Keys hovering over the knob, she noticed the door open a crack. She froze solid in the doorway, her mind spinning. If someone had broken into her place, she had no weapon. Well, she had one weapon. Fingers at the ready to dial 9-1-1 on her iPhone, she pushed the door open with the tip of her house key.
The room was in its normal (not ransacked) state, and the usual cluttered mess of bills, reports, and fashion magazines was scattered across the breakfast bar. Mick sat on a backless stool, paper in hand. He lifted his head when she walked in.
Her shoulders dropped in relief. She pocketed her phone. “What are you doing here? I almost called the police because my door was unlocked.”
“Relax. It’s just me.”
“You could have asked if you could come over and do whatever it is you’re doing.”
He put aside the sheet of paper he’d been reading and tipped a beer bottle to his lips. A beer he’d stolen from her fridge. She scanned his threadbare T-shirt, cargo shorts, and ratty Chuck Taylors resting on the rung of the stool. “I have a key,” he said, cleanly transferring the blame to her. “I needed to check on a shipment. If you don’t want me here—”
“It’s fine.” She held up a palm as she dragged her suitcase past him and to her bedroom. Which, no thanks to this being a loft, was in the same room. There really was no escaping Mick Stringer as long as they co-owned Hobo Chic.
“Guess I could have called but I didn’t want to interrupt your millionaire affair.”
She whipped around. How did he know about that?
He leaned an elbow on the counter and smiled. “Neil.”
She should have known. Gloria wouldn’t have told. “It isn’t like that.” Only it is, she thought, unpacking and tossing her dirty clothes into a hamper. It was exactly what it sounded like. She’d had sex with a millionaire while living at his place. Also, he’d given her some money. She mentally cringed.
“Is? Present tense? So you’re seeing him again?”
She turned, bright, tropical-print pants in hand. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Wear the green dress,” he said, unfazed. He returned his attention to his paperwork.
A clothing rack serving as her closet stood at the end of her bed. The new-to-her, safari-style green silk button-down dress he’d referred to hung in a primo spot at the end. She’d picked the dress out of her latest acquirements for the store the day she left to go to Landon’s. Other than the one time she tried it on, she hadn’t worn it.
Mick’s mouth kicked into a half smile. “You look good in green.”
She shoved the empty suitcase under her bed, not wanting to have this conversation with him. It was… weird. “Are you going to be here much longer? I have to get ready.”
He spared her a glance. “Tonight? You’re seeing him tonight?”
Frustrated, she held up her palms. “Yes. I’m seeing him tonight.”
His face puckered, not liking that for whatever reason. He slid off the stool and moseyed over to her and she tensed, unsure what he was going to do. He palmed her shoulders and she stood prone, wanting to swat him away but not wanting to hurt his feelings. They were in such a predicament. She didn’t hate him. But she didn’t really like him. And she’d never really loved him. More the idea of him. The idea that she could have forever with a man who enjoyed the same things she did. A man who had a vested interest in her future. Now they were co-workers and partners, no longer lovers or roommates, their relationship inconvenient and unpredictable in every way.
“You’re not this girl, Kimber.” As if consoling her, he rubbed her upper arms. She shrugged him off. Maybe because he had a point.
She’d never been the type of girl capable of an unattached fling, with a millionaire or otherwise. Look at her and Mick. She was supposed to take him home for one night of fun and had swathed him into her life instead.
“Maybe I am now,” she said. She’d have to be. Because there was no way she and Landon were ending with her in retched heartache because she’d turned this into something it wasn’t.
Mick sighed and turned away, taking the report he’d been reading with him. “Have it your way.” He paused at the door. “But I’ll hate gloating when this jerk ends up hurting you.”
“No you won’t,” she said. Unfairly, probably. “But thanks. Your support is overwhelming.”
Mick didn’t argue and she was glad. He patted the door with one hand before shutting it behind him.