Page 34 of The October Arrangement

“Fine.” He knew me too well to accept that answer.

“What has she done?”

“Nothing.” I reached for my scotch. “I came home from work last night, and she turned my fireplace into a fucking pumpkin patch.”

“Why?” He laughed.

“I don’t fucking know. For her job, I guess. One of the pumpkins has a name.”

“I’m sorry. I’m going to need you to repeat that,” he said.

“I’m not repeating it.”

“Fine. What’s the pumpkin’s name?”

“Harold.”

Christian lost it and laughed so loud that other patrons in the place turned and looked at us.

“Fuck you,” I said.

“There’s a pumpkin named Harold living in your penthouse?”

“Apparently. And you know what the worst part is?”

“Can it get any worse?” he asked.

“It’s wearing a bow tie. My father met him this morning.”

That set him off again into roaring laughter. “Jesus Christ. I leave the country for two months and come back to find you living with a woman and raising a pumpkin named Harold together.”

“Knock it off. We’re not raising a fucking pumpkin together.”

“Why was your father at your penthouse when you weren’t?”

“He was picking up some documents I’d left in my study.”

“So, he met Bella?”

“Yes. And he likes her.”

“Of course he does.” He grinned. “What’s not to like?”

“You haven’t even met her?” My brows furrowed.

“Doesn’t matter. I already like her. But on to the most important question of the day. Is she hot?”

I should have told him no, but I couldn’t lie about something like that. “Yes, she is.”

“Oh?” His brows arched. “How hot?”

“I’m not rating her.”

“That means hotter than hot.” He smiled. “Have you slept with her?”

“God, no.”

“Do you want to?” A smile was still perched on his lips. I didn’t answer him. “Well, that answers that.”