Page 6 of A Merry Penthouse Christmas
The door swings open almost instantly.
“You’re two minutes late,” a petite blond barks at me. I have never seen anyone so perfectly polished and yet so ostentatious in their coloring and pattern combinations.
His pink checkered suit looks more expensive than everything in my suitcase. He is wearing a differently checkered pink, white, and blue shirt, with a dark pink tie speckled with white polka dots.
The blond huffs, rolls his eyes, and grabs me by my collar to haul me inside with significantly more strength than I expected.
“Uh, I am? Sorry, my watch said—”
“Then your watch isslow, and we have a schedule.”
“Be nice, Skylar,” Mr. Anders’ deep voice precedes his entrance, along with the infant he is carrying whose continued wailing says he is not a happy camper.
I am momentarily distracted by just how incredible this place is on the inside, and so far I’m only in the foyer.
It has afoyer.
Everything is very modern chic in mostly neutral tones with occasional pops of color, but beyond the foyer with it’s expensive looking rug and vases on pedestals is what I assume is the living room, since I can see sofas and lamps to my left but also two-story tall windows looking out at the city. This top-floor penthouse is actuallytwofloors tall! Billionaire with a big fat “B” is right.
Mr. Anders is wearing another slick dark suit like yesterday, with a crisp white shirt, and this time, a red and blue-stripedtie. “Beau, Skylar. Skylar, Beau,” he introduces me to the small blond.
I am distracted this time by just how effortlessly gorgeous he looks but quickly remember I am making a first impression here. “Hi!” I say to Skylar, setting down my suitcase to reach for his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Skylar sort of hums in answer, shaking my hand daintily with just the tips of his fingers like I am some fly that snuck in and he does not want to touch me. “Charmed.”
“Skylar is my personal assistant. And don’t worry, he’s like that with everyone.” Mr. Anders passes me his little bawling bundle of joy, even though I have barely had time to take off my jacket or shoes. Do you take your shoes off in a billionaire’s penthouse? Probably not.
The baby is adorable though, even if he is screaming his lungs out. I couldn’t get a good look at him yesterday. He has black hair like his daddy, and even though he is still pretty squished as a newborn, I can see some of Mr. Anders in his face too. He’s probably going to grow up just as handsome.
“Skylar will put your things in your room. Let me give you a tour before I leave for the day.”
Out of the frying pan, as they say. I bounce the baby as I follow Mr. Anders to the living room, hoping to calm him so I can at least hear this tour and know what the hell I’ll be doing all day—besides the obvious.
“Thisis all you brought?” Skylar says from behind me, and I glance back to see him grabbing hold of my lone roller suitcase like it is just as distasteful for him to touch as I was.
“I have everything else waiting to be picked up for storage.” To be storedhere, in the building’s basement on Mr. Anders’ dime. Not that I have much furniture or larger items anyway, but it’ll save me hundreds a month, not to mention how much I’ll besaving in rent. “I didn’t think I needed much given everything Mr. Anders said I’ll have access to here.”
“Arik is fine, Beau,” Mr. Anders—uh,Arik—calls back to me, and I hurry to catch up to him in the even larger than I first realized living room. Because wow, the windows are seriously huge, and it’s basically two rooms with two sections! One has mostly sofas facing a TV half the size of the wall, and one has mostly chairs and a chaise near a fireplace spanning the rest of the wall. “This is the living room, obviously. And—” Before Arik can lead me into the next area, the baby wails louder.
“Come on, little guy.” I bounce him some more. “I’m not much of a morning person either, but you can’t be this mad this early, can you?”
“Formula is prepared in the kitchen but still a little too hot, andsomeoneis feeling impatient.” Arik comes over and brushes a hand along the top of the baby’s hair, which halts the loudest of his wailing. It’s sweet, and a little unexpected. Given everything I’ve observed about this guy, I thought he might shy from showing affection, but as he strokes the patch of black hair, he wears a very tender smile.
“Is Daddy like that too?” I ask.
Arik’s sharp eyes flash to mine.
“Sorry!” I cringe. “Poor choice of words.”
“But not incorrect.” Arik grins.
Great, now he’s teasing me.
“But yes, I am often impatient. Especially when hangry.” He nods to the other side of the living room to continue our tour through a separate exit. “Lucky for you, I already ate. Come on, dining room and kitchen are next. Let’s see if that formula has cooled enough.”
At least he isn’t annoyed by my word vomit. It’s somehow easier to avoid that type of thing in a room full of kids than with adults. With someone like Arik, I always feel a little lesser, a littlelower on the authority totem pole. Which, since he is my boss, that’s accurate, but he’s also not that much older than me, in some ways my peer.
Well, maybe a thirty-five-year-old billionaire isn’t mypeer.
