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

24. Eden

24

EDEN

W hen we get down to the lobby, Gwen smiles at us from the receptionist’s desk, peering over the rim of her glasses. “Ah, Mrs. Toussaint, I see you’ve found Eden,” she says in a friendly but louder voice.

“Oh, I have. Gwen, merci .” Eleanor pats me on the arm. “Come on, Eden, show me that little bistro.”

“Your driver is already waiting,” Gwen confirms when I look at her.

“Thank you, Gwen.”

It isn’t until we get into the car that she finally speaks about her slip-up a few minutes prior. “I’m sorry about that, Eden,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I was not even thinking. I know you and Carter wanted to keep things quiet. I completely forgot. I hope I did not just ruin everything.”

I’m confident that Carter will quell any rumors or talk about what happened. “Don’t worry about it, Auntie,” I say, squeezing her hand back. “Carter will handle it. Forget about all of that. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, you two make such a fuss over me! I’m perfectly fine! I mean…as good as to be expected.”

“We fuss because we care. I’m sure you would be fussing too, if you were in our shoes.”

Eleanor sighs dramatically. “Oh, I am sure you are right. I am sorry, ma chère . It is just that I am a very independent woman, I always have been. I have never had to answer to anyone, and I do not intend to start now. That is how I raised Carter.”

“You know, there is a difference between independence…and stubbornness.”

She turns to look at me, and even though her huge sunglasses take up half her delicate face, I can still feel the intense gaze through the dark lenses. She blinks twice. I smile brightly in return, daring her to deny my statement. A second later, it’s like a switch has been flipped and suddenly her face lights up, and we both start laughing.

“You are going to keep that boy on his toes for the rest of his life.” She gives a cute little giggle.

The driver pulls up outside of The Sweet Spot, and I thank him. Eleanor and I enter the small but cozy bistro. Even though it’s the lunch rush and most of the tables are full, the atmosphere is calm and quiet. Exactly what the three of us need. At least, it’s exactly what I need.

We settle ourselves in a booth toward the back, and just when we’re being handed our menus a few minutes later, Carter enters, dressed casually, helmet in hand, looking around. He’d hopped on his motorcycle and zipped through the sea of cars, dodging traffic to make it here in record time.

“I’ve never seen this place before,” he admits, taking the spot next to me. Aunt Eleanor sits across from us, her face hidden behind the large menu.

“Everything good?” I ask him in a low voice.

He nods and throws me an “I’ve restored order” wink, dropping his arm casually across the back of the booth, not quite around my shoulders, but as close as he can get, given the situation. It’s so casual and intimate that it takes me a moment to process. He seems relaxed, which is strange, considering his aunt has just blown our cover to several employees.

He leans in close, looking at the menu I’d totally forgotten I was holding. “What’s good here?” he asked.

Smelling his aftershave and feeling the heat of his body has my libido immediately taking notice. I have to swallow past the lump in my throat before I can say anything. “I don’t know. This is my first time.” The last time he and I had been this close was when we were fooling around, and my body knows that.

Carter studies his aunt while I try to get my head on straight.

“Auntie, I’m not mad. You’re fine. We’re good.”

She immediately lowers the menu. “Oh, Cartie, mon chéri , I’m so glad! I was sure you’d be as mad as a wet cat stuck in a bathtub, but I’m relieved to see that’s not the case!”

He smiles at her warmly. “Did you make a choice?”

“I feel like a kid in a candy store! I hope my dentures are up for the challenge.”

“Hi, I’m Bess. What can I get you folks?” Our waitress, a peppy young girl with blue hair tied in a floppy bun and a pencil tucked behind her ear, places a basket of steaming rolls on the table.

We order our food, and Carter and his aunt talk the whole time. I’m not sure when it happens, but eventually, Carter’s arm slips down to rest around my shoulders. The booth is small, and between that and our legs pressing against each other’s under the table, my brain can only focus on him and him alone.

Cold water. Ice-cold water. Now. Quick. Where’s Bess?

Don’t ask me why his closeness does what it does to me. We’ve been in much closer moments. But this, somehow it feels real.

Pressing his leg against mine isn’t for show. It’s for…me.

I can barely remember what I ordered. All I know is the food is superb, and by the time we leave, my head is spinning. After helping Eleanor into the car, Carter instructs the driver to ensure she arrives home safely since she insists on traveling alone. “I better go home right now and nap off this food coma. It’s a good thing I wore my stretchy pants. Cheerioooo, you two! Let’s make it a weekly thing!”

We return to the office, on his bike. Picture this: first, Carter wanted me to squeeze into a car with Auntie, go all the way to work, and then let the driver take her back home, which is like, the complete opposite direction. But then I gave Carter the cutest puppy-dog eyes and begged him to take me on his bike instead.

And guess what? He actually said yes.

