“How many guest rooms do you have?” Claire asked.
“Enough,” Chad shrugged. As they walked further into the house, Chad paused before an open closet. “Here, let me take your coat,” he said, holding out a hand.
“That’s okay,” Claire said quickly, wrapping her blazer tighter against her.
“Really, Claire,” Chad rolled his eyes, but dropped his hand. “I’m your friend from college, not your mugger from the streets.”
“Friend?” Claire muttered, but then Chad sighed and she knew he’d heard her.
“Yes,” he said irritably. “Despite our little falling out, I’ve always considered you a friend.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” she said, shrugging her bag up from her elbow to her shoulder. “So, where’s this ‘guest bedroom’ anyway? I have work at eight.”
“Eight in the morning?” Chad scoffed. “My, they really like to overwork their public defenders.”
“Well,” Claire jeered, “We can’t all be a top lawyer at our father’s billion dollar firm.”
Instead of bristling, Chad just laughed. “Yes, I suppose not.”
As it turned out, the first guest bedroom was right next to Chad’s bedroom, complete with connecting doors. Claire locked hers in front of Chad, who only shook his head with a smile.
“Call Mrs. Anderson if you need anything,” he said, pointing to a red button on the wall. “Or you could always come find me,” he said with a wink.
“Wonderful,” Claire said dryly, dropping her bag off onto one of the many tables. The guest room was huge—a king poster bed, couches and televisions—honestly, it was bigger than her apartment. “Well, goodnight,” she said, all but chasing Chad out of her room.
“Goodnight,” he agreed, waving as she shut the door in his face.
Really, he hadn’t changed at all.
Claire woke to the scratch of wood and a door clicking closed. She kept her eyes shut, trying to determine if someone was in the room with her when she felt a brush of fingers against her shoulder.
She jumped up, swinging and kicking, but froze when a voice yelled, “Claire!”
It was Chad, eyes wide and mouth open as his arms covered his face against her attack. He always had valued his looks over anything else. Sighing, Claire slumped back into the bed, her narrowed eyes on Chad. “What are you doing?”
“Waking you,” he said with a sigh, as if it were obvious. “You have to be at work by eight, right? It’s six thirty.”
Claire glanced at her wristwatch. It was six thirty-two, and her usual bus didn’t show up until seven. She could only guess how the buses in his area ran. “Thanks,” she said, sitting up. She’d slept in her clothes last night above the covers, and her blouse was terribly wrinkled for it.
“No problem,” Chad said, heading for the door. “We’ve got breakfast downstairs, but when you’re ready to leave just tell Mrs. Anderson…” he trailed off, peeking at the folder that’d slid out of her purse from where she’d dropped it last night. “Aww, Claire,” he said. “Still doing charity cases?”
Claire jumped up and slammed the folder closed, her jaw clenched. It was for the Smith case—a small town factory worker who was suing his company for injury. “It’s none of your business,” Claire ground out.
“Eh,” Chad shrugged, leaving it be. “Anyway, tell Mrs. Anderson, and she’ll fetch Ainsley for you.”
“Ainsley?” Claire repeated, holding the folder. “Wait, I’m not taking—”
“See you downstairs,” Chad winked, closing the door behind him.
Claire glared after him. Damn billionaire.
Breakfast was a feast within itself. Whereas Claire would usually eat some toast or, on the rare occasion, treat herself to a muffin and some coffee, Chad seemed quite comfortable sitting at a table full of a dozen or so platters. Bacon, cheeses, toasts and jams—all of it was at his fingertips.
“Please,” Chad motioned to the chair next to him, and a woman pulled it out. “Join me.”
“God, you’re such a…” Claire sat down, thanking the girl. Looking at the various dishes in front of her, she looked hopelessly at Chad. “So, what’s good?”
For a moment, she didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he laughed and spread his arms wide to indicate the table. “All of it, I imagine. Why not try each dish for yourself?”
Claire shrugged and reached for the platter of eggs. Scrambled would be nice, and some bacon wouldn’t hurt either. Before long, she had a full plate in front of her, and she grabbed one of the many forks laid out for her to dig in. As she chowed down, she half expected Chad to say something, but he just laced his fingers under his chin and watched her eat, a small smile on his face. It was sort of creepy, actually.