Page 90 of The Situation
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he says.
I take a step back and gasp. “Oh wow, Tate. This is beautiful.”
“It’s okay.”
My eyeballs nearly pop out of my head. “It’s okay?Are you serious? This is stunning.”
“I like it. It’s pretty clean and natural, for the most part. Low maintenance.”
“So what you're saying is that you don’t go from room to room and change everything every six months?”
He laughs. “I’ve lived here for five years, and I just managed to fill the last room with furniture a few months ago.”
I look at him in disbelief.This is a dream home. How can he be so nonchalant about it?
Oh, right. He’s a billionaire.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks. “Water? Soda? Wine? I might have a beer somewhere.”
“A water would be great.” I glance down at his bare feet. “Should I take my shoes off? I don’t know if that seems presumptuous or if it’s good manners?”
He flashes me a killer smile. “You’re here. That’s all I care about.”
Tate walks barefoot into the kitchen, leaving me swooning behind. I hurriedly kick off my shoes, then follow him through an arched doorway.
“I hope you cook in here because this kitchen was made for meal prep,” I say, trying not to let my jaw sweep the floor.
If the entryway was stunning, I’m not sure what to call the kitchen. The cabinets are the same color as the wood floors, and the appliances blend in. I have no clue where the fridge or dishwasher are. The counters are a pristine white stone with light gray and gold veins. A deep farmhouse sink centered on a wide window runs nearly the whole length of the counter. The view from the glass is all fields, forests, and the city skyline off in the distance.
A window seat is built into a smaller window beside the island, and I can imagine curling up there with a book on a rainy day.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
I sit on a barstool at the island, watching him pour me a glass of water.
“I’m thinking that this space is perfect for big holiday dinners, and late nights with cocktails or cookies and milk while sharing stories and dreams.”
“Sounds nice. Let’s try it sometime.”
My heart flutters.
“I was afraid your security guy wasn’t going to let me in,” I say. “He’s pretty serious.”
“Ah, they all are while they’re new. He’s not been around too long.”
“Do you always have security?”
He nods, handing me a glass. “Yeah. I’ve cut mine back to the guard shack at the front, and one guy who roams the property. I only keep him for my mother’s well-being.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“She’s been through enough. It’s a small thing to me, but a big thing for her.”
He casually takes a drink as if every twenty-seven-year-old man is keen on making his mother’s life easier.
“Are you and your mother close?” I ask.
“I mean, that’s complicated. I guess we are. I talk to her a couple of times a week, and I’m her favorite, naturally.”
