29. Now That I’ve Had A Taste

Chapter 29

Now That I've Had A Taste

HUNTER

" I knew the asshole was embezzling money," I comment as I study the copy of the account ledger during the drive back.

"I've never seen you be so strategic about something like this, boss," Lars looks at me through the rear-view mirror as Parker drives. "You're going to be more active in Megan's college now?"

"Yeah, they obviously cheated our girl out of a spot in the gallery show. In instances like this, you usually shed blood first and ask questions later," Parker grins, looking over his shoulder at me from the passenger seat.

"That's not entirely true," I turn the page, raising a brow at some of the expenses. "Sometimes you have to let people walk into the fire first. Makes it easier to control them."

"And you did this for the girl?" Lars asks, and my hand tightens on the papers even as I keep my voice casual.

"I can be nice at times."

Parker makes a scoffing sound, which I ignore.

"Drop me off at home. I'm going to shower and sleep before I come back to work."

Parker doesn't say anything, simply turning the car around. Instead of getting out in the underground parking lot, I decide to use the main entrance. I am at the elevator in the main lobby, and just as the doors are closing, I hear a familiar voice shout, "Hold the elevator!"

I oblige by sliding my hand in the middle of the doors to keep them from closing, only to see Megan run at full speed, struggling with three shopping bags. When she enters the elevator car and sees me standing there, she gasps. "Thanks, Mr. Middleton."

Megan looks so shocked to see me that I have to wonder if she forgot I lived here too. She's wearing a short-sleeved pink sweater that looks like it's had better days and a pair of tight jeans with slits at the knees. Her hair is in a messy bun and looks fucking gorgeous.

"We're not at work," I remind her.

"Right," she blushes. "Thanks for holding the door, Hunter."

"What's that?" I ask, gesturing towards all the bags.

"Groceries and a few art supplies. There was a sale at Target, so I rushed there after class. Then, there was a farmers' market open next to Target. They're usually only open on Sundays when the pickings are slim, so I took advantage of it and got a lot of groceries. I'm going to make tandoori butter chicken. I got the flour, see?"

She points towards a white-looking bag. I don't know why I thought the next time she saw me, she'd be a little shy. After all, we spent a steamy night together in Paris, but Megan looks completely unaffected.

It bothers me for some reason.

"You look like you're in a good mood," I say, begrudgingly.

The smile she gives me is brilliant, and I blink at the sight of it, feeling a little dazed.

"You know the competition I told you about, where five students were selected to display their artwork? Well, evidently, the professor in charge of the selection process was fired, and they're getting some professional art curator to come in and reselect the winners. The results will be announced tomorrow." She grins.

"You're happy about that?" I ask, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction.

"Happy?" She grins. "You should've seen the look on Ashley's face! You remember her, right? She's the girl I was telling you I have a little beef with."

I feign ignorance.

"Anyway, I know it's petty, but she looked crushed. I heard that she went to the dean's office to talk to him about it but he wouldn't even let her in. Also, the dean refuses to reveal who the new evaluator is."

My lips quirk at the glee in Megan's eyes.

"Sorry," she says, giving me a sheepish smile. "I know you don't care about stuff like this."

"Who said I didn't care?"

"I'm just happy because it means I may have another chance to be included in the gallery showing, which is a really high honor in my school."

"So, how did you hear about all of this good news?"

I literally just left that idiot's office.

"Oh, it's all anyone can talk about at school. I was in a workshop class, but as soon as I got out, a friend was waiting at the door. He couldn't wait to tell me all the gossip."

"You said he."

"Uh-huh."

"A male friend was waiting for you?"

She stares up at me with those gorgeous doe eyes of hers and waits a moment to answer.

"Yes... I have male friends."

I stare her down with a look of disapproval. Now that I've had a taste of Megan, I don't feel comfortable with some kid waiting on her after class like they're a part of an after-school special.

But I let it go.

She's not my woman.

And this moment of joy she's having isn't about me. I don't want to ruin it for her by bringing up things that are none of my concern.

"It's good to know that you're getting a fair chance," I tell her. "I hope they select you."

