Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(22)

Audrey laughed. “Naomi wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“A fly, no,” Naomi said, flicking a gaze his way to let him know that he wasn’t nearly as safe as said fly.

“All right, I give up,” he said, spreading his hands to the side. “What did I do, Ms. Powell? What about me put me on your list before I even knew your name?”

He saw Audrey and Claire exchange a look, and then Claire tapped her watch. “Oh my goodness. Is that the time? Audrey, we’ve got to go if we’re going to make that movie.”

“Really?” Naomi said, her tone making it clear what she thought of her friends’ flimsy excuse to get out of the apartment. “What movie?”

Claire and Audrey named two different movies at the exact same time, and Naomi rolled her eyes. “I thought you guys were going to help me unpack.”

Audrey slid her purse over her shoulder and held up her fingers. “I tried, I did, but I’ve reached the max on what I can do without chipping a nail.”

Claire now looked slightly less sure about leaving Oliver and Naomi alone, but Audrey was dragging her toward the door.

“What about your champagne!” Naomi said. “I’m pretty sure it’s an actual crime to leave Dom behind in this neighborhood. You could be arrested. Oliver here probably has the etiquette police on speed dial.”

“You two can finish it. Maybe the fancy bubbles will remind you of your manners,” Audrey said with a pointed look at Naomi.

“Oh, do you have those?” he asked, turning to Naomi.

“Well, it’s not like you were an invited guest,” she snapped, turning toward him. “You just came in here with your fancy booze and your stick-up-the-butt—”

The door clicked closed as Audrey and Claire left.

Naomi pointed at the door accusingly. “Look what you did.”

“Me?” He set his mug on top of a stack of boxes and, hands on his hips, turned to face her fully. “You’ve acted like an irrational child since the moment I met you. Tell me exactly what it is I’ve done that so offended you.”

She opened her mouth, but he wasn’t done and charged ahead.

“Was it the champagne gift? The fact that I tried to welcome a new neighbor? That without my vote, you wouldn’t be living here? Which of these many crimes am I being punished for?”

She chugged a large swallow of Dom Pérignon as though it were a Bud Light at the local pub and, setting her mug aside, reached behind her and pulled out the orange box cutter.

Her thumb flicked the blade open, and he gave her a look. “Really? Is that supposed to be threatening?”

Instead of responding, she turned toward the nearest box and dragged the blade across the tape with more force than necessary. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get settled in.”

Retracting the box cutter’s sharp edge, she shoved it back into her jeans pocket and turned her back to him. His dismissal was clear. And it pissed him off. Acting on instinct, Oliver stomped toward her and pulled the box cutter out of her pocket, sorry-not-sorry that the backs of his fingers brushed her denim-clad rear as he did so.

Naomi whirled back toward him, eyes disbelieving and angry, but this time it was he who flicked open the blade. It represented a shift in power, and they both knew it.

He took a sip of his champagne, set it on the small kitchen table beside Audrey’s and Claire’s discarded mugs, and then slowly, taking his sweet time, opened one of the boxes labeled KITCHEN.

“What are you doing?”

“You said you needed to get settled in. What are neighbors for?”

“Collecting your newspapers when you’re out of town and not playing loud music after ten p.m.,” she said, snatching the box cutter back.

“I can do those things, too,” he said, lifting out a heavy bundle of tissue paper and unwrapping it to find a bunch of forks. “Where are you putting your silverware?”

“Leave,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Not until you tell me why you hate me,” he said, stepping around her into the kitchen, opening drawers until he found one that held what appeared to be a brand-new silverware organizer. He put the forks into one of the slots and returned to the box, pulling out a similarly shaped bundle.

“This is the most juvenile conversation I’ve had in decades,” Naomi said, running a hand over her hair and glaring at him as he placed her tablespoons next to her forks.

Oliver shrugged. No argument there. Though, ridiculous as the whole situation was, he was a little surprised to realize he was enjoying himself. He’d voted Naomi Powell into the building in hopes of a distraction, and so far the woman was delivering marvelously.

“You know, I’ve never been in this unit?” he said, looking around.

“I’m not surprised. It’s the smallest floor plan in the building, right?”

“Yes, and the walls aren’t made of gold in this one,” he said, wandering in the direction of the other rooms. “And no money tree, either. Shame.”

Unabashedly he stepped into one of the rooms, the connected bathroom telling him it was intended to be the master bedroom. She followed him, standing in the doorway, and he lifted his eyebrows. “King mattress. Lot of bed for a single woman,” he said, just to provoke her.

She gave a smile that reminded him of a satisfied cat. “Who said I’m single?”