As I plop myself down onto the bike’s seat behind him, the warm metal beneath sends a shiver of excitement down my spine. It’s like I’m straddling a wild beast— and I’m not talking about the motorcycle . There I sit, unable to stop a sense of déjà vu from washing over me. It wasn’t that long ago that I had been in this exact same position, zooming toward a motel with the same handsome man sitting in front of me. But this time, everything has changed. He’s not a total stranger anymore—in fact, we’ve gotten to know each other pretty darn well over the past few days. He’s let me peek behind the curtain of his life and see the real him, and I’ve let my guard down and shown him the real me. And you know what? He hadn’t run for the hills or made a beeline for the nearest exit. Neither had I. As unexpected and scary as that is, I’ve grown to appreciate Carter Bancroft on a deeper level. All of it feels like a little miracle and has turned my world upside down. I have to pinch myself to make sure it’s real.

I wrap my arms around his waist, feeling his strong muscles flex beneath my fingertips. His body is warm against mine, and I snuggle closer to him, reveling in his scent and the feel of my body against his. I lean into him, feeling safe and secure.

In the parking lot in front of the big Legacy building, I step off Carter’s motorcycle, hand over his jacket and helmet, smiling at him.

In another world, I would have leaned in to kiss him. Can he sense the shift in the air between us as well?

Just then, my phone goes off.

I look down at the screen and am surprised to see it’s the attorney I had contacted prior to coming to New York.

“Everything okay?” Carter asks.

“My attorney is calling.” I think for a moment, looking at Carter. This is a private call, and my lunch break is technically over.

“Answer it,” Carter tells me. “It could be important.” His eyes say: It’s not like I’m going to dock your pay for taking a phone call in the parking garage.

I give him an “Okay, thanks” nod and a small wave, then swipe right while Carter heads inside the building without me. “Hello?”

“May I speak to Eden Ryan please?” a female voice on the other end asks.

“This is Eden speaking.”

“Good afternoon, Eden. This is Sarah Robertson from Robertson & Associates. I understand you’re in need of legal advice.”

“Hi, Sarah,” I say. “Thanks for getting back to me.” At last. I dismiss the ungrateful thought from my mind.

“Of course. I received your email regarding a joint bank account, and I’m sorry to hear about your situation. Can you please confirm some of the details for me?”

Uh-oh. Somehow, I have a bad feeling. Her voice doesn’t sound as if she has great news. Carter’s pessimism is rubbing off on me. “Sure.”

We talk for about twenty minutes.

The information I get from her boils down to this: If my former fiancé took all the money from a joint bank account without my consent (which I didn’t give him), it’s considered illegal, and I might have legal recourse. However, if I can’t prove that my fiancé took the money from the joint account without my consent (which I can’t) I might not have a good chance of winning the case. Legal fees can range from a few hundred dollars for a simple case to tens of thousands of dollars for a more complex case that goes to trial. If my fiancé has left the state (which I hear he has), it might be more difficult to track him down and enforce a judgment if I win the case. This could increase the cost and time involved in pursuing the matter.

There’s much more she said than that, but ultimately, I can sum up the call in eight words: I have no chance of making him pay.

Regrettably, I have no evidence to present, while he’s enjoying the backing of numerous individuals. It already stings that I can never get back the money I spent on the wedding itself, the fact I can’t hold him accountable for his wrongdoing is even more aggravating. The expenses I would incur could surpass any potential winnings, even in the event of a victory.

I can’t breathe.

It takes every ounce of willpower not to scream.

I close my eyes, trying to force myself to take a deep breath. It takes a while to manage, and when I do, it’s more of a huff than an actual breath. I take another, and another, until most of the fury has subsided. I’m still pissed. Rightfully so. However, at least I’m not seething and can walk into the building without looking like I’m on a murder spree.

Gwen greets me as I hurry by, and even though I smile, my emotions must still be clear because she hesitates for a moment before addressing me. “Good to see you, Eden. One of our visitors dropped this off.” She holds up Carter’s small black notebook. “Mr. Bancroft must have lost it by the elevator. Would you be so kind as to take it?” I thank her and am relieved when the elevator doors closes behind me.

I ride the elevator up on my own, focusing on my breathing. All I want is to get back to my desk and throw myself into my work. For a second, I see another option: throw myself into Carter’s arms. It’s the only thing I know will make the anger really go away, and that scares me to death. It would be the worst thing I could do right now, because our relationship, if you want to call it that, is temporary.

It’s not about proving a point to Rob. Not anymore.

It’s about proving a point to me .

It’s a chance to overcome the disappointment and get my life back together. It’s about standing up for myself. It’s about finding closure, that sense of peace after enduring the wreckage of a horrible breakup—after having been left emotionally broken and scarred, struggling to pick up the million shattered pieces of my heart, while fighting to reclaim a sense of self-worth that had been trampled upon by a remorseless individual. It’s about not letting an asshole get away.

Gretchen is talking to Jaylin and Lexi when I arrive on my floor, but instead of joining them, I walk right past. I swiftly enter Carter’s office to hand him his small black book. He’s on the phone and gives me a curt nod, before I make my way back to my desk. By the time I sit down in my comfy chair behind my huge desk with my incredible view of NYC and a world of possibilities just waiting for me, the anger has mostly subsided, and I can breathe easier.

