A Bossy Roommate (Next Door to a Billionaire #2)

6. Carter

6

CARTER

M rs. Hutton stands in the doorway of her place, wearing the red slacks and oversize sweater she always wears. Next to her stands Eden, taking up most of the hallway with a ridiculous number of bags. And why is she crying?

“Oh! You two are acquainted?” Hattie asks, catching on to the familiarity.

Eden nods.

“What is the problem?” I ask her.

Even though I posed the question to Eden, Mrs. Hutton answers. “There’s been a bit of a muddle, you see, and dear Eden here arrived a fortnight ahead of schedule,” she explains. “I would be absolutely delighted to offer her accommodation, but it looks like she’s rather allergic to Mitsy, Myrtle, and little Ruth.”

And probably the other twenty cats you have in there , I think.

Eden sneezes again. “It’s fine, I’ll figure something out…” She opens her purse and rummages through it, looking for something.

I take my handkerchief out of my pocket and hand it to her.

“No problem. I’ll make a few calls,” I say as she wipes her face, pulling my phone out of my pocket, ready to book her into a nearby hotel.

“No, that’s not necessary.” Eden seems determined to figure out the predicament on her own. She’s also trying her damnedest not to look me in the eye. “I’ll just…” She trails off, and I know she has no other options.

Last night she told me she was new in town, and I gathered by the motel room that she doesn’t have much money. Otherwise, she’d already be headed back there.

“Why doesn’t she just lodge with you?” I hear Mrs. Hutton ask.

Eden’s eyes widen, portraying the perfect deer in the headlights look. I’m just as surprised as she is, and we both turn to look at Hattie Hutton. What the hell is that woman thinking? Yeah, we know each other, but that doesn’t automatically make us friends, even less roommates.

“No, no, that’s not a good idea, seriously,” Eden protests, and she lowers the handkerchief.

“I don’t think—” I begin.

“Mr. Carter Donovan Bancroft!” Mrs. Hutton throws out in a scolding tone that I swear every old spinster has mastered. “Are you truly suggesting that an innocent young lady should haul all her belongings downstairs and sort out this mess, when you possess a perfectly suitable spare room? After all, she’s hardly a stranger. The two of you are evidently acquainted.”

All the objections I have prepared die when I notice the outraged way the old woman is looking at me. Damn it if she doesn’t remind me of my aunt. For fuck’s sake . I look at Eden, who has finally stopped sneezing. Her eyes are red like Mrs. Hutton’s slacks, and so is the tip of her nose. I realize it’s because of allergies, but it also looks like she’s been crying—or at least is close to tears. I make a split-second decision I know I’ll regret later.

“Sure, you can stay with me.” I give a curt nod toward my door.

Usually, I’m not rash, but something in Eden seems to not only bring this side of me to life, but also seems to provoke it.

Eden’s eyes widen even more. “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Do you have a better option?”

She stares at me, eyes large as saucers, and it’s like I can see her mind trying to think of something else, another way to get out of this mess.

“That’s what I thought,” I say, not waiting for her response. “It’s no big deal. It’s only for two weeks.”

Mrs. Hutton smiles brightly. “What a considerate young gentleman,” she says as if she hadn’t just conned me into agreeing with her. “There you are, Eden. Predicament resolved.” From inside her apartment, I can hear a cat meowing. “Oh, I must go. Little Ruth needs her blanket. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear. We shall chat again before too long.” A bit more reserved, she says, “Mr. Bancroft.”

With that, she closes the door, leaving me and Eden standing there.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks, clearly nervous.

“I’m sure. Let’s talk inside.” Eden bends to pick up her bags, and I incline closer at the same time to help her. “Here, let me.”

I lean down to grab the heavier bags, and as we shuffle around, our hands accidentally touch. A shot of electricity moves from her body to mine as it did last night. The proximity causes her scent to invade my nostrils, and the smell of citrus washes over me.

We pause, breathing in the same air for half a second before I step back.

When she looks at me, I can see her eyes freeze for a second, before she turns away to grab the rest of her belongings.

Yeah, it’s best we ignore whatever the hell that was.

