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

13. Carter

13

CARTER

FRIDAY

T he end of the workweek is here, and I’m busier than ever. Everyone is trying to wrap things up, me included, for once. Aunt Eleanor is due tomorrow morning, and I want as few interruptions as possible. Especially since Eden and I have blocked out time later this evening to get our stories straight.

At 4:47 p.m., I finally have a chance to breathe.

I enjoy what I do. The fast-paced, intense environment is where I thrive. A lot of my day is spent either coming up with new ideas, implementing procedures, or connecting with my clients for one reason or another.

Bradley’s “whispers” about client poaching have more weight to them than I originally thought. Two more of my longtime clients have mentioned being contacted by Ecclestone Construction, which has left me wondering if they’re attempting a takeover of my client base, possibly thinking they can outshine my long-standing relationships. It has certainly put me on high alert.

When I step out of my office for a break, Eden is typing away at her computer, focused on what she’s doing. She wears a form-fitting navy skirt and light-blue blouse that draws my attention. The top two buttons have been left undone. From her seated position, I catch the barest hint of her cleavage. We haven’t spoken about our midnight “encounter” in the laundry room. It had been a mistake. An incident arising from an accidental convergence of circumstances, one might say. It won’t happen again. She knows it. I know it. Despite the unfortunate situation, both of us are maintaining our professionalism and are choosing not to bring it up—particularly within the work environment. We both recognize the importance of keeping a level head and not allowing personal matters to interfere with our work duties.

When I approach her desk, she looks up and smiles.

“Do you need something, boss?” she asks.

“I’m pretty much finished here. Let’s get dinner.”

“Sounds good to me, I’m starving.” The way her eyes light up and her face brightens has me pausing for a moment. She lowers her voice, even though there’s nobody around to overhear us. “Are you sure it’s wise to be seen out in public with me?”

“You were the one saying you wanted to see more of the city and that I had to feed you. If you’re fine with take-out again, then…”

“ Nope ,” she says quickly, afraid I’m changing my mind. “Dinner out sounds great. It’ll give us a nicer ambience to work up our battle plan for the weekend.”

Appreciating but not reading anything into the fact that she said “our battle plan” instead of “a battle plan,” I pull my phone out and bring up the Uber app. “I’m ordering a car to take you to the restaurant. I’m going to need a few more minutes to wrap up here.”

“Are you sure? I can wait.”

“No need.”

She nods, and I know she understands my reasoning. There are still plenty of people around, and the last thing I want is for them to see me and Eden get in the same car or leave at exactly the same time. It’s no problem for people to see us leave together now and then for a business lunch, a meeting, or a presentation, but people will get suspicious if we leave together every day at the same time. Rumors are the last thing I need. We’ve been doing well at keeping things at a distance, and I don’t want to jeopardize that.

Eden shuts down her computer and grabs her purse. “I guess I’ll see you in a bit.”

I nod without a word and go back to my office. Eden’s high heels click against the hardwood floor on her way out. It’s been an interesting couple of days. The whole wedding situation aside, Eden’s presence has been a pleasant change of pace in the office. She knows her stuff and is a hard worker. I’m impressed with how easily she picks up new things and how many clients have been starting to mention her in a positive way.

It feels good to have one thing off my plate. As long as everything goes well this weekend, the next six months will be a breeze.

For exactly twenty more minutes I finish up minor tasks and then shut my stuff down for the weekend.

Time to focus on my aunt.

I’ve told Aunt Eleanor a lot of stories over an extended stretch of time—she’s curious like that. The good thing is, during the last few days, Eden has gotten a good insight on all things work related and other basics she would be familiar with as my wife. We still need to discuss how we met. If she gets even the slightest detail wrong, it could blow the whole charade. And I’m not going to let that happen.

We’re planning to move her belongings into my room early tomorrow morning so the maid can prep the guest suite and rest of the apartment for my aunt before we return with her from the airport. Eden has surrendered to her fate and agreed to do so without any further objections. As long as we keep our stories straight for forty-eight hours, we’ll be good.

The restaurant I sent Eden to is a small Italian place I’ve visited only once or twice, typically frequented by locals who enjoy authentic homemade pasta. I don’t want to risk taking her to any of my usual places in case we’re noticed or recognized. When I get there, she sits at a table tucked away in the corner, a complimentary drink and bite-sized appetizer in front of her, poring over the menu. When I join, she gives me another one of her bright smiles.

“Everything on the menu looks so good,” she comments. “I’m having a hard time deciding.” She lowers her voice. “There’s no price. The price is missing.”

