s such a beautiful space, even on an overcast autumn day. I catch just the slightest hint of Ian’s cologne and feel a little pang in my chest at his absence.

Before I can overthink that sensation, I hear the buzzer from the door where the freight elevator is. I call out to Marta that I’ll get it and go let in the team. It takes about an hour from start to finish, but once it’s done, I lean back against the table and take a photo to send to him. I repeat the process with the other artwork.

Everything looks great. Now we just have his bedroom to figure out. I was speaking to a glass blower about what we were thinking for his room, and she asked for a photo of the space. It feels a bit intrusive, but I walk in anyway. Unsurprisingly the room is perfect. Not a wrinkle in the duvet or a pair of cufflinks laying out.

I snap a few photos and then catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror propped against the wall in the corner of his room. It’s a nice touch that opens the space even more than the two walls of windows, but I’m sure he’s never even glanced in its direction.

An idea takes root in my mind. He wanted photos of the art on his walls, but maybe I should send him pictures of the art on my feet as well. I turn sideways, tilt my head and smirk at my reflection as I lift a foot behind me, red bottoms on display. The photo feels a little flirty and very cheesy, but I hit send anyway.

I go back through the house, checking for any drywall dust. There’s only a little bit on the floor in the dining room, so I wet a paper towel and kneel down to start cleaning up. I know it’s Marta’s job, but I don’t mind cleaning up when my guys created the mess to begin with.

“What are you doing?” Marta asks, rushing over to me. “You don’t need to clean.”

“I know,” I say as I keep wiping at the mess. “But I don’t mind. We made the mess, I should clean it.”

“No, no.” She gently squeezes my shoulders and helps me to my feet. “I’ll just clean behind you, so don’t waste time.”

I roll my lips to stifle a chuckle. She’s so sweet. “If you’re sure.”

“Yes, yes. You take the cookies.” She points to a box on the counter. “They won’t be good by the time Mr. Jameson gets home.”

“Okay. Thank you, Marta.”

Just as I’m about to hit the elevator button to leave, she calls out to me. “You are good for him.”

“What?” I turn, surprised because she shouldn’t be under the impression we’re actually dating.

“He’s happy now that you’re in his life. Has more life in his smiles.”

Maybe he did tell her the lie about us dating? I don’t know what to say to her assertion, so I just smile and wave as the doors close in front of me. Surely, she doesn’t think there’s more to Ian and I than just friendship.

CHAPTER 9

IAN

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