Final Call (Call #2)(45)
Author: Emma Hart

“I am so mad at you right now that I don’t even know what to say.” I knock his hand from me and walk into the bedroom, letting the door slam behind me.

The bedroom.

Our bedroom.

I kick off my shoes and leave my clothes in a heap before climbing into bed.

Our bed.

Huh.

***

A mug of coffee is waiting on the nightstand when I wake up. I steal a look at the clock on Aaron’s side, blinking when it reads eight thirty p.m. I’ve slept all afternoon?

Damn jet lag.

I inhale the rich scent of the coffee before taking my first sip. It’s still piping hot, and my eyes flit to the open bedroom door. I can’t hear anything—no television, no music, no low rumble of his voice.

I place the cup back on the side and grab some shorts and a tank from the closet. Seeing my clothes next to his is a little surreal, and now that I’ve cooled off thanks to my unplanned nap, I can’t deny the flutter in my stomach at the sight.

I can’t deny that a part of me loves the fact I really do get to wake up next to him every morning and fall asleep in his arms each night.

When I find him in his office, he’s sitting at the desk, hunched over, his fingers moving at lightning speed across the keyboard. He must be totally engrossed in what he’s doing, because he doesn’t move as I curl up in the corner of the sofa.

I open one of the books I took from the front room during my search for him and drop my eyes to it. As I turn the pages, I know that he’s registered my presence. He can’t not—unless there’s someone else who comes into his office on a regular basis and reads while he works.

Still, he doesn’t turn. He continues his tapping, clicking, whatever he’s doing. So I don’t speak either, and we settle into a comfortable silence that somehow kills the remaining tension between us.

And this is…nice. Both of us here, not speaking, doing our own things. It’s comforting in the oddest kind of way, not least because I’m not used to being in the same room without interacting with him in some way. Whether it’s talking, touching, kissing—we’re always doing something. But here, we’re individuals together.

After several chapters, I hear the click of the laptop closing. I peer over the top of the book, and Aaron joins me on the sofa. His black shirt stretches over his shoulders, and his hair is all mussed like he’s been rubbing his fingers through it repeatedly.

I turn my attention back to the pages to finish the chapter, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. I slip the bookmark from the back cover and use it to mark my page.

Aaron reaches out and runs his hand down my thigh. “Did you sleep well?”

“Your mattress is awful,” I reply. “If you were going to bring my stuff over, you could have brought my mattress.”

He smiles. “I agree. Your mattress is much comfier than mine. I’ll rectify that tomorrow.”

“Good.” I nod and set the book on the floor next to me. “When did you do it? Move my stuff here?”

“The day after Tessa’s wedding.” He moves up the sofa and lifts my legs over his. His arm settles across the back of the cushions and he threads his fingers into my hair, gently running them through to the ends. “I know you told me you weren’t ready, but then we had that conversation about the future about the things you’re not ready for being the things you want the most.”

“And you’re using that as an excuse.”

“No. Not an excuse. The first reason.”

“And the second?”

He runs his fingers down my cheek. “The look in your eyes when you told me how much you needed me to tell you I love you. I didn’t realize it was so important to you until then, and it was that moment that made me realize it’s important to me to tell you every single day. The only way I can do that—and show you at the same time—is if you live with me.”

Well, how the f**king hell am I supposed to argue with that?

That’s right. I’m not. So he’s going to get away with it.

Goddamn it.

“Do anything like this ever again and I might just have to kill you,” I murmur when he leans in for a kiss.

“Understood.” He sweeps his mouth across mine. “Liv only packed the basics, which is apparently more than I imagined considering your whole closet is here…”

I smirk.

“So if you want to, we’ll go back tomorrow and get anything else you need.”

“Does anything else include food? Because, y’know, if I’m living here, I’m gonna need some real food.”

“Empty your cupboards if that’s what you want to do.” He grins. “It’ll save me from having to go grocery shopping.”

“I don’t believe for a second you go grocery shopping.”

“Occasionally. As proven by the lack of food in my kitchen.”

I make a ‘hmph’ sound. “That will change, Mr. Stone. We’re going to set some ground rules.”

He sits back, his lips twitching. “Fire away.”

I sit up straighter and tick off on my fingers. “Grocery shopping happens once a week, with both of us. Ah, ah! We’re in a relationship now, and multimillionaire or not, we’re going to do relationship things. Understood?”

He nods.

“Good. And that also means that, unless there are unavoidable circumstances, not including deliberately scheduled meetings, you will be home for dinner every single night because I will be cooking it.”

“You can cook?”

“No, I’ve survived for the last three years on water, raw meat, and Cheetos.” I roll my eyes. “Of course I can cook. I spent my childhood in the kitchen with my mom.”

“Why haven’t you cooked for me before?”

I look at him blankly. “You’ve never asked me to.”

“Fair point. Can you cook tomorrow?”

“I suppose. And back to the rules.” I give him a pointed stare. “Living together does not give you the right to hide my shorts. Yes, I found them in the closet, and yes, I’m keeping them. They’re comfy. No arguing.”

“I like it when you go all bossy on me.”

“Well I can’t have you making all the decisions, can I? If I did, I’d be married and pregnant by the end of the month.”

His lips twitch again.

I hold up my left arm and tap my skin. “Implant. Don’t get any ideas.”

“No ideas.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”