Lock You Down (Rivers Brothers 2)

"Two-hundred-dollar a bottle whiskey? Yeah, I think I need to try that."

With her distracted by getting my drink, my gaze moved around her space, seeing a wide doorway without a door that showed me the corner of a king-sized bed with pristine white bedding covering it, with a white nightstand on the side, and plants hanging from the curtain rod in the window.

Again, very clean, very organized, and kind of impersonal.

Turning, I glanced at the wall where the door to the hall was situated.

And there it was.

Something very personal.

And entire wall of pictures in mismatching white frames.

All of them with her brother Luis and the woman from the picture in her office with the darker skin and stunning eyes.

I was wrong about her being a friend.

Because many of the pictures were the three of them at various ages through childhood. Some with popsicle grins, some with missing teeth, some on vacation, some as teenagers, happy and light and carefree. Others were clearly from adulthood, the three of them seemingly as close as my siblings and I had been.

The woman was her sister.

"I just made it neat. I don't know how you take it," she told me, voice tense.

Why? Because I was looking at her pictures? Because I was maybe starting to uncover something?

Clearly, if that was all it took to set her off a bit, then I needed to be very careful about easing more information out of her.

"Neat is how I like it. You're not having anything?" I asked as she handed me the glass then moved back a couple steps, dropping down onto the couch, reaching for Mal despite the cat's protests to be left alone. Even from several feet away, I could see a few raised red marks from his claws.

The cat clearly hated her. Yet she had transformed her home into a feline sanctuary with stairs and catwalks and beds and a pile of toys. Hell, the damn thing had a water fountain instead of a normal water bowl.

"I'm more of a wine drinker, but I am not opening a bottle just for myself," she said, shrugging as she petted her ungrateful cat's head. "How is it?" she asked when I took a sip.

"Damn near worth the price-tag," I told her.

"Well, maybe when the price-tag comes down a bit, you will buy some for your personal collection."

"What? I don't get a free lifetime supply for giving you your brilliant new marketing strategy?"

"I will have to run the idea past my parents. Though, I would have to explain who you are to them. And that could get sticky."

"I'm a... consultant," I offered, shrugging, moving over toward the couch, sitting down on the far end from her, giving her some space.

"Maybe we can work something out," she agreed, finally releasing the cat when it nipped at her fingers. "Fine, suit yourself, Mr. Fuckwad," she called to him, and the cat had the audacity to flick his tail back at her as he disappeared into her bedroom. "He's going to throw up in my shoes. I know it."

"You got yourself a real companion animal there."

"He's an asshole. But I love him. Do you have any pets?"

"No. Though I am half-expecting Savea to show up at my door with some hideous rescue thing someday. She thinks I need a dog."

"Do you like dogs?"

"Yeah. I just work a lot. Cats are okay with that. Dogs, not so much."

"I'm pretty sure if I got an automatic feeder for Mal, he wouldn't even know if I disappeared for a year. They are low-maintenance that way. I wouldn't be able to get a dog right now either. I practically live at the office. He's not much, but at least he is something at home. This place feels really empty a lot of the time."

"Well, that might be because it is a space big enough for a family of five, and you barely have any shit in it."

To that, she gave me a small smile. "You know, I didn't realize my home didn't feel homey until I saw the Mallick house. Everything about it said to pull up a seat. My house says you better take off your shoes, and don't eat on the furniture."

"That's a pretty accurate description," I agreed, nodding at her apartment.

"I honestly didn't know any better. I was raised in homes like this. Beautiful, but un-lived in."

"A coat of paint could help a lot. You practically need sunglasses to be in here."

"That's funny," she said, folding forward, reaching for a box hidden under her coffee table, opening the lid, pulling out pieces of paper. "I actually picked up swatches yesterday."

"Those are some very daring shades of beige, babe," I agreed, looking at the dozen or so variations of almost the same color.

"Baby steps," she told me, tucking them back away.

"Gotta start somewhere."