About a minute later, Gretchen messages me.

Gretchen:

Everything okay? You looked upset.

Me:

Oh, you know, meddling phone call regarding my past.

Gretchen:

Oh, damn! Do you need to talk about it?

Me:

I’m good, girl. Thanks. Just want to get some work done.

Gretchen:

I’m here if you need me. Smiley emoji

I smile and type a “thank you” back before I take a final deep breath and get back to work.

I haven’t been at it long before Carter’s mahogany office double door opens. He holds his tablet and is looking at something on it as he approaches my desk, not bothering to look up.

“Hey,” he says, “so I was just looking over those reports I asked you to pull, and we’re missing a couple of our smaller accounts.”

“Sorry, I’ll rerun it.”

There must have been something off about my response because Carter looks up and frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

He raises his eyebrow, not believing me for a second. “Eden, I’d like to think I’ve gotten to know you pretty well by now. What’s going on? Was the phone call bad news?”

“Nope, no bad news. Just unfortunate news.” I keep my explanation brief, not wanting it to derail our work conversation or distract me. “I’m sorry about the report. I’ll fix it right now.”

I turn back to my computer to do just that when Carter puts his tablet down. He leans on my desk, forcing my attention back to him. “Would you like to discuss it?” he asks, with a quiet and gentle tone. “I’m here to listen, Eden. Please come into my office.”

My heart suddenly begins to race. His expression is soft and one I so rarely see, especially in the office, that it takes my breath away. I’m tempted to talk to him, to tell him everything the attorney said, and vent my frustrations. But now isn’t the time or the place.

“I appreciate it, but I’m okay,” I say. “It’s not something I want to talk about here.”

He nods in understanding, picking up his tablet again. “We’ll open some wine this evening and you can tell me about it. So, anyway, back to this report.”

And just like that, he’s in work mode.

He goes right back to “Boss Carter.”

The switch gives me whiplash, and I find myself having a tough time keeping track of what he’s saying. Expectedly, Carter has drawn a clear line between what is appropriate to talk about at work and what needs to be kept out of the office, and I agree with that, one hundred percent. But for him to be the one to get personal, to offer to listen, has thrown me off. Not because he hasn’t done it before. It was the way he did it. He’d said “please.” He’d said, “ Please come into my office.”

I feels like something has shifted between us, though I’m not exactly sure when it happened. Or what that means about our relationship.

Trying not to read too much into it, I rerun the report for him and handle several other tasks.

The rest of the day passes without incident. My mood improves even more when the afternoon comes and someone from HR hand-delivers my paystub.

“I had completely forgotten it was my first payday,” I tell her.

I hadn’t forgotten, but it feels cool to say it. Then I immediately apologize for saying it because: karma. We laugh, and once she’s gone, I do a quick check of my bank account on my phone and breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God for direct deposit.

It feels good to have more than fifteen dollars to my name. A lot more. The amount that smiles back at me displays not just my salary, but also the weekend marriage bonus I’d deposited from Carter’s check, though it had taken a while to appear in the bank. A huge weight is lifted off my shoulders, and I can breathe. Finally, I can afford to gas up Kiki, fix her windshield wipers, and start driving to work. In case of emergency , I correct myself, immediately thinking of my sister and her efforts to run an ecological and sustainable company. Every contribution counts, and I’ll walk the distance or use the train as often as I can without penalizing myself for occasionally using Kiki.

As usual, when the end of the day rolls around, I leave before Carter does, welcoming my walk home. It’s become a reliable source of exercise and a way to clear my head after a long, busy day. The route is now ingrained in my memory, and I could walk the same path blindfolded if I needed to. While I walk, I consider taking the sweet offer by HR—that had been sent through by Carter—to leave my car in the parking garage both in the mornings and afternoons to save money and to avoid it heating up.

With money in my bank account, it’s time for a celebratory treat. Without a second thought about the scales and healthy choices (screw that!), I stop at one of the many delicious food places on my route. Since Carter had mentioned wine and dinner, I opt to visit a bakery and pick up something sweet for dessert. Since their mouth-watering cinnamon rolls are sold out (a moment of silence, please!) along with any cupcakes (oh, the memories! Sigh! ), I settle on their iconic NYC black-and-white cookies. They’re way more expensive than any cookies would have been in my hometown. But by now—bougie as I am—I’m used to New York’s hefty price tag.

When I get home, I make my way to the apartment, humming to myself. At some point this afternoon, I’d let go of the frustrating news Sarah had given me, not wanting it to mar the rest of my day. I’m glad I did, because when I manage to reach the apartment, I remember that Aunt Eleanor is going to be staying with Hattie—meaning Carter and I will be…alone.

Only the two of us.

Completely isolated.

We’ll have the place to ourselves without having to worry about someone interrupting, listening next door, or walking in on us—during or after the fact.

Hattie’s door opens right when I get to mine.