Page 2 of Insatiable Bachelor (Bachelor Tower 1)
I’m sure you do.
“Bye, Sis.” If I don’t hang up, Kylie never will. She’ll find a thousand ways to ask me the same things over and over again. All it really boils down to is, can a flakey, fun-loving girl like me do what I’m told? Kylie, after all these years, isn’t sure. It’s fine though. I’m sure enough for the both of us.
When I’m off the phone, I hear some voices in the hallway and stiffen. It’s probably my insufferably arrogant neighbor. He’s likely running a hand through that shaggy, sandy-colored hair or flexing his bicep enough to stretch his formfitting tailored shirt. He is exactly the kind of man my sister would go for—if she wanted some—and besides the boxy jaw, gorgeous eyes, fit build, I just don’t get it. He might tick all the classically handsome boxes, but I have always put personality above looks.
I’d like to go back out there and give him a piece of my mind about how he acted in the elevator, but there’s a tiny voice in my head warning me against it. I don’t like that I find him attractive.
I decide to shower and put some dinner in this gourmet-chef-style oven. That’ll put him out of my mind. Food is my friend.
Although I am really good at multitasking . . . and indulging in a little fantasy never hurt anyone.
CHAPTER THREE
Dalton
Why would Brockton’s niece want to destroy the haven her uncle had created? Because she’s a woman, and women are heartless.
My tie suddenly feels like a noose, and I yank it loose. This day had been perfect. A home run. I sweet-talked one of my overseas suppliers into cutting my company a deal on our next order. I totally flipped the terms on him, and by the end of the conversation he was thanking me. I had a hot-towel shave so damn close my cheeks are as smooth as glass. My newest suit, necessary because my workouts are showing impressive results, had been tailored to perfection by the company on site at the Bachelor Tower. The only thing that could have made the day better would have been if my dick doubled in size, but it was already above average so that would have been overkill. Don’t want to scare the ladies away.
But that fucking woman . . .
Her tight pants and her pouty lips are staking a claim in my thoughts.
I grab the Scotch off my wet bar and am pleased to see the concierge staff brought up a bottle that’s been aged longer than I’ve been alive. Just like I ordered.
Before I can take a sip, someone is knocking on my door. It’s her I bet. She knows I’m here. She probably raced to change her clothes and freshen up.
Adorable, but unnecessary. It wasn’t what she layered over that tight little body that interested me. Whatever she put on will be in a pile on my floor soon enough.
“Dalton, have you heard this shit?” Randy asks me as he barrels through my door before I invite him in. “There’s a woman in the apartment next to you.” His shoulders stiffen as he paces. Randy keeps his head shaved to try to cover up the fact that his hairline is fading faster than snow in July. But for everything he lacks in looks he makes up for in blind and unwavering arrogance. He’s exactly as vapid and self-centered as I like in an acquaintance. It makes things easy. He’s too occupied with himself to bother me with petty chatter.
“I know,” I say, pouring him a glass. I don’t ask if he wants one because our friendship, if you can call it that, for the past two years has been built squarely on the understanding that I don’t share. Not women. Not stories about my life. And I expect the same in return. I’m not looking to hear about your parents or who you fucked in high school. You see me, give me some Scotch or pass me a cigar, and then we shoot the shit about stock projections or something of fucking value. That’s it. Randy gets those rules so I tolerate having him around.
“She can’t stay,” he barks out. The vein in his forehead that throbs when he makes a bad trade on the market is starting to pulse. He takes a long drag off the glass and starts nervously swirling the amber liquid. He glances at the bottle, and I can see him making a mental note. He’ll have the same vintage Scotch delivered to his place tomorrow. He can’t stand when I have something he doesn’t. I can’t imagine giving a shit about what the people around me have. What I do, I do for myself. I never look around to see what the guy next to me thinks is important.