I open my apartment and gesture for her to enter. Together, we carry her stuff inside, and I’m cursing in my head the entire time. This is not what I expected or hoped my evening would look like, but my elderly neighbor has left me with no other choice. How the hell was I supposed to turn down her suggestion without looking like a complete asshole? There was no way, and I can tell Eden is exhausted. As for the hotel, I can always offer her that out tomorrow morning.

“Thank you,” she says in a small voice.

“Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. We don’t need the office knowing we’re living together, even if it’s only temporary.”

The expression on her face tells me she and I are on the same page—we won’t be making any of this public. I won’t treat her differently to any other new assistant. Just because we slept together, and she now temporarily lives in my apartment doesn’t mean our dynamic will change. Not in the least.

I have to admit she did a good job today. She completed everything I gave her, and it was done correctly. That was more than any of my previous assistants could handle.

“Where’s the spare room?” she asks.

“This way.” I lead her to a guest suite down the hall. It’s next door to my bedroom, has a private bathroom connected to the hallway, and a balcony. “You can stay in here,” I say, walking inside and putting her bags on top of the chair next to the bed. “Keep everything neat, and we won’t have a problem.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not even going to unpack everything,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Wouldn’t make sense if I’m moving again in two weeks anyway.”

“I’ll text Lewis and tell him to have Mrs. Hutton’s apartment deep cleaned. That way your allergies won’t get the better of you when you move in.”

She looks at me, surprise etched across her features. Lewis was a good friend of my late father and one of the last few decent human beings left on this planet. He’ll try to accommodate and properly hand over the apartment. Even if he protests for whatever reason—he likely doesn’t know that old Mrs. Hutton is farming a cat population in his apartment, and as annoying as the thought is, I won’t rat her out—I’ll simply tell him to bill me.

“I appreciate it. And you’ll get your handkerchief back, I swear. I just want to wash it first.”

I rub the back of my neck, unsure of where to go from here. It’s a unique and awkward situation I haven’t found myself in before. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“I’ll order us something.”

Leaving her in the guest suite, I walk past a loft area I’ve turned into a master suite with an additional adjoining bathroom. The living room is a large open concept with windows all along one wall, and in the center, a comfortable sofa faces a fully functional fireplace. No flat-screen TV mounted above it like you typically see. I despise mundane time-wasting activities.

The kitchen opens into the living room, and the interior designer had put a table and chairs in the middle of the two as a makeshift dining area. With Eden’s guest suite down the hall, next to a small laundry room, we will at least have some semblance of privacy between us. I only really go down that hall when I go to my bedroom or home gym.

The main reason I’d moved into this apartment, aside from the spectacular view, was the clever allocation of the rooms. It’s my home, my solitude, the one place I can go where no one will bother me. Who needs the interruptions? And yet, now I have a visitor.

Luckily, it’s only for a limited time.

My stomach growls, and I pull my phone out of my pocket. Just as I unlock the screen, my phone rings. My aunt’s name and photo appear on the screen.

“Hello, Auntie,” I answer.

“Carter, my darling nephew!” Her French accent is loud and clear. “It’s great to hear your voice.”

Eleanor Toussaint is my only living relative. At sixty-six, she has taken to calling me every couple of days to check in and keep tabs on me. Not that I mind. I love my aunt dearly, and with her living in France, visits in person aren’t too frequent. Especially lately. She’s been talking about having health issues when she isn’t hounding me about getting married—her favorite topic.

Thankfully, I’ve been able to keep her at bay with a little white lie.

“How is married life treating you, mon chéri ?” she asks.

“It’s great, Aunt Eleanor. Things are going well.”

“I am so glad. I cannot wait to meet her.”

Yeah. I’d lied to her and told her I got married. It’d all started with a misunderstanding I hadn’t cleared up. Truth is, I don’t relish the deception, but after years of her asking and nagging, I figured it was the easiest way to get her off my back. It has worked perfectly well over the last few months.

As always, I expertly pivot the situation away from the idea of her meeting my imaginary wife. “How are you feeling?”

Aunt Eleanor sighs. “Not well, I’m afraid. My doctors have me on a strict medication regimen.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”

“There isn’t. On the plus side, they cleared me for flying. I am coming to visit you this weekend.”

