Page 26 of Wrong For Me

He nods. “One thing about Rose Ransome that’s causing your stone-cold heart to go all soft and gooey on this fine Saturday morning.”

I scowl but he holds my gaze, letting me know he’s serious. He’s not going to let me off the hook until I tell him something, and God knows the guy has an annoying habit of getting what he wants.

I open my mouth to speak. The easiest thing, of course, would be to rattle off something physical. And the possibilities on that front are endless. Rose—with her insanely long legs, huge blue eyes, tall, willowy frame, and those masses of wavy white-blond hair—does it for me in a way I’ve never experienced with a woman before. Hot is an understatement—Rose Ransome is, without a doubt, the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met.

But something has me pausing. It feels wrong, somehow, to reduce our night together that way. Before I can think much about the consequences, I blurt out, “her entire face lights up when she talks about the people she cares about.”

If Bodhi is surprised by my choice of words, he barely allows it to register on his face. Instead he keeps his mouth closed, waiting for me to go on. And, for some reason, I do.

“She seems passionate about things.” Her family. Finding a signature drink. Even how someone eats a bowl of cereal. At the memory of her outrage over my food preferences, I can’t help but grin.

But then I look up and see the gob smacked expression Bodhi is trying to hide and I straighten in my chair. “It’s just nice,” I say, somewhat defensively. “To see someone who actually gives a shit about things. Especially the important things. It’s rarer than it should be.”

He nods, studying my face. “No arguments from me.”

Then, to my surprise, he stands. I expected at least five more minutes of him teasing and nagging me to open up more. Instead, he claps a hand on my shoulder.

“I hope you get to see her again, man. She sounds great.”

I duck my head so he can’t see the grin that’s fighting to get out. Great. Yeah, I’m pretty sure she is.

A knock interrupts my sappy little moment, and I give my roommate a questioning look. “You expecting company?”

“Nope. Seems a little early for someone to be selling something.”

I follow him to the door, my heart beating a little harder at the thought that maybe Rose left something behind and I’ll get to see her again sooner than expected. But when Bodhi opens the door, it’s not a stunning woman standing there.

“Are you Leo Malone?” the man asks my roommate.

“I’m Leo,” I say, stepping up behind Bodhi so I can get a better look at the guy. He’s several years older than us, late twenties or maybe early thirties, dressed in way too nice a suit for this early on a Saturday.

“My name is Daniel Gibbs,” he says. “I work for Daltrey Ransome. Can I come in?”

Bodhi and I share a look and I know he’s thinking exactly what I am—oh, shit.

With a growing sense of worry knotting my stomach, I step away from the door. “Sure,” I say. The guy steps in, glancing quickly around our tiny apartment, expression giving away nothing, then walks straight towards the kitchen like he owns the damn place. The suit arranges a folder, his phone, and an ink pen on the table, all at perfectly right angles, and then takes a seat, while Bodhi and I gape at him in confusion. What the hell is going on?

“Mr. Malone,” the guy says over his shoulder. “Perhaps you’d like to put on a shirt and join me.”

I glance down at my bare chest and rumpled cargo shorts. The shorts I’d pulled on while Rose Ransome was getting dressed in my bedroom less than an hour ago. My rebellious nature battles with the worry and curiosity churning in my mind. I want to tell this guy to go fuck himself, I’ll wear whatever I want in my own apartment. On the other hand, I’m curious as hell, and more than a little bit concerned, about why he’s here.

“I’ll make some more coffee,” Bodhi offers and I nod before heading to my bedroom to grab a shirt. I bypass the one draped over my desk—where Rose threw it when she pulled it off me last night, blue eyes shining with laughter—and grab a clean shirt from a drawer, pulling it on while I walk back to the kitchen.

“Coffee won’t be necessary,” the guy is saying in a crisp, no-nonsense voice when I enter the room. “This won’t take long.” His eyes land on me. “Mr. Malone, good. Please sit down.”

My rebellious side finally wins out. “You do realize this is my fucking apartment, yeah?”

He blinks at me, completely unconcerned. “Of course, Mr. Malone. I just assumed you’d like to get this over with quickly.” His eyes flick to Bodhi. “Perhaps some privacy would be welcome.”

“My roommate can stay,” I snap, arms crossed over my chest. The guy gives the chair across from him a pointed look, and I give him one right back.

Finally, he sighs. “Suit yourself.” He pulls a stack of paper from the manila folder on the table and slides it toward me. “I’d like you to look these documents over before signing.”

I gape at him for a long moment. “I’m sorry—Gibbs, was it?” He nods. “I have no idea who you are or what you’re doing in my apartment. Why in the hell do you think I’m going to sign something for you?”

He studies me for a long moment. “She didn’t address this with you?”

“Who?” I’m about five seconds from really losing my temper here.