Huh. What’s wrong with the house?
“May I ask what you don’t like about this place?” Rick says. “It’s a bit small, but it has a lot of great features I haven’t shown you yet.”
Edgar cocks an eyebrow, the gesture the definition of pure arrogance and authority—how dare you question my decision.
Damn, it’s sexy in a domineering way. Which is weird because usually I don’t like it when guys get overbearing. Must be the hormones.
Rick’s smile falters for a second, but he recovers. He’s a pro. “It’ll help me narrow your options.”
“The closet’s too small, and there’s no connecting dressing room. Jo is a fashion consultant. She’s going to need more space for clothes, shoes and accessories. They’re important for her work.”
My heart does a little pitter-patter and throws flower petals in the air. Lots of people think my job is just…silly. Not that important. After all, I’m somebody who dresses others who can’t dress themselves. Even some of my exes were dismissive, which is why I broke up with them so fast.
But here’s Edgar, easily the most accomplished of all the men I’ve ever dated. Who runs a multibillion-dollar company. And he isn’t throwing out some platitude. He’s showing real respect for the career I’ve worked so hard to build.
It makes me unbelievably hot. I wish we were alone so I could kiss him on the mouth. Just to let him know how much I appreciate his support.
“I see,” Rick says, giving me a sidelong glance. I told you that you were a factor in his decision. “I have just the thing, but…it’s not for rent. Sale only.”
“That isn’t a problem,” Edgar says.
Wait, he shouldn’t be buying something that suits me. “But—”
He pats my hand. “If we decide we don’t like it later, we can always put it back on the market.”
He says it like it’s no big deal. And I’ve been around enough wealthy clients to know that it isn’t—not for him and people like him. But it’s one thing for flipping a multimillion-dollar home to be the norm for them, something else to realize it’s going to become the norm for me too. And it isn’t really happiness or joy I’m feeling. More like I’ve been dropped into the middle of a Dali painting. Surreal.
No wonder Hilary struggled at first to fit in with her husband’s family. Hilary grew up poor, and her husband was born into one of the richest families in the country. Kim is with a billionaire, too, but he didn’t make his money until recently, so he’s more like us, except…hundreds of thousands times richer now.
Am I going to be able to fit in? Ivy and Tony seem nice, but there’s a difference when you become part of the family. How about Edgar’s parents? I haven’t met or heard from them at all. I only know what’s in the sensational scandal articles. But reporters are after clicks. And tabloid writers have the morality of spit slime.
Do I have to get along with his mom? Does Edgar expect me to? In my experience, men tend to be closer to their mothers. Just look at my brothers and cousins. They act like big grown babies around their moms all the time.
Why are you already worried about it when you know you aren’t going to marry him? He doesn’t love you, remember?
Right. I shouldn’t be thinking about that. Besides, his parents live in Louisiana. Too far for any sort of regular contact. I should just…help Edgar pick out a place. Even though he rejected this one because he didn’t approve of the walk-in closet and the lack of dressing room, I decide to keep it on the “possibly okay” list.
The next place Rick shows us is a three-level penthouse residence with its own separate entrance and elevator. The inside of the elevator is mirrored and polished to such a sheen that I could do my eye makeup in it.
“A model used to live here,” Rick explains. “It’s a lovely home, but I wasn’t sure, since you mentioned a baby. You’ll definitely want to have housekeepers and so on to wipe fingerprints off the surfaces. But as you can see…”
The elevator car comes to a stop, and we step into a huge foyer that stretches into a gigantic living room and kitchen. The walls are paneled glass that soars high above us. Blinding afternoon sunlight pours in, and I shield my eyes, wishing I’d brought sunglasses.
Edgar does the same.
“The floor plan is very open. If you have staff, you won’t get much privacy,” Rick says.
He goes over to the panel by the kitchen and hits a few buttons. The glass instantly turns darker, filtering out a good amount of the light.
He lets out a soft sigh, then grins at us. “Pretty nifty. It’s on all the windows here. It also filters out UV rays, which the previous owner wanted. Being a model and all, it’s important for her to look as young as possible. And don’t worry about anybody looking in. They can’t. Special coating.”
I nod. It is a nice feature, and the privacy coating is quite neat. If this were a suite at Aylster, I can totally see myself asking Rinaldo to hook me up. The view alone is worth it.
Edgar says nothing, but he looks around the kitchen and the living room, his expression impassive. I walk with him, my heels clacking on the marble floor. The whole penthouse is unfurnished, but also very modernist in color and design, with lots of polished stone and glass, which makes the place feel almost museum-cold.
But I can visualize how it could be made into a warm, inviting home with the right furniture and some texturing. Rugs. Pillows. Pictures. Plants. Yup. It could work. Besides, the kitchen is a huge plus. It ha
s eight stovetop burners, a huge griddle and three ovens. I’m not big on cooking, but Tía Bea would love it. And the wine cooler with temperature and humidity control? Perfect for storing wines from Tío Felipe’s vineyard.