My stomach churns, and my heart rate kicks up. “Come again?”

“I said, I’m coming to New York this weekend. I need to visit my favorite nephew and meet the woman who finally got him to settle down.”

“Auntie, I’m your only nephew.” I resort to the well-used line to buy myself more time.

Think .

Think .

“All the more reason to visit!”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I try. “I don’t want you to risk your health on my behalf.”

“I’ve already made up my mind, mon chéri ,” she says with her stubborn voice that I’ve heard all too many times throughout my life. “The ticket is reserved, and I’m already packing.”

“How long will you be staying for?”

“Oh, just the weekend. I wanted to bring you my wedding gift in person. By the way, what’s the name of my new niece-in-law? It occurred to me that I never asked, forgetful old bat that I am. I want to make sure I add her name to the congratulations card.”

Fuck. Fuck .

Quick, Carter, think faster .

Eden comes down the hall, and our eyes meet across the room.

“Her name is Eden.” I answer my aunt’s tricky question, a brilliant idea forming in my mind.

“Eden? What a beautiful name! Oh, this visit is going to be so fun! I cannot wait to meet her. Now, I must go and finish making last-minute arrangements. I will see you in a few days, mon chéri . Love you!”

She hangs up before I can respond.

Eden gives me a quizzical look when I lower my phone.

“Who was that? Why did you say my name a second ago?” she asks. “And what’s with the funny look?”

My mind races with solutions to the situation I’ve found myself in. In hindsight, Eden’s predicament might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. She’s already planning on staying with me for two full weeks. I’m sure I can convince her to go along with this charade for two days.

“First, I have a proposition for you,” I say, slipping the phone back into my pocket.

“Does it have to do with what to order for dinner? Because I’ll eat anything right now. I’m hungry as can be.”

“I need you to marry me.”

Her eyes widen. For a brief moment, I see something like hurt flashing behind her eyes. Then, as if nothing happened, she snort-laughs out loud. Clearly, she doesn’t believe me. “Come again?”

“It’s a personal matter. One that I’m going to need your help with. I need you to be my wife.”

The amusement is gone from her face as quickly as it appeared. “Wait, you’re serious? Your wife? Where is this coming from? Last time I checked, you didn’t even want to acknowledge that we had sex. Now you’re suddenly asking me to marry you?”

“Here, sit down. Let me explain.”

I motion for her to join me on the couch. We sit facing each other, Eden staring at me like I’ve suddenly grown an extra head. Which is fair, considering what I’ve just thrown her way.

“I’m all ears…?”

“I was just talking to my aunt,” I explain as patiently as I can. “She’s in her sixties and not doing well health-wise. She wants to visit me this weekend so she can meet my new wife.”

“But you don’t have a wife. Wait, do you have a wife? Shit! Did I have sex with a married man? Sweet Jesus, Carter! Great , just perfect. I slept with my married boss. This gets better and better! I swear to God—does your wife know?”

She keeps babbling on and on, asking if I have kids, and all I can think to do is put my hand over her mouth, so I do. “Quiet for like, two seconds, okay? I’m not done explaining.”

She huffs and knocks my hand away. “Fine, keep going.”

“Aunt Eleanor is my only living relative and I’m hers. My uncle passed away years ago and she doesn’t have any children. She lives in France where she moved after she remarried. We talk regularly. She was always hounding me about settling down and getting married. Recently, with her health failing and her second husband passing away, she’s really amped up the nagging, so to get her off my back, I told her I eloped. It was meant as a joke. She was ecstatic and the nagging finally stopped.”

“You invented a wife to get your aunt off your back?”

“No. It was a joke. One that I never cleared up. Hey, she’s a formidable woman. And it sounded like a good idea at the time.”

“Except now she wants to visit.”

“Exactly. That’s where you come in.”

Eden studies me for a moment, her green eyes not as wide but still as piercing. “Couldn’t we just pretend to be married?” she asks. “Why do we have to actually go through with the nuptials?”

“We don’t. We won’t go through with the legal part. We’ll pretend to be married?—”

“Oh.”

“—but my aunt is smart. She’s going to want to see photos. Us in wedding outfits. Ring. The whole shebang.”