“Pick whatever you’d like,” I say, glancing at my own menu.

The waitress appears at our side, asking, “Good evening, may I take your orders?”

I look at Eden. She gestures for me to order first.

“I’ll have the ravioli special with a glass of Chianti.”

“One Ravioli del Maestro,” the waitress repeats back to me.

After some friendly clarifications with the waitress, Eden says, “And I’ll have the Gnocchi Sorrento with a glass of your house red.”

“Are you sure?” I ask her.

“Of course,” she says brightly.

“Two side salads.”

“Oh, good idea, can I have a tomato salad?”

“One tomato salad, one green salad.”

The waitress thanks us, takes the menus, and informs us about the estimated waiting time before leaving. It was refreshing to see that Eden didn’t just fall in line with my food order. Instead of playing it safe, she’d ordered something completely different. I can see why she’d prefer her meal over mine. Eden has a sweet tooth, and her pick of potato-based dumplings with a sauce made from ripe tomatoes will be on the sweeter side.

She grabs a slice from the basket of warm artisan bread and dips it in one of the small individual dishes of seasoned olive oil. “This is a nice place,” she says, scanning the restaurant. “Do you come here a lot?”

“I don’t.” I pull out my small black book. “All right, let’s go over how we met.”

She raises her eyebrow. “You have it in your notebook?”

“I took down a few pointers, yes.”

“Why don’t you use your phone?”

“The book is quicker to capture my thoughts on the go or while I’m on my phone when I can’t access apps. I also don’t have to worry about dealing with hacking or technical glitches.” I flip through the pages, getting right to business. “I never said anything about your job, so it should be fine to tell her you just started as my assistant. Less room for error. We met four months ago when I was on a business trip on the coast. You were having lunch at the hotel where I was staying, and we ran into each other several times. I asked you to dinner the night before I was going to leave. We had a pleasant time. After that, we talked every day, and less than a month later you moved to the city, and we got married.”

“Hmm. That doesn’t sound too difficult to remember,” Eden begins, something like worry crossing her features. “ But …seems a little vague though.”

“I approached you first,” I go on, fully cluing her in. “You were sitting alone at the bar, and I sat next to you, asking if the seat was taken. I’d just closed the deal on an important account and was ready for a late coffee. Obviously, you were immediately attracted to me. We flirted a bit before I told you to have dinner with me.”

“Wow, Carter, I didn’t know you were such a ladies’ man.” She smirks while she enjoys her bread. “But I have to say, this is all very cliché. What’s worse, it’s one-sided. Also, it’s hard to believe that we ran into each other all the time. And less than a month later, I’m moving to a whole other state to be with you—are you sure about that?”

“You cared for me so deeply you couldn’t stand to be apart.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s totally believable and not at all like a bad movie. Hello? Your story sounds like it was written by a man.”

“I am a man.”

“ Exactly .” She takes a sip of her sparkling water. “How about this—something a bit closer to what actually happened, and thus, making it feel much more believable: We met at a cute, cozy ice cream place. I was at a nearby motel because my new apartment wasn’t ready yet. I approached you first, because there was no other seat available. After a hilarious meet-cute that involved an unexpected rendezvous between my ice cream and your coffee, we engaged in conversation. Even though, when I asked about you, you transformed into a walking construction encyclopedia, I, for some uncharted reason, decided to throw caution to the wind and embrace this whole shebang. Obviously, your knowledge was impressive, and after we connected more, it became clear that not all bosses are the grandest peacocks strutting their feathers. Not all are like those commanding tower lights; some are more like those austere desk lamps, emitting an unwavering glow of dominant brilliance, while keeping us on our toes and never letting the workplace atmosphere get too dull as we scramble to find the ‘friendliness-on’ switch. Isn’t that right, boss? I mean…”

I put my hand up to stop her. “That’s too specific. It also makes absolutely no sense. We can’t stray from what I’ve already told her, or she’ll smell the lie. The reason why the story was vague and predictable was that it’s easier to sell. Perfect to nod along to. The more weird details you give to a lie the more there’s a chance it will be questioned.”

“Well, okay, to each their own, but wouldn’t it seem weird that a woman would drop her entire life just because some random guy made bedroom eyes at her one night? Why ?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I left my life for you, in under a month. For what reason? What did you have to offer?”

I raise my eyebrow and sit back in my seat. “What did I have to offer?” I repeat. “Eden, look at me. Look at where I live. Look at my life. I have everything to offer.”

“Then why are you still single?”

