Olivia and I weren’t just working together.
No, Max wanted us accessible.
As of one minute ago, and as an intern, I was now moving into Emory Towers. And my new roommate?
Olivia.
Fuck.
Chapter Six
Olivia
I was going to live with him?
With. HIM?
I tried not to stare too hard at his golden biceps as he rolled his suitcase into the suite and looked around.
I had a sudden vision of me spread across him, his mouth between my legs, my breath coming in short pants.
Damn it!
I was not supposed to be imagining anything about Mark!
And yet, there he was looking sexy as hell in his tight black T-shirt and ripped jeans; I mean, whyyyyyyyyyy? We were interns, not joining a rockband!
I snorted and then looked around with a frown as Dustin came stomping in like he was about to announce the queen.
Did the man know how to walk quietly?
He’d changed his clothes from earlier and was now wearing head-to-toe black, including a black belt. His black eyeglasses had no actual glass, and I was busy trying to find out why, just why, when he cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back. “Mr. Emory has left a list of your duties for the evening once you’ve gotten settled in.”
Mark shoved his rolling suitcase down the hall and scowled. “Almost settled; which room’s mine?”
Dustin’s grin had me narrowing my eyes as Mark slowly started trying each of the doors down the hall, frowning as none of them opened.
“You’ll be sharing the bathroom at the end of the hall, and for now, you’ll share the living room.”
I gaped.
Two large white leather couches sat in a gorgeous living room with wood paneling and twenty-foot ceilings. A flat-screen TV hung against the stark wall, and a long narrow fireplace occupied the space directly below it.
The apartment was basically cold and empty, beautiful but weirdly nothing I would ever pick out for myself. Maybe it was because there weren’t many decorations, and things just appeared too clean.
“Both of us?” Mark asked in a choked voice. “Are in the living room? Why don’t we get bedrooms?”
“You will.” Dustin grinned. “Eventually. Mr. Emory is…careful in how he approaches training his interns. If you’ll just read the welcome packets I’ve left on the kitchen bar, please. And if you have no other needs, then I’ll be going.”
He stomped out of the room, clicking the door shut behind him.
I was almost afraid to go over to the counter, but after seeing Mark’s horrified face, I decided that I needed to appear calm and in control, not freaking the hell out that I was going to be sleeping next to him every night and working with him every day.
I had self-control.
Hah, my body has probably already forgotten what he tastes like.
I gulped.
My brain did a little chant, oh, I know, I know! As if it was raising its hand then shouting out for my hormones to hear, Hot whiskey and spice!
I made a face.
Mark backed up like I was seconds away from announcing that I would eat my own young, hands up in surrender.
Good, I was scaring the villain away.
I grabbed the key on top of one of the packets and shoved it into my Michael Kors purse that I still had draped across my body. Then I reached for the packet.
It was pretty heavy.
Huh.
“What’s it say?” Mark asked.
“You can read,” I mumbled, then looked up. “Or can’t you?”
He gave me the finger then grabbed the other packet.
It didn’t seem that terrifying, just a welcoming note from Max himself, a thank you for being part of the company.
And then I turned the page.
Mark’s curse matched my gasp as we both stared at page two.
“No. Way.” I hissed. “We have to test each apartment and room for maximum comfort and hospitality and offer suggestions after each evening? Wait, couch comfort? How is this not a sexual harassment lawsuit, and I’m sure as hell not testing the couch for make-out potential!”
“It’s a prank,” Mark announced. “It has to be.”
“Um…” I kept reading. “We have to test out a total of three penthouse apartments that are meant for rich single clientele, including bedrooms. There’s a freaking checklist!”
“Well, that’s convenient,” Mark said. “Look, we’re adults, it’s fine. I mean, I can understand him being anal about this, all things considered. He wants potential buyers to feel at home while still in luxury.”
“Well…” I sighed, looking around. “I don’t care how much money you have, this feels like a museum. They need more warmth.”
“I thought so too,” he said almost absentmindedly.
And then both of our eyes locked. “That was my suggestion.”
“Mine too.”
“Am I going to need to cover my suggestion boxes to keep you from looking over my shoulder and cheating?”
“I haven’t cheated a day in my life,” he sneered. “Not gonna start now.”
I tapped the packet against my thigh and cleared my throat. “Not even on a girlfriend?”