Her face grows expressionless for a second as I list what’s required. “Isn’t she going to ask for the marriage certificate?”

“What? Nobody wants to see that.”

“Sure? What if she does?”

“I’m not worried about that. Her eyesight isn’t great.”

“Still, this is insane .” Eden shakes her head, getting to her feet. “Nope. I’m not going to fake marry you so you can continue lying to your elderly aunt.”

“Eden, if I tell her the truth, it’ll devastate her,” I explain. “Her health has been steadily declining over the last few months. If me being married makes her happy and puts her at ease, then so be it.”

“Why the hell should I help you? This morning you wanted nothing to do with me. Must I remind you that you snuck out of my motel room without even leaving a note?”

Damn. She has me there.

“This isn’t about us,” I argue. “But a favor for a favor is only fair.”

“Are you saying that my staying here obligates me to fake marry you?” Eden’s eyes flare with outrage. “Absolutely not, Carter! I’m not going to let you lord this over me. I’ll sleep in my flipping car if I have to.”

She starts to march away, but I stand up and block her path. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sleeping in your car in New York is dangerous. Also, the marriage thing will only be for the weekend. Afterward, everything will go back to the way it’s supposed to be.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to hold a headache at bay. “If you do this for me, I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll order dinner for us the entire time you stay here, and…wait,” I say, fishing for my phone.

“And breakfast.”

I look up. Her demand takes me aback for a second. That’s it? Is she really going to accept the deal in exchange for dinner and… breakfast ? Her bargaining skills clearly need work. Unless I’ve missed something. She’s either a negotiating rookie, business- un -savvy beyond hope, or really desperate. “Come again?”

“Breakfast and dinner,” Eden corrects. “The only reason I’m staying here is because I can’t afford a motel. I also don’t have money for food and gas. Feed me in addition to giving me shelter, and we have a deal.”

This has to be the easiest deal of my lifetime.

“Done. The kitchen will be fully stocked throughout your stay.” When she looks at me like I’ve saved her life, I decide this isn’t the right moment to be a complete asshole. I unlock my phone and enter a number into the display. “And you get a big bonus if everything goes well.” I turn the phone to her.

“Oh. My. God.” Not only does her jaw drop, but her eyes grow to the size of dinner plates. Clearly, her poker face needs work too.

“With that, I will lay down some ground rules, and some requirements.” Not just because of her, but also because of my tendency to do things in her presence that I wouldn’t normally do.

Immediately, she shakes her head. “I’m not having sex with you! Nopeee, sir. No sexual favors. That ship has sailed.”

My eyebrows fly up so fast they’re in danger of disappearing in my hairline. (So much for a poker face.) “Who’s talking about sexual favors?”

“Well, all those zeros just now…they suggest, you know?—”

I shake my head in frustration. “This isn’t about sex. In fact, not even close. First off, you need to have dinner with my aunt and me. Don’t leave me alone with her, for the love of God.”

“Didn’t you say you love her?”

“I do. More than life. I can only imagine her next mission is going to be me having children and that is a conversation I am adamant about avoiding.”

Eden chuckles. “The big bad wolf is scared of his elderly aunt. This is too good.”

“Aunt Eleanor is a tough, smart woman,” I say, ignoring her smartass comment. “Knowing her, she’ll want all the details about the wedding and how we met. I’ve already shared my side of the story with her, so you need to follow along with what I’ve said to keep things consistent. You have to sell it. She has to really think that we’re married and in love. She’ll leave for France a happy woman.”

“You’re certainly going to a lot of trouble to impress your aunt.”

“She’s the most important person in my life, and she’s adamant that me being married will make me happy. It’s ridiculous, but I don’t see the harm in letting her think that’s the case.”

“Got it.”

“Secondly, we need to keep our ‘marriage’ a secret at work. Obviously none of this can be mentioned to anybody in the office.”

“All of that sounds doable.”

“I’m not done. Thirdly, no falling in love.” The last thing I need is romantic complications or worse, a fake bride who wants to become a real bride.

For a second, her jaw tenses, but then she snort-laughs aloud. “Easy. I would never fall in love with you. In fact, you’re the last person on this planet I would fall in love with.”

