Page 32 of Mr. Perfect

“Eloise,” I say sharply, cutting her off. “Would you close your mouth and just open the door?”

She crosses her arms over her breasts.

Fucking breasts. Goddamned things are perfect. And Thursday’s dress might be sexy, but it certainly isn’t as interesting as Wednesday’s blouse. I wonder how many interesting blouses she has in her closet?

“I don’t appreciate the way you speak to me, Mr. Stonewall. It’s rude.”

“You know what?” I ask her, my patience wearing thin. She taps one of her designer shoes on the floor as she waits me out. “Never mind, I’ll open it myself.”

So I do. I twist the knob and throw the door open, revealing her office on the other side.

Her brand-fucking-new office.

“What the—?” Ellie says, uncrossing her arms and stepping into the room. “What is this?”

I smile. The old wood-paneled walls are now painted a bright white. The old metal desk is now a classic white writing desk, the heavy drapes my brother used to keep the sun at bay have been replaced with sheer white curtains, and the dark hardwood floor has a light blue rug that spans almost the entire area.

“What happened here?” Ellie asks, her eyes wide with surprise.

I shrug. “McAllister Stonewall happened.”

She actually laughs.

Finally. I finally made this girl laugh.

“When did you have time to hire a designer?”

“Designer? I got Bob from maintenance to swing by Sherman Williams and pick up some paint on his way in. Then he painted it this morning. It’s not a big room, only took about an hour. So while he was doing that I went shopping. It’s not designer, Eloise. Sorry. American Furniture Warehouse was calling my name. And it’s five minutes away.”

“You shopped for this stuff?” she asks, her fingertips tracing the light blue piping on the back of one of two white wingback chairs in front of her desk.

“Yeah,” I say, sticking my hands in my pockets and leaning back on my heels. “I did.”

“But…” She looks up at me with a weird look on her face. “Why?”

“It did smell like smoke, right? Heath’s fuck room wasn’t the right place for you.”

“Fuck room? He didn’t fuck girls in here.”

“Uh, yeah, he did, Ellie. Why do you think he had condoms in his desk drawer?”

“Gross.”

“I agree. So there you are. New office for new Ellie. I bet you’re sorry for being so bitchy two minutes ago.”

“Jesus, why do you open your mouth? You know, you had me going there for a second, but—”

“But what? How the hell can you be mad about a new office?”

“I’m not mad about the office. I love—” She stops talking and takes her phone out of her pocket, then texts whoever it is who just messaged her.

“You love what?” I ask.

She looks down at her screen for a few more seconds, then walks over to the connecting door and closes it, bending down to inspect the doorknob.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking for a lock. Did you give me this new office so you could burst in here whenever you wanted and have sex with me?”