Best Man by Lila Monroe

Author:Lila Monroe [Monroe, Lila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lila Monroe Books
Published: 2019-03-11T04:00:00+00:00

11

Becca

I wake wrapped in the softest, most luxurious bedding known to mankind. Or at least, known to Becca-kind. I guess some people get to relax in 500-billion thread-count all the time, but this is new for me. And they definitely beat my Target sheets, that’s for sure.

The hot guy who kept me up all night with the best sex of my life is a plus, also.

Mmmm . . . Fitz.

I yawn, rolling over to find—

The bed is empty.

I sit up. I can hear music playing down the hall, and is that . . . ?

The smell of bacon cooking.

My God, I really have died and gone to sexual fantasy heaven.

I sink back into the pillows for a moment, waiting for the regret and second thoughts to hit. I mean, I just ripped up the rule book as far as professional boundaries are concerned. Olivia warned me that the lines could get blurred, and, well, if they weren’t messy before, then us rolling around on them naked probably did the trick.

Mmmm . . . Fitz, naked.

I smile. Oh, who am I kidding? Guilt and regret can wait. I deserve a little fun, after the crappy year of stress and heartache I’ve had.

And there’s nothing little about Fitz.

I bounce out of bed and scurry into the master bath. The drop-dead gorgeous, size-of-my-apartment master bath. Damn, there’s marble for days in here, plus six different steam jets in the five-person shower.

Dating a rich man has perks, after all. Why didn’t I do this sooner?

Oh yes, because all the trust fund guys I’ve met can give Brett a run for his money in the smarmy asshole stakes.

Still, I’m not about to ignore the fringe benefits with Fitz, so I luxuriate under the hot spray, lathering up with something delicious and fragrant. Then I dry off in towels so fluffy I could cry and wrap myself in a cloud doubling as a bathrobe. Then I check that Fitz is still clattering away in the kitchen, and I go snoop.

I mean, explore.

Color me curious, but I want to know more about the man who just gave me several orgasms, and it’s like Fitz said: someone’s place can tell you plenty about them. Like the fact that Fitz’s bedroom is as drool-worthy as the rest of this apartment. I check the medicine cabinet, poke my head in the luxurious guest suite, and even sneak a peek at his home gym, but by the time I’m done rifling through the linen closet, I’m still no closer to the truth.

This place is spotless. And completely impersonal.

Sure, there’s striking art on the walls, and interesting curios scattered about the place—some first-edition Robinson Crusoe books, a collection of antique globes—but when it comes to any deep-dive hints into the mind of one Arthur Fitzgerald?

I’m coming up a blank.

Who doesn’t even have one photo of their family? Or an old birthday card from a friend? And now that I think about it, I still don’t know exactly what he does for a living .

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