Page 73 of Landlord Wars
Just what every rich momma wanted—to publicly learn their son was spending time with the riffraff. “Is that a good idea? Your mom thinks I’m her plant lady.”
“This is all the notice she’s ever received regarding my love life. She’ll have to deal with the idea of us together, because I’m holding on to you for as long as you’ll have me.”
I smiled into the phone. “You’re pretty tough to put up with.”
His voice lowered. “But I haven’t shown you all of my charms. Give me a night or two, and you’ll be convinced.” More grumbling on his end. “Those articles ruined my plans.”
“Plans?” I asked.
“To convince you I’m a good guy and to let me stick around.”
I laughed softly. “I’m seeing a bit of that. You scored points with the carne asada burrito this week. That thing was amazing.” Max was probably the only rich guy who bought his girlfriend lunch from a taco truck. “Speaking of all you’ve done, I really want to pay you for the dress. The shop lady said the cost had been covered, along with the shoes.”
Flutters of panic rose in my chest when I thought about the cost of that outfit with no price tags, but I wasn’t about to go into the lion’s den of a ball unarmed, even if it took me a year to pay off.
“It’s my treat,” he said, “so don’t spoil it for me.”
I twisted my mouth, uncertain. It was strange having a man pay for something other than dinner, but I supposed couples did nice things for each other. And anyway, two could play this game.
“Well, I have a treat for you too. My phone call wasn’t only to check in. I also wanted to see if you have time to meet me on the rooftop.” I pulled the cell phone from my ear and checked the time. It was after ten p.m., but I wanted to support Max and make him smile.
“I always have time for you.”
“You ditched me the day the article came out.” Not that I held it against him, but I liked to rile him up.
He made a low growl. “My parents need to put out their own damn fires. I have a girlfriend to take care of.”
“Damn straight. Meet me up there in ten minutes?”
* * *
Max
I climbedthe steps to the open rooftop, and the scent of fall and slightly damp air hit me. The night was cool but not too cold, with no rain on the horizon, only typical San Francisco fog. I had no idea what to expect after Sophia suggested we meet here.
But it wasn’t this.
The heat lamps were turned on, and there were strings of white lights above lush plants in varying shades of green and red, some with wide, palm-sized leaves, and others with spiky foliage. The rooftop had been nice before, but it looked like an oasis now.
I spotted Sophia at the center of it on the two-person chaise I’d tacked on at the last minute while ordering outdoor furniture. I’d spent little time here since the remodel a few months ago, and now I was patting myself on the back for my amazing forethought.
A two-person chaise was exactly what I needed right now.
My heart sped up as I slowly made my way across the roof patio to the beautiful woman wearing what looked to be soft baby-blue lounge pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. “You did all this?”
She shrugged slightly. “Not physically. I had help from the shop installers, but I designed it.”
I spun in a slow circle and shook my head, amazed. There were a few flowering plants and others I’d expect to keel over in the sometimes-cool San Francisco climate. Nothing I knew the names of, but the assortment and arrangement brought life to the space. “It’s incredible.”
Sophia patted the spot beside her, not that I needed an invitation. That spot had my name written all over it.
I’d been thinking far too much about Sophia and the interruptions preventing us from having alone time, first from her sister and now my parents. And here, it only took my incredibly smart and talented girlfriend to find the one place no one would look for us.
I eased onto the lounge beside her and nodded at the short tumbler in her hand. “Nightcap?”
She handed the glass to me and reached for another I hadn’t seen resting on the table. “Victor gave me this fancy bottle of whiskey or scotch—not sure which—when I signed the contract this week.”
She mentioned the name of the maker, and I said, “Whiskey. And not cheap.”
