Page 44 of Twist of Fate
Whereas style seems to be the ultimate theme in Finn’s flat, comfort is king here. I haven’t even seen the bedroom, and I already love it.
I really didn’t want to love it.
Maybe he’ll quote me some outlandish price, and I’ll be able to justify saying no then.
What can be more outlandish than the cost of living in a luxury hotel?
I almost don’t hear him when he walks up to me and wordlessly hands me the cold glass of soda. “Why don’t you go look around a bit, and then we can sit down and chat?”
He’s going to hold me to my word and make me rest.
As much as the stubborn part of me wants to argue, I nod my head and start to wander down the hallway toward the en suite.
I wish I could say it’s all incredibly awful. I wish I could say that the plush pillowtop mattress and soaking tub fall short, and I absolutely cannot imagine myself sinking into either one.
But I can’t.
This place is perfect. Literally perfect.
It’s like he picked everything out, especially for me.
It is actually kind of annoying.
As I make my way back to the living room, I find him sitting on the sofa, his messy head of hair buried in his phone. The moment he hears my footsteps, he looks up, and our eyes meet. My heart stutters, my feet wobble, and for once, it has nothing to do with my chronic illness.
“Are you okay?” he asks, already rising to his feet.
“Fine. Just tripped.” Total lie, but what else am I going to say?Sometimes, when you look at me, I literally forget how to put one foot in front of the other.Yeah, I don’t think so.
He doesn’t seem to believe me, but he lets it slide as I take a seat near the opposite end of the couch. The space between us might as well be the ocean. That’s how distant I feel from the man I met two years ago and how little I actually know of him now.
It’s exactly why I should say no to this apartment.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“It’s great,” I answer automatically.
“But?” He waits patiently, already seeing the doubt in my eyes.
“But…” I drag the word out, trying to choose the rest carefully. “I don’t know how this could possibly work.”
“What do you mean?” His expression is passive.
My jaw drops. He can’t be serious?
I stand up, anger clouding my judgment. “What I mean is that we can barely operate in the same workspace, Finn. How are we supposed to live across the hall from each other?”
“We work just fine together.”
“Sure,” I agree. “When we hardly see each other. But you almost bit the head off one of your employees the other day when he offered me a place to stay.”
“I—” He pauses. “I was merely concerned for you. I didn’t want you to be taken advantage of.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please! And when I bring a date home? Will the concern you show be that of a boss or a sort of ex-boyfriend?”
His eyes go wild. Murderous, even. God, that should not be so hot. “Are you planning on bringing home a lot of dates?”
The truth is I haven’t dated in a long time. Not since, well—I attempted a one-night stand in Barcelona when I was traveling with my mom—before she got sick. It was a few months after I’d given up on Finn, and I was angry and miserable and just wanted to move on.
