Chapter 4

FOUR

FOSTER

My earlier inspiration didn’t last.

Aurora’s visit to my office had felt like a livewire sparking and lighting up the office. But after she left, it faded.

I didn’t have any brilliant epiphanies.

I couldn’t save my company.

Not yet.

I needed more creative spark—more time with Aurora—first.

Fortunately, I was on my way to see her now.

The closer I got, the more my chest felt like a can of Fanta, shaken and ready to burst in anticipation.

The feeling was completely unlike me. So was asking a woman to move in.

But we didn’t have a relationship, so it didn’t count.

I felt more excited than anything. Eager.

Maybe I should have told her the truth about Bertram and the exhibition from the start. I didn’t because sharing more information than necessary in any situation could cause more harm than good. She could expose my secret identity. She could harm me in some other, unforeseen way.

Plus, I needed to figure out what exactly had happened first.

I was missing information.

Bertram could fill in the blanks.

That’s why soon after she left the office this afternoon, I’d reached out to Bertram.

He hadn’t answered my call. No surprise there. He was probably on a retreat in some tech-free commune in a desert somewhere.

He’d pop up in a few months to ask for another favor.

Then he’d disappear again.

It was possible—likely even—that I wouldn’t hear back from Bertram until long after Aurora’s and my two weeks were up.

That was all right, too. Christmas was an arbitrary date.

She’d have a place to stay until she found her own.

She’d have security while she searched for a new job.

Once I resolved a way to give her the credit she deserved for the exhibition, while still adequately protecting myself, I’d explain everything.

As I rode the elevator up to my penthouse, I pulled out my phone.

It was already after nine—later than I thought. I’d lost track of time at the office.

I looked over the texts I’d sent to Aurora. I’d sent the building number, what to tell Larry at the desk, and how to use the key to reach my penthouse.

She hadn’t responded once.

Not even a thumbs up.

A hollow sensation spread across my chest.

What if she wasn’t coming?

Was this even her phone number?

She could have typed in any set of digits out of spite.

I could have given some random stranger instructions to access my home. At least they’d have to have a keycard to enter.

The elevator stopped.

The doors opened.

Silence.

My spirit flattened like soda left open for a week.

She wasn’t here.

I’d screwed up. She gave me the wrong number.

And now not only could I not help her, I had no way of seeing her again.

A small shuffling sound came from the end of the hall.

Was this the first homeless person Aurora had come across after leaving my office, or the biggest, drunkest guy she could find at a local bar with a MC patched leather jacket and rap sheet longer than my arm?

After all, what were the chances Aurora would actually choose to stay here after I’d been such a dick about it?

Near zero.

Still, my chest felt lighter as I followed the sound through the living room and into the hall.

The chance wasn’t zero.

The bathroom door opened.

And it wasn’t a drunk biker who stepped out.

It was her.

Aurora’s brown hair was wet, wavy instead of straight the way it usually lay. Her worn t-shirt hung off of one bare shoulder, showing off her collarbone.

I’d run my tongue across that divot. She’d murmured, arched her back, and begged for more.

Her shorts were so short they barely covered more than if she’d been wearing only panties. The entire length of her curvy thighs was exposed.

I’d licked those thighs, too, nipped them with my teeth.

She’d squirmed and giggled and panted.

And now I was hard.

Aurora turned her head and startled when she spotted me. Her soft blue eyes went wide. Her lips parted and she sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s you.”

I stealthily adjusted myself and leaned an elbow above my head against the wall. “I do live here.”

She set her jaw and glared at me. “I’ve already made myself at home, so don’t bother offering.”

“Great.”

I couldn’t get over the fact that she was here.

“This bathroom is mine,” she said.

“Sure.”

“And if you think just because I’m here that I’m sharing your bed…” She took a step closer to me and poked a finger to the center of my chest. “You’re dead wrong.”

Even through the fabric of my shirt, the contact sparked and seared.

Keeping my voice even, I said, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Except I would. If I ever managed to fall asleep, I would definitely dream about this.

A blush crept up her neck and settled into her cheeks as her gaze lingered on my face and her finger lingered on my chest. Her lip quivered.

This was a game to her, one she wasn’t sure she was ready to play.

Her gaze set against mine.

Her lips turned up a hint on one side in a controlled but devious grin.