"Yeah," she agrees, beaming at me before leaning down to pick up her three bags as the elevator doors open. "I hope so, too. Oh, Naomi is also coming home today, so I won't be alone any longer. Which reminds me–" She tucks two of the bags under her arms, struggling with the third one. "I didn't get a chance to say this before, but thanks for letting Naomi move in with me. It was a really generous offer."

I take all three bags out of her hands. "I'll carry these for you."

"Wait, no." She tries to take the bags from me, alarmed. "I can carry them!"

"Not before falling and cracking your head open or damaging any of your precious supplies," I tell her. "Come on. Let's go."

She looks reluctant but follows my lead, grumbling the entire way to her front door. "I can carry my own things. I didn't need help."

I roll my eyes. "Of course you could."

Unfortunately, she catches the gesture and scowls. "I could totally carry those bags. You just snatched them from me before I could adjust myself."

"Yes, yes," I say soothingly. "It's my fault."

"You can be really patronizing, you know?" She gives me a dark look, and I press my lips together to keep from smiling.

"Open the door, Megan."

The bags are surprisingly heavy, and I frown at their weight. Did she just carry all this stuff by herself to the apartment? Why doesn't she have a car or, at the very least, take an Uber?

"You need to invest in a car," I tell her matter-of-factly.

"I need to do a lot of things." She unlocks the door by punching four numbers into the keypad, then holds open the apartment door for me. "Getting a car is not at the top of my list, Daddy Warbucks."

I scoff at the Annie reference and enter the apartment, silently absorbing all the changes that have taken place inside since the last time I was here. I can see that Megan has been quite busy making the space her own. All the furniture has been rearranged, most of it facing the window, and there are small sketches and paintings hanging on the walls. I'm pleased.

I place all the bags on the kitchen counter before wandering over to one of the charcoal sketches. It's of a busy street with a child standing in the center of it, with a forlorn expression on her face.

"A little depressing, wouldn't you agree?" I study the sketch, entranced by the sense of loss in the child's eyes.

"The world often is," Megan says from the kitchen counter as she unpacks everything.

I look over my shoulder at her. "A little dark coming from somebody your age."

"My generation is more in touch with our mental health." She grins playfully. "Your generation likes to pretend that this too shall pass."

"How old do you think I am, Megan?" I laugh.

"Probably a question I should have asked you before Paris, but I don't think our age difference really matters at this point, does it?"

I am enjoying Megan's good mood, and I take some pride in the fact that I had a hand in making it happen. I was quite busy this afternoon, shaking things up at her university, and I don't feel an ounce of regret meddling in her affairs.

"Do you paint in the living room?" I look around for any paint stains like the ones I'd seen in her old apartment.

Her phone rings, and I watch her fumbling through her purse, looking for it. "No, I set up the third bedroom as my art studio. You can go take a look if you want."

"It's not a third bedroom. It's supposed to be your walk-in closet," I correct her.

"How can any one person own enough clothes to fill a whole bedroom?" She chuckles. "It's ridiculous."

I can think of ten women offhand who could easily fill a room with clothes, but her philosophy about ‘things' is so refreshing. I can tell that she would rather have experiences like Paris.

I walk towards the room as curiosity guides my feet. Opening the door, I step inside, and the first thing I realize is that the entire floor is covered in plastic. There's an easel in the middle of the room with a small stool and an unfinished painting. A bunch of fluffy cushions are piled in the corner, and an empty coffee cup is next to them on the floor.

I rented this place to Megan, which is fully furnished, but the bed and all the furniture have been pushed to the side, clearly to ensure that nothing is damaged. Where the dressing table used to be, a rusty-looking wooden table is where it is, and a bunch of art supplies are carefully arranged there.

The place looks a little disorganized, but it has charm and Megan's artistic footprint all over it. I wander over to the unfinished painting and, on closer view; I see the rough outline of a river and an old couple walking alongside it. Only the sky is scattered with the paint, depicting hues of pink, orange, and blue. It reminds me of Paris, and I wonder if she's drawing inspiration from her visit.

Hearing Megan's voice on the other side of the door, I exit the room just in time to listen to her hiss at the person on the other end.

"I told you I'd send you the money when I get it. Threatening me isn't going to make me pay you any faster!"