Chapter Four
“Nuh-uh.” Annabelle stood in Leah’s living room, her hands on her hips. “I know what those flannel Wonder Woman pajamas mean. You’re planning on staying right there on the couch all night—your one night a week you can stay up late—and watching movies. That’s not going to happen.”
Leah groaned. “Why did I give you a key to this place?”
“Because I’m your roommate, and you’re legally required to give me a key when I live here.”
“Stupid law.”
“Quit trying to change the subject. I’m right, aren’t I? You’re going to give up an exciting, fun, potentially man-finding night out in order to park on the couch and watch a dopey romantic movie.”
“You are so wrong. That isn’t what I planned at all,” Leah said, wiggling farther back on the sofa cushion. It was comfortable and safe and she was determined to fight for her right to stay there until bedtime, which was, pathetically for a single, childless twenty-six-year-old, usually around nine—ten if she really pushed it.
“You were going to sit on the couch and read a dopey romantic book all night?”
“Bingo.”
“You’re hopeless.” Plopping down one cushion down from Leah, Annabelle let her head drop against the back. “Although I must say that this couch is extremely comfortable.”
“I know, right?” Leah eyed her friend, debating whether she had a chance at winning the argument. “Wouldn’t it be nice to just hang out here tonight? I’ll even give up my reading time and watch a movie with you. I brought home some of those white chocolate cookies you like.”
Annabelle turned her head to frown at her, but she didn’t get off the couch, and Leah knew she’d won. “Fine. Next Saturday, though, it’s you and me and Denver’s nightlife.”
“Deal.” She didn’t tell Annabelle that she would’ve been willing to offer up her future firstborn for a chance to lounge around at home for the evening. “Go change into something that’s not dry-clean-only and be a sloth with me.”
Although Annabelle groaned as she stood, it was a sound of reluctance to leave the couch, rather than of annoyance that Leah wouldn’t go out with her. As she headed for her bedroom, Leah put her book aside and started checking out Netflix options. “You’re home late. Is Dick living up to his namesake again?” she said loud enough for Annabelle to hear from her room. Their apartment was tiny, so it wasn’t hard to hold conversations while they were in different rooms. It should’ve been listed as a “two-closet” rather than a “two-bedroom” apartment.
“Sweet baby Jesus, yes!” Annabelle’s voice grew louder and then more muffled and then louder again as she changed. “Dick’s assistant quit.”
“I thought you were his assistant.” Leah turned away from the TV, since her roommate’s tale was more interesting than any of the movies listed. “Are you talking in third person again? You know that creeps me out.”
“As if Annabelle would ever do that.”
“Gross.”
Annabelle laughed, walking back into the living room as she zipped her hoodie. Even in her comfy yoga clothes, she was gorgeous—tall and lean with narrow cat eyes and a wide, mobile mouth that was always smiling. Reaching up, she loosened her tight bun and shook out her hair. It wasn’t quite light enough to be blond and not dark enough to be brown, but more of a caramel color. In the sun, it reflected all different shades, and it developed blond streaks in the summer. Annabelle loved the outdoors and was always hiking and biking and horseback riding—well, at least until she’d started working with Dick the dick. Now she was lucky to have enough free time to sleep and eat.
“Quit leaving me in suspense. Did you quit?”
“Nope, although I’m this close.” Annabelle put her forefinger and thumb a centimeter apart. “Chastity quit.”
“There’s a joke there.”
“I know.” Plopping down on the other end of the sofa, Annabelle turned sideways, tucking her feet under her. “I’d laugh, but then I’d cry, because Dick doesn’t want to hire another assistant. He thinks that I can do both jobs.”
“Back to that,” Leah said. “I thought you were Dick’s assistant. After all, you were always having to do ridiculous assistant-type things like alphabetize his antique Rolodex and iron his ties.”
“I never ironed his ties. The Rolodex thing is true, though. I’m officially his gallery manager, but Dick is a dick.” Annabelle pulled her hair over her shoulder and started to braid it. “It sounded like a dream come true when I applied. My mom kept warning me that my art business degree would only lead me to jobs involving the phrase ‘Do you want fries with that?’”
“And then came the Rolodex.”
