Alphahole (Alphahole Roommates 1)

She shakes her head. “No. I’ve been here, but not much. I may be from New York, but my old place is a nearly seven-hour drive from here. I’ve only been here twice. It’s really cool.”

She turns her phone on and it makes all kinds of noise.

She’s got her thumbs on it, replying to a text. “My Mom sent pictures of the jewelry. Should I forward it to you? The pictures aren’t terrible, considering she took the pictures of pictures with her phone and her phone is probably ten years old.”

“Yeah, send them over. I’ll send them to Jude.”

We stop at my building and Joshua gets her stuff out. I grab the bag and send him off, telling him to meet us at eight in the morning here.

She looks up at my building. “What’s going on?”

“Hm?” I ask, fiddling for my keys and leading her to the entrance.

She looks red-faced. “This isn’t a hotel?”

“It’s my condo.”

I wave at the doorman.

“Mr. Carmichael. Welcome home.”

“Thanks, Buster.”

The concierge greets us. “Mr. Carmichael. Lovely to see you. How long are you home?”

“Till Thursday, Shep. This is Carly Adler. She works for CC. She’ll be here to Thursday so if you see her coming and going, she’s got full access.”

“Miss Adler,” he greets. “And so noted, Mr. Carmichael.”

She mumbles a hello and tries to smile but it looks like her face is about to crack.

We get into the elevator and I press 75. The doors shut.

“This isn’t a hotel,” she says. Again.

“I live here.”

“Why aren’t I going to a hotel?”

“I have a spare room,” I say. “Logistically it makes sense. Fiscally, it also makes sense.”

She shakes her head and folds her arms across her chest.

“My father’s admin arranged this. Alice probably figured we share an apartment in San Diego, it wouldn’t be a big deal. She’d have told me if he wanted you to have a hotel room. It would’ve been in the itinerary.”

I fight a smirk. I fail. The elevator doors open a few seconds later and I lead her into my condo.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” she mumbles.

I smile. “Have I given you any reason to distrust me?”

She doesn’t answer me.

I fight to hide a grin.

Once we’re in my apartment, she looks around.

“Wow, it’s clean,” she says, with surprise, not answering the trust question.