Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
It’s late, almost midnight, and I’m hoping these walls are soundproof because I’m causing quite a ruckus. My suitcase finally pulls free, and I stumble back, tripping over my purse and landing on my ass. At least the carpet is soft and the floor is clean. I lie there for a few seconds, waiting for a piano or a safe to fall from the ceiling and land on top of me, because it’s been that kind of a day.
When nothing else bad happens—for now—I pick myself up off the floor and decide the best way to deal with my suitcase is to slide it across the carpet to avoid making more of a racket than I have already. Unlike in a regular apartment building, there is no long hallway on the penthouse floor. Instead there are four doors in the open foyer—two on the left and two on the right—making it easy to locate apartment 4004. I guess that means it’ll be quiet, if nothing else.
In the middle of the foyer is a glass-topped table with an enormous arrangement of flowers, which accounts for the heavy perfume smell. I skirt the table as I slide my bag across the carpet toward my temporary new home, then remember my purse is still sitting on the floor by the elevators.
The key card they issued at the front desk seems to have migrated to the bottom of my bag. I shift around the contents searching for it, but it’s like it belongs to Mary Poppins with how much crap I have in there. I use my suitcase as a chair, the flimsy plastic exterior cracking loudly as my ass hits it. Oh well; it was destined for the garbage anyway with how mangled it is. A jagged piece pokes me in the butt, but I’m too tired to move.
The key card and my phone have both magically disappeared into a quarter-size hole in the lining of my purse. It takes me forever to fish them back out. I pull up the instructions on how to open the door, since apparently this building’s key system requires a step-by-step explanation. After dragging myself to my feet, I key in the six-digit code, swipe the card, and turn the handle, but all it does is beep at me.
“I just want to lie down,” I mutter to the door. I give the code a second shot, but I get another longer, louder beep. “What the hell? Why won’t you open?” I whisper-yell. Each time I make an attempt to get in, the beep grows louder and longer while my patience wears thinner.
I yank on the handle, frustrated. I don’t want to call RJ again because I should be able to open a damn door on my own. I’m probably missing something small. Also, it’s late, and he has a toddler who doesn’t always sleep through the night and loves to get up at ass o’clock in the morning. Kody is super adorable, though, so his rooster-level early rising is mostly tolerable.
The door directly across the hall swings open. Awesome. Now I’ve woken my temporary neighbor. Talk about bad first impressions. I turn with the intention of issuing an apology, but my mouth is suddenly desert dry.
A man stands in the open doorway. A very, very large man. My brother is a big guy; he towers over everyone with his six feet two inches. But this annoyed-looking man’s head barely clears the doorframe. He’s also broad. Excessively broad. He’s an excessive amount of man in general.
Beyond being ridiculously tall and broad, and irritated based on his scowl, all he’s wearing is a pair of boxer briefs. I might be able to get over his overwhelming size and his insanely gorgeous dark-brown, sleep-tousled hair complemented by fiery hazel eyes, a rugged square jaw, and full lips. I can also deal with all that toned muscle and his rippling abs and bulging biceps, finished off with a nice dusting of hair that leads my eye from his navel—it’s an innie—down to his boxer briefs. But that’s where I get stuck, because his crotch has the phrase BEWARE OF FALLING ROCKS with a rockslide right where his peen should be. So now it looks as if I’m checking out his package. I kind of am.
“What the hell is going on? It’s almost fucking midnight, and you’re out here making a goddamn racket. Some of us are trying to sleep.” His voice is deep, gritty, and loud. He crosses his bulky arms over his cut chest, which should help cover up some of the nakedness but only seems to draw attention to how thick his arms are.
Also. Wow. Talk about hostile.
“Sorry. I’m having some problems with my key card and my suitcase.” I flash the key card and motion to my destroyed bag. I’m suddenly super sweaty. Likely from embarrassment over getting chewed out by a hot guy in his underwear.