She dropped her hand and took a step back.

Only then did I realize I’d been holding my breath.

Aurora took a step back, then another. She spun on her heel and crossed the hall so she was standing in the doorway to my bedroom.

That glimmer of mischievousness in her smile took over her eyes.

She said, “This bed’s mine.”

I barked a laugh. “No. That’s where I draw the line.”

Her smile widened.

She flipped me the finger.

And slammed the door in my face.

I stood there a moment, stunned.

A clack told me she’d turned the lock.

“There’s a perfectly good guest bedroom next to the bathroom you claimed,” I said.

“Great,” she called back through the door. “Have a fabulous night sleeping in there.”

“Thanks, I will.”

I never had a fabulous night sleeping anywhere.

This was all fine.

She was here.

She had a safe place to stay, and for that at least, I could feel good about doing the right thing.

If anything, the situation was better than fine.

Since I brought work home with me, I headed for my office, set down my briefcase, and went to the kitchen to make myself dinner.

Pots and pans were piled up in the sink.

Dirty dishes lay scattered across the counter. Every single plate was crusted with something.

A red substance was splattered all over the stovetop, with a bit on the now-empty cabinet that usually held the plates.

This wasn’t the remnants of cooking.

Finally, I was beginning to understand Aurora’s game.

This was a purposeful disaster meant to incite my ire.

I opened the fridge to see what exactly Aurora had made to cause such a mess.

There was an upside-down bowl on the shelf, filled with spaghetti and red sauce. As soon as I moved the bowl, the contents would spill everywhere.

I should’ve been annoyed by the mess.

Clearly that’s what she wanted.

Instead, it was like a switch had flipped. I was excited by her cleverness, amused by her efforts, and fueled to see what response I could coax from her next.

I scrubbed down the kitchen, washed a dirty-for-no-reason cookie sheet, and with a careful maneuver, flipped the bowl of spaghetti right side up.

Then I grabbed the only clean utensil—a large serving fork.

I didn’t know the rules of this game yet.

But I couldn’t wait to play.

I headed down the hall, excitement thrumming through my veins, and knocked on my bedroom door.

“Go away,” Aurora called. “I’m sleeping.”

“It’s nine thirty,” I said.

“I’m an early bird. I require ridiculous amounts of beauty sleep.”

“That’s not what you told me before.” We’d bonded over being night owls in Christmas Village.

Shuffling sounds came from the other side of the closed door.

“What do you want, Foster?” she asked, louder than before.

She’d gotten out of bed. She was close.

“Open the door, Aurora.”

“So you can try and steal my bedroom?” She snorted. “No way.”

“Open the door, or I will.”

She was quiet a moment, likely wondering if that was even possible.

It was. There was a door key on top of the frame.

Still, I was bluffing.

She clicked the lock, opened the door, and crossed her arms over her small breasts. She scowled at me.

It was adorable, and I couldn’t help but grin back.

The scowl on her face dropped as soon as she spotted the bowl of spaghetti.

Slowly, I lifted my oversized fork to my mouth and slurped a noodle.

Her jaw dropped.

She blinked at me.

“You left quite the mess in the kitchen,” I told her. “Here I thought you had manners.”

“Nope. Total hedonist slob. Does that bother you, husband? I won’t clean the kitchen no matter how many times you ask.”

“I already cleaned it.”

Again she appeared stunned, blinking at me and needing a moment to determine her next move.

“Since you’ve chosen to behave like a child, I’m forced to set rules as if you are one,” I told her.

She snorted.

I said, “You’ve lost your privilege to cook in my kitchen.”

“Fine. I hate cooking anyway.”

“In addition to living here, you’ll eat dinner with me every night. At seven.”

She snorted again, like it was a joke.

“I’m serious,” I told her.

“You’re going to cook me dinner every day?”

I wasn’t that big a fan of regularly cooking either, especially after a late night at the office. “I’ll provide a balanced meal.”

“Fine. Is that all?”

“For now.”

She slammed the door in my face.

Again.

I strolled down the hall, munching on my bowl of cold noodles, with a lightness in my step and a swirl of inspiration in my head.

Whatever game we were playing—it was going to be fun.

December 1st, nine days ago…

It should have been fun.

Painting was always fun.