“That’s by choice. I’m choosing professional pursuits over the commitments that come with romantic relationships.”

“Why?”

“It’s just where my focus lies.”

“Oh, I’m just dying to know more about your grand scheme for world domination.” Eden sighs. “Carter, if we’re going to sell this, I’m going to need to know a little bit about you and whatever else you’ve got up your sleeve, and not just details of your global takeover, a list of your clients, what motorcycles you’re into, or how you prefer to drink your coffee.”

The waitress brings over our drinks and places the glasses in front of us.

Eden smiles warmly at the waitress, thanking her for the wine. I pick up my glass of Chianti by the long stem and lift it toward Eden for a toast. We lightly tap the rims together, and I say, “Cheers to a nice evening.”

“And a successful weekend!”

I swirl the deep red liquid around before taking a sip from the slightly flared bowl. The taste is rich and complex, and I savor the flavors, rolling them over my tongue before swallowing. I have to admit it’s one of the best I’ve ever tasted.

I watch Eden try her house wine, a lighter red, the wineglass in a simpler design, shorter stem and made of crystal. Her eyes close in pleasure as she savors the taste. “Oh, my God…this is good!”

“I’m glad you like it.” I set my glass down, having made a decision. “What do you want to know?”

“Everyday, mundane things I haven’t been able to pick up on this week,” Eden says after putting her glass back down.

“Fine. Ask, and I’ll tell you the answer.”

“How about instead of asking questions, I get to know you in a more human way. You know, through normal conversation and comradery.”

“All we have is tonight before my aunt arrives tomorrow morning. We don’t have time to do it the normal way.”

“All right. Why don’t you do relationships?” she asks. “And before you dodge the question again, I think it’s pretty important to our cover story. How was I able to catch your attention when you weren’t interested in anything serious?”

“I’m not particularly good at them,” I tell her, observing her eat more of the bread. “I don’t have time, and I don’t have the patience for it. The few relationships I’ve had ended the same way. They always wanted more time than I was willing to give. And I also don’t want children. Never have. Never been interested.”

“Well, that’s one question I can navigate if your aunt asks,” she says, playing with the stem of her glass.

“Good luck with that. I already told her no kids, but that doesn’t stop her from asking.”

“Let’s circle back to the relationship thing.” She sips her wine. I watch the red liquid stain her lips, and her small tongue dart out to wipe it away. “What about sex?”

“What about it? Everyone has sex.”

“You’re okay with having sex with a woman for one night but not a relationship?”

“And? Sex and relationships are two different things. We had sex without a relationship, and you were okay with that too.”

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it,” she says, on the defensive. “I was just curious about your thought process. Although now that I’m thinking about it, in big cities it’s probably not really that weird, so maybe forget I asked.”

“For somebody who doesn’t want to have sex with me, you bring it up way too often.”

“Carter, stop it.”

“This is at least the third time you’ve brought up sex since we started our arrangement,” I point out. I lower my voice to that register. “You just can’t keep your dirty thoughts to yourself, can you? You’re that eager to have sex with me?”

“ No . Of course not! It was just a question, dear God.” She sounds breathless, and her cheeks are pink.

She takes another sip from her wine—a long one this time—before she says, “So before you met my charming personality, you didn’t do relationships. And because I was willing to compromise and not compete with your job, being quite the busybody myself, that’s why you decided to marry me? Can’t we make it a bit more romantic?”

Her abrupt change of topic speaks volumes. Clearly, she had been thinking about our encounters with each other. Just like I had.

She puts her glass back down, saying, “Romance goes a long way as far as a woman is concerned. Your aunt will more likely buy a romantic story, not some vague 08-15…”

“Eden.” I interrupt her. “You’re overthinking the situation. You don’t need to think about all that stuff. All you have to do is act like you love me and sell that we’re married. That’s it.”

“Fine, I was just trying to give our story more depth…”

“You love me, you moved to New York to be with me. Full stop. End of story.”

Eden puts her hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. If she asks, I can tell her why I’m attracted to you.”

“Exactly.”

Just when I want to move on from the subject, she starts listing, “I admire your determination, your bravery, and your resilience. It’s inspiring.”

I pause. My eyes find hers. I’m curious where she’s going with this.

