The Wrong Right Man(25)
“Is that what you want?” He tugs on my chin, forcing my lips to part.
“Maybe,” I say as the doors behind him open.
“You let me know when you’re sure.” He steps back, leaving me disappointed as he takes my hand from the railing.
As soon as I step out of the elevator with him, I’m confronted with exactly how much money he has. His place is ginormous with two full walls of window that overlook the rest of the buildings in the area and the sound, which I never realized is only blocks away. After releasing me, he walks across the open floor and tosses his bag on a sleek black couch that could seat the entire Brady bunch along with a few dozen more kids.
“Are scrambled eggs okay?” he asks as I slowly walk behind him toward the open kitchen with black cabinets, pure white countertops, and top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances.
“Sounds good.” I keep walking toward the windows and look out. “I could never live up here. I’d feel like I lived in a fish tank and people were watching me all the time.”
“That’s why the windows can do this,” he says and suddenly the windows seem to fill with smoke, blocking out the view.
“That’s very fancy.” I look at him over my shoulder so I can watch him laugh.
“A little too fancy. It took me a month to figure out how to use them,” he replies as I walk to the large dining table and run my hand over the wood surface that looks like someone split a tree in half then glazed it, with the natural pits and grooves filled with some kind of gold flecks. Even the outer edge of bark is glazed over. “You like it?”
“It’s very pretty. Where did you get it?” It looks custom made for the space and is big enough to sit at least twelve people or more if you added a few more chairs.
“I made it.”
I lift my eyes off the table and meet his gaze. “You made this?”
He shrugs. “It’s a hobby of mine.”
Isn’t he just full of surprises?
Then again, he’s been surprising me since the moment we met. “Where did you get the wood?”
“I have a piece of land and a small cabin just outside the city,” he explains, moving around in the kitchen while I walk around the table, inspecting it more closely. “I like to spend time there when I need to disconnect. There’s no Internet and barely cell service, so I hike and look for fallen trees.”
“Where did you learn to do woodworking?”
“My dad is a carpenter. I used to spend my summers helping him make custom pieces for people’s homes. I hated it, but I guess it’s still in my blood.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I guess. I bet people would pay lots of money for a table like this.”
“Maybe,” he agrees as I take a seat on one of the barstools surrounding the outer edge of the kitchen island. “I don’t sell the stuff I’ve made, and it takes me a while to finish anything, since I don’t get away as much as I’d like. That table took me a little over a year to create.”
“Is it the only thing you’ve made?”
“No. I made a coffee table for my mom, which she took the legs off of and hung on the wall.” He grins, and I can’t help but grin back. “Besides that, I’ve made a couple other things, but like I said, I don’t have a lot of free time.” He fills two cups with coffee out of a pot, handing one to me before going to the fridge and coming back with creamer.
“It must be tiring being the owner of a company, with so many people depending on you.”
“It is, but I built IMG from the ground up and want it to be successful. It’s like my baby, and I know if I put in the time now, later on down the road, it will take care of me.”
“That’s a good way to look at it,” I say as he pulls a plate out of a drawer under the stove and piles it with fluffy-looking scrambled eggs.
I take it when he hands it over to me. “Ketchup or salsa?”
“Ketchup.” I set the plate down, my stomach growling at the smell. A moment later, he comes back with the ketchup and a fork, handing me both. I add a large glob to the side of my plate then wait for him to bring his around. Once he’s seated, I dig in, dipping the eggs in ketchup before I take a bite, almost moaning. I didn’t notice him putting in cheese or spices, but it’s delicious.
“Good?”
I turn and nod. “So good, thank you.”
He grabs my knee, squeezing it, the small gesture giving me comfort and turning me on all at the same time. Honestly, there isn’t much about him that doesn’t turn me on, and the more I learn about him, the more I like. He might have more money than one person could spend in a lifetime, but he’s not your typical rich asshole. Or maybe he is and he just hasn’t shown that side of himself to me. “So tell me about your family. Do they live in Washington?”
Darn, I should have been prepared for that question. The normal question you ask someone when you’re getting to know them. The kind of question I dread, because I don’t like people to feel sorry for me, and no matter how much I sugarcoat my past, that’s exactly what happens. “As you know my brother lives here.” I go with being evasive, hoping he’ll read between the lines and let it go.
“And your parents?”
“They aren’t around.” I take another bite, feeling his eyes on me as I chew.