But Bertram had a way of siphoning the joy out of everything.

Even when he wasn’t physically present.

He’d begged me to use his landscapes as my canvas. I preferred cement and brick. I also preferred to have nothing to do with my mentor.

Before law school, back as an undergraduate, Bertram had taught me everything I knew…by showing me what I didn’t want my life as an artist to be.

Maybe gratitude kept me answering his calls.

Or maybe it was morbid curiosity.

Emotion led to great art. Frustration and disdain counted as emotion.

No matter the reason I’d agreed, the installation was finished.

Critics would love what I’d done. By association, they’d finally talk about Bertram’s art—the exact result he so desperately wanted.

And the bastard hadn’t even bothered to show up for the exhibit.

I didn’t care. It was over.

I walked the perimeter of Christmas Village, not quite in the mood to enter, but not in the mood to sit around in the silence of my hotel room either.

Then I saw her.

A woman in a smart jacket and pencil skirt.

Her shoes caught my attention first—high heeled boots—ridiculously impractical in the snow. What held my attention was the disoriented look on her face.

And she was running.

It was only a matter of time before she slipped and fell face-first into the snow.

It was only a matter of time before whatever she was running from caught up to her.

She ran straight for me.

Breathless, she crashed into my life.

Confused, she invited me to sleep with her.

It wasn’t the offer that captured my interest specifically. Sex was well and good, and it wasn’t like I’d had any other plans.

But her eyes—the hope, the fear, the intensity—stopped me from immediately saying yes.

The blue shade reminded me of my favorite animal at the Aquarium—the poison dart frog. The hue was a warning from nature.

I’d never been one to heed a good warning.

Something about those eyes told me that if I simply agreed, she’d leave our encounter with regret. She wasn’t the bang-and-go type. And it was a rule of mine to never leave a woman with regrets.

Aurora had a list of rules of her own.

Not only was I fine with her terms, I was intrigued.

So, I offered her a mint and a stroll first, and she said, “Yes. Please, yes.”

As we started down the street, she didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. She fidgeted with her fingers, crossed and uncrossed her arms, before settling on putting her hands in her coat pockets.

“I like your pants,” she said.

I looked down to the lime green denim, so different from the blacks and grays she was wearing. “You do?”

“Very festive.” She gave me a tentative smile.

“Well, thank you. If I could have found a pair with blinking lights in them, I would have worn those.”

She barked a laugh before clapping her teeth together to stop herself. “You’re joking, right?”

I shrugged.

“Aren’t you freezing?” she asked. “Where’s your coat?”

“I didn’t bring one.”

“There’s probably plenty of coats in the shops in town.”

“I like the cold.”

“You’re going to give yourself frostbite.”

“It’s not that cold.”

She shivered. “It is.”

I put an arm around her. She stiffened at first, but a moment later, with an exhale, she leaned into me. And in that one reaction, I knew I’d made the right call in suggesting this walk.

We reached an archway made of pine branches. White lights twisted between the forest-green fronds. The whole thing was topped with a coat of fresh snow.

Beyond lay a village of vibrant colors and seasonal orchestrals.

Fireworks burst overhead.

The warm scents of roasted nuts and mulled wine beckoned.

A man greeted us at the arch dressed head-to-toe in green, along with a sleep cap and rubber pointed ears. “Welcome to Christmas Village. May your stay be merry and bright.”

The elf man held out a paper.

I accepted.

“Be sure to visit each stop on the holiday scavenger hunt to maximize your merriment, and receive a special prize at the end.”

“Thanks,” Aurora said.

As we crossed the threshold, I asked her, “Morning person or night owl?”

“Night.” She tilted her chin up against my chest to look up at me. “I always wanted to be a morning person, but I never figured out how to make myself do it.”

“Why’d you want to?”

“Morning people always seem to have everything together. Like they wake up at three, run a marathon, meal prep for the week, and solve world hunger before the rest of us have even rolled out of bed.”

I was enjoying myself already.

“Tell me you’re not one of them,” Aurora said. “I might have to seriously reconsider this stroll.”

“Unrepentant night owl.”

“So you’re not looking to solve the world’s problems before the sun rises?”

“No. I prefer looking for trouble after the sun goes down.”

Her fingers flexed into my side. “I like that.”

I liked her.