“Yes, you never give up on anything, no matter how difficult it gets. I will talk about how I realized that you have many qualities that people don’t see from the get-go. If you want something, you go in full force. You’re driven and focused, and you’re not afraid to take risks, even when others doubt you. You’re not just a boss, you’re a leader. A true fighter. It shows in everything you do. I will talk about how much you care about your employees, even though it doesn’t seem like it from the outside. And you’re so giving, so generous, and always willing to help out those in need. You care deeply for people. It’s in your actions. It’s really impressive. And while you hide it all rather well because you’re in boss-mode almost twenty-four-seven, you do have an excited, playful side…”

I’m taken aback by her words and feel a strange mix of surprise wash over me. Her words don’t seem fake.

Is that how she really sees me?

Before I can lose myself in my thoughts, she props her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her hands, batting her eyelashes. “Now, what reasons did you give her as to why you were drawn to me?”

“I told her you were pretty, capable, and funny.”

She shrugs. “Well, all right… if you think she will buy plain vanilla compliments, so be it, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?”

“We’re married. We need to have terms of endearment. When I’m in a relationship, I don’t usually refer to my partner by his first name. Unless I’m angry.”

She has a point there. “I don’t like sweetheart,” I say.

“That’s fine. What about ‘hot lips?’”

“Don’t call me hot lips.”

“How about ‘sugar?’”

“No.”

“Okay…wait. What about ‘good-looking’ or, I got it: ‘babe?’”

I nod. “That works.”

“All right. What do you call me? How about ‘darling,’ or wait, wait, no. You call me ‘love.’”

I study her for a moment. Her expression says, Am I pushing this? She probably is. But my aunt will appreciate it. “Darling or love could work.”

She beams, picking up her wine again. “I like both of those. By the way, I’m not letting you off the hook.”

“Off the hook for what?”

“Off the hook for sharing something about yourself. Even if we can’t do it the normal human way. The last few days all you did was talk about your work and your motorcycles. I’d like more info on you. I should at least know your birthday, where you were born, and all of that.”

I’m not in the habit of being chummy with those I work around, with the exception of Bradley. Still, Aunt Eleanor is smart, and Eden’s right. She would find it strange if my wife didn’t know my birthday or much else about me.

“I’m thirty-eight years old, my birthday is August twelfth, I was born and raised right here in New York, and just like in your case, my parents passed away many years ago,” I list. Her expression is one of surprise as she realizes that I remember what she previously shared with me. “What else do you want to know?”

The waitress approaches our table with her tray, and we pause our conversation to accept our food. Eden hands her empty glasses to her, asking for a refill.

“Who’s the person you hold closest to your heart, besides your aunt?” she asks while we start eating.

“Bradley. Bradley Everhart. You’ve met him. He and I go way back.”

“Tell me about the moment you guys bonded.”

I think for a moment and enjoy her happy expressions about her food choice. “When Bradley and I were young—two broke kids in tattered jeans from Staten Island—we were dead set on getting our hands on motorcycles. I still remember that classified ad in the local paper and how we met that old, bearded biker in his rundown, dimly lit garage on the outskirts of town. After some negotiation, we sealed the deal, handing over the cash—our hard-earned savings from odd jobs and hustles. We rode our new rides out of that dusty garage, Bradley on his black Honda CB750, me on my blue Suzuki GS500, feeling like kings of the road. We loved riding through the countryside, exploring woods and hidden trails. The air in our faces. The open roads. The unknown. The motorcycle became an extension of ourselves. One day, we stumbled upon an old barn. From what we could tell, it was abandoned.”

“Oh, like a scary place?”

“Yes, it was creepy looking. I wanted to explore it, but Bradley warned me, told me it was sketchy, that it wasn’t safe. He said something about the Texas Chainsaw Massacre . I told him we weren’t in Texas and that he could wait here for me, I was only going to take a quick look. But good buddy that he was, he said that Hell would freeze over before he let me go in alone. When we were climbing up the squeaky stairs, the wood gave way and Bradley fell, hitting his head on the way down.”

She has stopped eating. “Oh, no! Please tell me you’re joking.”

“He was seriously hurt. There was blood everywhere. I grabbed his Honda—it was faster than my bike—and hauled ass to the nearest town to call for help. The ambulance rushed Bradley to the hospital. I didn’t leave his side for a second. He wasn’t even mad at me. Said it was an accident and that he would do it again.”

She places her hand on her heart. “Aww. That’s so heartwarming.”

“That’s not the best part. While he was recovering, we began dreaming of new adventures together. We decided to turn the old abandoned barn into a biker shop, where we could work on bikes.”

“And you’ve been best friends ever since?

“Well, he still gives me shit from time to time, but yeah, that’s pretty much it. He’s like a brother to me.”

“That’s such a touching story. What happened to the barn?”

