Dorian grabbed a towel. Adrian remained standing beside the bed.
"Who is here?"
Dorian turned and stared at him. "Naomi. Keep up."
"Miss Bennett?"
"Yes."
Dorian crossed toward the dressing room, already pulling open closet doors. "I saved her from the gossip bloggers outside her apartment last night."
"And you brought her here?"
Dorian grabbed a shirt. "Where exactly was I supposed to leave her?"
Adrian considered that. "Uh... I don’t know. A hotel?"
"Well, I didn’t." Dorian pulled out a pair of trousers and tossed them onto the nearby chair. He had no idea why Adrian was making this sound strange.
Naomi’s apartment building had been surrounded. His house had security. Bringing her here had been logical.
The fact that he had then eaten dinner with her until embarrassingly late while she somehow jumped from stories to stories was irrelevant.
So was the fact that he had enjoyed himself. That part was particularly irrelevant.
"Did you bring what I asked for?"
"Yes." Adrian lifted the leather folder he had been carrying. "I have your interview scheduled for nine a.m. You have court by twelve p.m. And I arranged a private dinner with the third Mrs. Heathcliffe for nine p.m."
"Would you stop calling them by numbers?" Dorian snapped.
"It’s hard to keep up, sir."
"You know what? Fuck you. Go make me coffee or something."
"Of course, sir."
Dorian muttered something under his breath and hurried back into the bathroom. Adrian waited until the door shut before placing the contract file neatly on the desk.
He left Dorian’s private suite and headed downstairs. Adrian hated this house. there was a floor for everything.
A floor for bedrooms. A floor for entertaining. A floor for dining. What was the point? A normal person wanted coffee and walked twenty feet.
Dorian Heathcliffe wanted coffee and apparently needed an elevator. Adrian took the stairs anyway.
He headed toward the kitchen then stopped.
Coffee.
He could smell it already. Adrian continued toward the kitchen and heard movement inside. A cabinet closed.
Something clinked against the counter. Then a woman’s voice floated out.
"Since you did me the honors of making yourself at home in my kitchen, I decided to return the favor..."
Adrian stepped through the doorway just as she started speaking. Naomi stood at the enormous kitchen island with her back to him.
She was still wearing the T-shirt Dorian had apparently given her the night before. The shirt fell almost to mid-thigh on her, and her bare legs disappeared beneath it. Naomi picked up the coffee pot without turning around. "I don’t have an Adrian to tell me how you like your coffee, so I’m going to assume black and bitter, just like you."
Adrian’s eyebrow rose. He really should have announced himself. "He does like a bit of milk in it. No sugar, though."
Naomi very slowly, turned around. Her eyes landed on Adrian. "Oh."
Adrian gave her a polite nod.
"You..." Naomi pointed slightly. "You must be Adrian."
"I must be."
So this was Adrian.
The Adrian.
She suddenly became painfully aware that she was standing in Dorian’s kitchen wearing Dorian’s T-shirt.
Excellent first impression.
"I... uhm..." Naomi tugged slightly at the hem. "Yeah." She smiled awkwardly. "Want some coffee?"
"No, thank you. Already had one," Adrian said.
"I thought you were... Dorian," Naomi clarified.
"Of course." Adrian crossed to the breakfast table and sat down.
Naomi glanced around the kitchen again. The place was enormous. And almost completely useless. "I would make you breakfast, but there is nothing in this kitchen."
"I’m perfectly okay."
Naomi opened another cabinet as if food might have magically appeared since the last time she checked.
Nothing.
She shut it.
"So what does he have for breakfast?"
"He doesn’t have breakfast."
"Oh." She frowned at the kitchen.
That somehow offended her more.
"All this money and no breakfast? Why would anyone want to skip breakfast?...You don’t talk much, do you?"
Adrian slowly lifted his eyes. "I’d just rather not form attachments that won’t last long."
She pointed at him with two fingers, making a shooting gesture. "Gotcha."
Adrian returned his attention to his phone. Naomi stared at him for a bit.
Right.
Message received.
She was temporary. No need to become friends. She turned back to the coffee and took another sip. She could do silence.
Fortunately, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Naomi brightened. She grabbed another cup and started pouring Dorian’s coffee. "Good morning..." she called in a sing-song voice as he entered. "I had a whole speech prepared, but your stoic Adrian here already received it on your behalf."
Dorian stopped. He had expected to come downstairs and find Naomi asleep. They had gone to bed around three in the morning. He had barely managed to wake up, and she was standing in his kitchen looking offensively awake. "Morning,"
Naomi narrowed her eyes. "Ooooh... someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
Dorian walked toward the island. "How many cups of coffee have you had?"
"One?"
It came out sounding suspiciously like a question. Dorian stopped in front of her. The house was usually silent in the mornings, actually always silent, even while he was married.
Now Naomi was somehow filling the room without even trying. Six months of this. He had clearly lost his mind.
Dorian reached for the folder he had brought downstairs. He placed the contract file on the kitchen island.
Then set a pen beside it.
"Sign this."
Naomi passed him his cup of coffee before pulling the folder closer. "What’s this?" She flipped it open. Her eyes moved across the first page. "Marriage contract?"
Dorian took the coffee and settled onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. Naomi looked up.
"I don’t understand. I didn’t agree to anything yet."
"Do we really need to keep dragging this out for so long? You know what I want. You know why I want it."
"And I told you I have to think about it."