Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
I let out a little surprised yelp. He grimaces and looks over, holding up the sponge like a shield.
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I wasn’t aware you’d be back so soon. Liam told me—”
“Wait, hold on. Who are you?” I put a hand on my rapidly beating hard. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.”
The young man straightens. He’s got dirty-blond hair, tan skin, surprisingly white teeth, and a slender frame, and he’s wearing a business-casual outfit of a button-down tucked into slim khaki pants. He reminds me of a fashionable tech-bro. “My name’s Orin and I’m Liam’s assistant.”
It takes a second to process. “Liam has an assistant? How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine,” he says with a strange bit of defensiveness. “How old are you?”
“Huh. You’re older than I am. Sorry, you just look so young, and I just—” I shake my head. “I’m being rude.”
“If rudeness bothered me, I wouldn’t be working for Liam.”
I laugh lightly. “Good point.”
“He instructed me to meet you here. I understand you have some lists of items you might need?” He glances around the sparse kitchen. “I have a few shopping ideas if you wouldn’t mind a little initiative.”
“I’d love that. I’m not picky when it comes to plates and stuff.”
“Perfect, then I’ll take care of the kitchen. Anything else?”
I pull up my phone and start reading to him what I’ll need, but I end up texting him a document instead. “And it would be nice if I could get some furniture for this place. It’s a little bit…” I trail off, waving my hands in the air.
“Empty?” he supplies.
“Depressing as hell.”
He grins. “I can help with that as well. Got a style in mind?”
Suddenly, an idea hits me. It’s a little bit childish, but I can’t help myself. “Liam told you to get me anything I want, correct? No matter what?”
“That’s right. Price is no object. Go nuts.”
“Perfect.” I start flipping through pictures on my phone. “Exactly how quickly can we get some of this stuff? I have a theme in mind.”
“A theme?” His eyebrows raise.
“Liam loves a theme.” I grin wickedly, unable to help myself. “Shall we get to work?”
He claps once, looking delighted. “I’m going to like you.”
Five hours later, Liam comes home to a completely transformed house.
I’m sitting in the living room sipping a mocktail and watching the fireplace crackle away. Fortunately, I’m fast enough to hop to my feet as he comes into the room, and I’m treated the expression on his face as he takes in the new decor.
“What is this?” he asks, staring.
“You told me to make this place my home. What do you think?”
His frown deepens. “It looks like…” He trails off, shaking his head slowly.
“The inside of a Romanov toilet? Yeah, that was my intention.”
I give him a little curtsey and look around the space.
It’s gold. Like, obscenely gold. Everything is a shade of gold, cream, or white, from the carpet to the walls. Gold couch, gold end table, gold light fixtures. Some of them are real gold, some is only painted, but everything sparkles.
The place is absurd. It’s an astonishingly tacky display of wealth, the sort of excess old-money guys like Liam love to frown at. I was going for something that would make a Russian tsar blush, and based on the look on Liam’s face, I succeeded.
“This has to change.”
“Absolutely not.” I pick up a golden elephant statue. “I love my decorations.”
“You did this to annoy me.”
“You said to make it feel like home. Well, instead, I wanted it to feel like I’m living inside of a palace.”
“I can’t have people enter this place. It’s just…” His nose wrinkles. “Unseemly.”
“I think anyone you bring over will be impressed by our wonderful taste.”
“You have to change it.” He picks up a fake Fabergé egg, entirely gold. “And this should be smashed into a million little pieces. This travesty is a crime against good taste and the Russian people.”
“That is a lovely piece of art—” I walk over and pluck it from his hands. “And it cost us ten thousand dollars.”
He grunts like I punched him in the chest. “You’re lying.”
“I most certainly am not. Everything cost ten times the usual amount when you factor in rush delivery and the labor it took to get this set up in the time you were out.”
“Why?” he asks. He levels that intense gaze and I feel my spine shiver. But no, I’m not going to give up now, just because my scary husband’s giving me his murder-stare.
“I want you to come home every day to a reminder that I am not some passive observer in this relationship.” I tilt my chin up, meeting him glare for glare.
Yes, it’s childish. I am very much aware. But I was also reminded during our meeting with my father how little control I have over this situation.