She pushed back the chair with a little kick and retreated a step. “I didn’t go to college.”
His gaze wandered down her legs to her feet. “Then equate it with living in an apartment. You see your neighbors, nod cordially, and go on your way without ever knowing their name.” He raised his gaze and smirked as he slid off the desk to stand. “That will be us. We’ll be housemates, nothing more. I’m sure we’ll both be out most of the day, so that only leaves the evenings and weekends. No big deal.”
Darn it. Short of her standing on a chair, he had the height advantage again. She didn’t know why it was so important to her, but the need to outwit him drove her to distraction. “This is my first day in Michigan. I don’t have a job or a social life. I don’t even own a car.”
His arms folded over his broad chest. “How were you planning on getting around?”
She turned around and intentionally bent over, slipping off her shoes. “I was going to stay with my sister and we were going to share a car. But if I’m living with you—” She felt his gaze on her butt, but she didn’t take offense. That’s exactly what she’d counted on.
“Not with me. Just sharing space,” he said with a bit of a squeak on the last word.
She straightened and performed a half pirouette to face him once more. “Wow. Does the idea of living with someone scare you?”
He subtly lifted his chin to regard her in the eyes, but she was onto him. He had a thing for her feet. But, if he looked any closer, he’d probably be disgusted. Luckily, the toenails had recently grown back and she’d polished them bright red.
He coughed, clearing his throat. “No. I only wanted to clarify that it’s not the same thing. And until you get a car, I’ll drive you around. I’m between jobs right now, and I don’t have any pressing engagements at the moment.”
“What do you do?” she asked, going up on pointe.
His eyes flickered down and up. “I’m exploring my options while taking a short sabbatical from law school.”
Figures.
“That’s how you knew what dead-hand control was.”
He nodded, his attention drawn to her feet as she returned her weight to her heels. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat as he swallowed. “Yes.”
“Living off your trust fund while you explore your options?” She’d met plenty of his type in New York and avoided them like the plague. They didn’t understand what it was like to want something as simple as a roof over their head or food in their refrigerator.
He straightened his spine and frowned, pulling his gaze up to her face. She’d obviously hit a nerve.
“Not quite, but as I’m sure you know, having an extra couple million in the bank will be nice padding.”
She emitted an unladylike snort, garnering a little smile from him. “Padding? I’ve never even had more than a few hundred in the bank.” Returning to her seat, she put her feet up on George’s desk and crossed them at the ankles, her skirt sliding to her upper thigh. “Still, I’m not sure I want to sell.”
Despite her skepticism in her mother’s insistence that Portia was a Muse and thereby at the mercy of the fates, how could she ignore the obvious signs?
Fate wanted her to have this house and it had nothing to do with her inspiring Ryan. He was an attorney-wanna-be for crying out loud, not an artist. What would he need from a Muse?
“I don’t think you have a choice,” Ryan said. “If you don’t earn enough to pay the bills then you certainly don’t have enough to buy my share.”
Having had enough of their little game, she dropped her legs and sat tall in her chair. “I’ll think of something. I have ninety days.”
She’d do whatever it took to keep the house. It was time for Portia Dubrovsky to settle down and stop living like a gypsy.
The office door opened and George tentatively stepped into the room with a Styrofoam cup in his hand. “We all good here?”
Ryan glowered at her and shook his head. “You’ll sell. In the end, money is the only security in this world.”
She didn’t agree, but then again, she didn’t have to. Ignoring her trepidation, she gave the two men her biggest smile. “When do we move in?”
Chapter 3
All that glisters is not gold—
Often have you heard that told.
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold.
William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, act 2, scene 7
Two hours after meeting Portia, Ryan drove her home—to their home.
“Nice Corvette” she said, her fingers running back and forth along the black leather middle console.