“Should we knock down her door and put her out on the street?” I joke, but I see Randy gives it some thought. “Don’t sweat it. There is no way this will fly. Gary Brockton’s niece will have a revolt on her hands once everyone finds out what she’s done. She’s sneaky, I’ll give her that. Somehow she kept this under wraps. Now that it’s out in the open, she doesn’t stand a chance.”
“I hear this new broad is a CFO of some digital software company, so you know she’s an uptight bitch.” Randy flops onto my leather couch and kicks his feet up onto my twenty-five-thousand-dollar art deco coffee table. I don’t say shit to him about it because I do the same thing at his place. Things are just things to me. I make sure my place looks as though it matches my level of success, but I don’t really give a shit about that table. Some designer picked it out and used my checkbook to buy it. If it gets damaged, I’ll buy another one.
“The woman next door isn’t the CFO of anything. You got some bad info.” I chuckle remembering her cheap handbag and beat-up sneakers. “Unless CFO stands for Cute Fuckable Opportunity. But she’s not in charge of anything. Trust me.”
“You saw her?” he asks, all his anger washing away as he cocks a brow and inspects my reaction. “You’d hit that? Not if I get her first.”
Now he’s getting annoying.
“She’s not your type,” I counter. “Mine either.” This last part isn’t true, but I shouldn’t have admitted I’d fuck her. Randy paces his success against mine—in business and in the bar downstairs. Sometimes I toss him a small win so he’ll fucking calm down. If I cared to give him any advice, I’d tell him to stop giving a shit about what everyone else is doing. All it does is slows you down. While Randy is in a constant dick-measuring contest with every sack of testosterone that passes by, I’m getting my shit done and leaving him in the dust.
Not with the woman next door, though. Would I hit that? None of his fucking business, but I might hit him if he goes anywhere near her.
“I’m going over.” He pops to his feet and slaps his hands together as though he’s readying for something big. “If she’s gone by the end of the week I better take a run at her now.”
“Good luck.” I shrug, pretending I don’t give a shit. My poker face is what makes me successful, and I’m surprised by how much I’m relying on it right now. Sure I want to punch him, but is the woman next door worth it?
Probably not.
“Did she shut you down?” He’s way too excited by this possibility. The best he can usually do is try to keep up with me. The idea that she might want him and not me is downright thrilling to him.
“No,” I scoff. “Are you fucking crazy? I told you, not my type. You’ll see.”
He’s out my door and in the hallway before I can put my glass down.
Idiot.
When I hear him knocking on the door I grind my teeth. It’s stupid, but I’m heading out into the hallway too.
“Heeeeyyy.” He draws out the word as she opens the door and eyes him warily.
She, however, looks different than before. Her hair is down and soaking wet, and she’s shed her workout clothes for some sweet cotton pajamas. Not silk. Not lace. Straight-up cotton.
Somehow sexy.
“Hey,” she replies suspiciously.
“I’m Randy,” he hisses out, trying to sound casual as he leans against her doorframe. “Consider me the welcoming committee. What’s your name?”
“Penny.” She looks past him, recognizes me, but I can’t tell by her expression if she sees my added presence as a good thing or not.
“So you’re moving in?” Randy asks like she’s a new dish he just discovered on the menu.
She crosses her arms over her chest to block his sleazy appraisal. “No,”
she answers coolly. “My sister is, but she’s in China for business. I’m taking care of the place until she gets back.”
“Oh, you’re only here for a little while,” Randy says, lighting up at the new information. His game is pathetic. “You should let me show you around. Do you know much about The Bachelor Tower?”
“Not really, but I’m sure they have a concierge here for that. I mean maybe the guy who presses your suits or the one who refills your ice cube trays could give me a tour.” The bite in her tone is so fucking sexy. She’s shooting Randy down viciously, and it’s making my night.
“Feisty. I like it,” Randy says, throwing me a look over his shoulder like I’m a part of this train wreck. I’m going to drive my fist into his smug face in a second.