“The old owner eventually tore it down. It was a shitty idea to start a biker shop in the middle of nowhere. While it didn’t lead directly to a successful venture, it did plant the seed of entrepreneurship in our minds. Shows you that sometimes a shitty situation can lead to something good.”

There’s a pause.

“I got goose bumps.” She puts her cutlery down and shows me her arm. “It reminds me of my sister.”

“Your sister? How so?”

“As you know, after my parents’ death, Diane took over Dad’s company. A fire hit the area. It caused significant damage and loss. Unfortunately, in recent years, the risk of wildfires has increased in the area where we live, due to factors such as land use and drought conditions. Anyway, after witnessing firsthand the devastation caused by a fire, my sister decided to shift our focus toward a more sustainable, fire-resistant landscape design approach, using plant materials and irrigation systems that could better withstand drought and heat.”

“Has she managed to balance sustainability with profitability? Is there room for further growth and scale?”

“The company was heavily in debt when she took over, and while it’s not making any real profits yet, the new approach seems to slowly be helping the firm grow and build a loyal customer base.”

“I’m glad to hear that. If your sister is seeking to expand, I’d suggest collaborations with other companies or organizations to reach new audiences. Why don’t you tell her to give me a call? Maybe I can open some doors for her.”

“Oh, my goodness.” With big eyes, she gives me a nod. “I will tell her. I appreciate that.”

From there, we continue to enjoy our meals while engaging in conversation: fond childhood memories, books and movies we like, our favorite and least favorite foods, and we even scratch the surface of our hidden talents. Me: a talented survivalist who can rescue victims of unfortunate barn accidents, she: a skilled fire starter who can ignite a fire even in the unlikeliest conditions.

“What haven’t you learned about me so far?” She smiles a bright smile when the waitress brings her dessert, a gelato with a cherry on top, and an espresso for me, with a small cup and saucer, accompanied by a glass of sparkling water to cleanse the palate.

When she offers me a taste of her dessert, I decline.

“You sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Carter, okay, since you dare to deny the opportunity to taste my sweet dessert—once again—I present you with a challenge! Tit for tat. Remember when I said something nice about you earlier? This is the moment you pay me, your brilliant roommate and fake wife, a genuine compliment back—not just the run-of-the-mill pretty , capable, and funny. Booo. It can’t be predictable and shallow. You have to really mean it.” She pauses. “I mean…you know, your aunt really might ask, and you want to be prepared.”

“She probably will. Let’s see. I learned that you’re passionate,” I start, watching her roll her lips over her teeth to take a bite of her ice cream. I shake my head, holding back an almost-chuckle. “I learned that you enjoy life, and you don’t worry too much about the consequences, or about being goofy.”

“Mmmm, fififfooooodelifiouf…” she mumbles as if on cue, and motions for me to continue.

“You never worry what other people think,” I point out, “and you make your own decisions. You enjoy life to the fullest, and it’s an incredible way to live. It sets you apart from others.” She swallows her ice cream, looking at me, her face blushing. “I’ve also come to understand that you don’t have a mean bone in your body. It’s rare to find someone whose soul is untainted by the harshness of the world that can often be dark and unforgiving. But in you, I see someone who has managed to hold on to their goodness, and I think it’s inspiring. If anything, it reminds me that there’s still hope for humanity,” I say as she listens to me intently, her eyes growing bigger and bigger. She has completely forgotten her ice cream. “That’s what I’ve learned about you. Whether it’s a career goal, a personal ambition, you’re focused when you’re in the moment, you’re not afraid to say what you think, and you’re not afraid to ask for what you want. I know you’ll continue to achieve great things.” I reach for my sparkling water. “And you’re flexible .”

She blinks, and I can see her swallowing—not ice cream this time. The blush on her cheeks almost matches that cherry. “How very sweet…I mean, that’ll work when your aunt asks…except for the last part there, I don’t think that last one is an appropriate thing for your aunt to know.”

“What do you mean?” I ask her and take a drink of water. “I was referring to your commendable effectiveness and your ‘no matter when or where or what’ performance at work. So, good job.”

“Carter! You were not.” She laughs, and I can’t help but lean back, thoroughly enjoying her amusement.

Am I playing with fire teasing her like this? Yes, I am. Is it a big mistake? Most likely. Do I regret it? At this point, no.

Because sitting across from her in the dim light, having this gorgeous woman looking at me like she is, feels good. Really good.

Despite all my protests, Bradley has one thing right.

I’m only a man. And when there’s a woman like her giving me bedroom eyes, the excuses I’ve told myself start to sound just like that: excuses.