I narrow my eyes at her, curious as to what she means.

“Bosses are taboo. Everybody knows that. I’m not risking my new job.”

Well, that makes sense. “Good. Make sure it stays that way.”

She pulls the pin out of her hair, letting long shiny brown locks flow down her back. I have the mental image of her doing something similar the night before, right before she walked toward me. “So dinner with your aunt, no improvising, and make her think I’m the devoted, loving wife,” she lists back at me, running her hand through her soft hair. “Keep our ‘marriage’ a secret at work. Play the devoted wife, but no falling in love. Got it.”

“Good. Then we’re done here.” I glance at the time. This has already taken way too long.

“Wait. If you have ground rules, then I have some of my own as well.”

I cross my arms and lean against the wall. “And they are?”

“If I have to sell this thing, then you do too,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “I’m more than happy to act like the doting wife, but marriage is a two-way street. You have to be the doting husband, right? We’re newlyweds and need to act like it. I deserve to be fawned over.”

“What makes you think I won’t?”

“You really don’t want me to answer that.”

“I know what I want and how I like things done, and I’m not ashamed of that.”

“Which works in the business world and is what makes you a good businessman. But would make you a terrible husband.”

“I resent that remark,” I tell her, irritated. “When I commit to something, I go all in, not just giving one hundred percent, but excelling.”

“What does that have to do with marriage? It’s not a competition, Carter. You can’t approach marriage like you do a business deal.”

I hold my hand up, gesturing between the two of us. “And yet…”

Eden scoffs and waves me off. “This doesn’t count. It’s not a real marriage, remember? Anyway, I’m not done listing my stipulations.”

“Do continue.”

“Where do I sleep?”

“You’re staying in the guest suite unless told otherwise. Once my aunt arrives, we share my room.”

“Wait.” She frowns. “I was serious before—we’re not having sex.”

“Are you talking about sex again, woman?”

“I am. And I’m telling you that I’ve sworn off sex and men while I’m in New York.”

“Obviously that went over so well last night.”

“The rule was put into place when I woke up alone in my motel room.”

All right, that hits a nerve. I’m not a monster. Part of me feels bad for ditching her, but in my defense, I didn’t expect to ever see her again. “There are two beds in my room. Happy? Anything else?”

Eden seems satisfied with my reply but still ponders for a moment. “Nothing that comes to mind,” she concludes. “But my ground rules are subject to change.”

At that, I smirk. “Meaning if you get hot and bothered, you’re free to try to seduce me?”

“No, meaning if you do something inappropriate, I’m out. Gone. Hasta la vista , baby.” Eden extends her hand. “Deal?”

Not breaking eye contact, we shake on our arrangement. She’s not going anywhere.

“Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

“We can make all the arrangements quietly.” I fish my phone out of my pocket again. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up a contract and an NDA.”

“How romantic.”

“Thursday,” I tell her, ignoring her comment. “We’re flying out to Vegas on Thursday. I’ve got a meeting in Phoenix that demands my presence, and right after that, we’re jetting off to Vegas to capture the wedding shots. Phoenix and Vegas are practically a stone’s throw away, so it makes sense to combine the trips. Start planning and reschedule any meetings accordingly. Allocate a time on Friday for us to meet up to get our stories straight before my aunt arrives on Saturday. Let’s get it over and done with.”

“You’re such a sweet talker,” Eden says sarcastically.

“I don’t sweet-talk. I simply know how to communicate effectively. It saves time and gets results.”

“Effective communication is one thing, but have you mastered the art of passive-aggressive remarks yet? That’s where the real magic happens.” When I give her a look, she adds, “Anyway, this is going to be an interesting weekend.”

I agree. The weekend is certainly going to be one of a kind—and not in a good way.

“We’re done here.” I shove my phone into my pocket, heading to my room. “I’ve gotta get some sleep. I have an early day tomorrow.”

“I already regret my decision,” she says playfully. “Ask me to marry you, then immediately go pass out? Don’t you want to celebrate? Eat something…sweet?”

Pausing, I turn to look at her. “Didn’t you swear off sex?”