“The Rolodex, and checking his emails for him—most of which have absolutely nothing to do with the gallery, by the way—and, now that Chastity’s gone, he wants me to transcribe his stupid recordings.”
“What recordings?”
“He’s writing a book.”
Leah frowned, confused. “Writing? I thought he was an artist.”
“Supposedly, it’s for his memoir.” Annabelle spat the last word out as if it tasted nasty. “Dick’s not really an artist. He’s a spoiled rich boy who likes to play at painting or writing or driving a race car or whatever strikes his fancy at the moment until he gets bored and starts something new. This is it, though. I’m not typing his stupid fucking book for him. He can find another Chastity, because I’m officially in the market for a new job.”
“Want to work at the bakery?”
“God, no. You pay in sugary things. In six months, I’d gain three hundred pounds, and we’d both be homeless because I’d eat all your inventory and wouldn’t be able to pay my half of the rent.”
“So untrue.” Mostly untrue. She had paid Hamilton in sugary things, but that was just because she knew it was his weakness. Judging by the building he owned and how he dressed and knowing that he worked as an actuary, Leah was pretty sure that Hamilton had enough money to be quite comfortable. And now she was thinking about Hamilton again. “I pay Q in real money, even though he decorated cookies today.”
“Oh no.” Cringing, Annabelle sent a nervous glance toward the kitchen. “You didn’t bring them home again, did you? Last time, I swear the bunny one with the claws and fangs snuck into my room that night.”
“No, Ham and I tossed them in the garbage.”
“What ham?” Annabelle scrunched her face in confusion.
“Ham, as in Anthony Fitzgerald Hamilton the Third. He was my temporary employee this morning. My cookie bitch, if you will.”
“Your stuffy-but-super-hot landlord, Mr. Hamilton? Now you’re calling him Ham?” Sitting forward, Annabelle made a “gimme” gesture with her hands. “Cough it up, girl. Have you been holding out on me?”
“Of course not. I’d never hold out on you. It only happened this morning, and nothing actually really happened, except that Mr. Hamilton turned out to be weirdly fun to work with—and he’s an incredible cookie artist.” Grabbing the remote, Leah turned off the TV. She had a feeling they wouldn’t be watching a movie, after all. Between Annabelle’s dick-like Dick and her Ham story, their evening would be full.
“Why was he working for you? I got the impression from what you said that the guy’s loaded.”
“I bribed him.”
“Bribed him?” Annabelle’s voice was hushed as she leaned even closer, as if not to miss a word.
“With cupcakes.”
“Oh.” Sitting back, Annabelle scrunched her nose. “That’s not the interesting kind of bribery. That’s just what you try to do all the time to everyone. But, they usually don’t do what you want, and then you feed them anyway. It’s not a very efficient system, actually.”
Leah grabbed the throw pillow from behind her back and tossed it at her roommate. Giggling, Annabelle caught it and tucked it behind her, making Leah regret throwing it in the first place. “My sugar bribery does too work.”
“Nope. Hardly ever.”
Raising her eyebrows, Leah said, “Well, it worked tonight. Those white chocolate cookies got you to stop bugging me to go out, didn’t they?”
“Not really.” Annabelle stretched out her long legs. “The couch won that one for you.”
“It is a very comfortable couch.”
“Very.” Annabelle teasingly nudged Leah’s leg with her foot. “Now tell me the entire story of how your stick-up-his-butt landlord turned into your cookie bitch.”
“Well...” Giddiness bubbled up inside of Leah at just the thought of her morning with Ham. “It’s stupid and silly and going to end very badly, but...”
“But...” If Annabelle leaned any closer, she was going to be folded in half.
“But...” Her voice lowered to a whisper, even though it was just the two of them in an apartment building almost a mile from the bakery and Hamilton’s loft. “I think I like him.”
Annabelle’s smile started slow before stretching until it lit her entire face. “You like him?” For some reason, she was whispering, too.
“Yes.” Even as she admitted it, logic hammered down on her, reminding her of all the reasons that this—whatever it was that she felt for Anthony Fitzgerald Hamilton III—was truly a horrible idea, possibly even as bad as allowing Q to be the bakery’s official cookie decorator. Her stomach butterflies began to die off, killed one by one as she considered why having a crush on Hamilton would lead to misery. “Oh, Anna B. What have I done?”