this meeting there, just so I can get an idea of what we’re working with past the photos you sent in.”
“Are you sure?” Makoa frowned, and damn it if he didn’t look even hotter with those brows bent together, with that little wrinkle between them. “I don’t want to put you behind schedule.”
“It’s no problem at all,” I decided, and I stood to finalize the choice. Gemma would understand, especially if I brought her back some ramen.
Double especially if I came back with a full description of what Mr. Kumaka here looked like under the suit.
“I’d love to see the space in person, and get a little more feel for who you are,” I said.
Makoa’s lips crooked up at that, and he stood with me, fastening his jacket once more. “Lead the way.”
I smiled.
Oh, I will, Mr. Kumaka.
Hopefully all the way to your bed.
Except, there was no bed.
In fact, there was nothing in the massive condo, aside from twenty or so unpacked boxes, a single folding chair, and an air mattress right in the middle of the living room.
“Sorry, I should have warned you,” Makoa said, grabbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he looked around the empty space. “It’s kind of a mess.”
“I think you have to have more than just a folding chair in order to make a mess,” I commented, cocking a brow. “Are you waiting on the movers?”
“Nope. Afraid this is it.”
“No furniture, no art…” I dragged a finger over a few of the boxes on my way to the windows, which had a view that put mine and Gemma’s condos to shame. “But hey, I guess this isn’t so bad.”
“Not the worst view in the world,” he echoed, sliding up beside me, and I smiled when I realized he was watching me, more so than the lake. His jacket brushed my bare arm, and I chewed my lip, wondering if he’d take me up against this window, or bent over his kitchen island, or hell, I’d even let him lay me down on the stupid air mattress — which, judging by this place alone, he was entirely too rich to have slept on for even one night.
But before I could turn and make a move, Makoa put space between us, sliding his hands into his pockets. “So, want the full tour?”
Does the tour include the master shower where we both get naked?
“Lead the way,” I said instead, using his own words.
To my dismay, Makoa was a complete gentleman as he showed me around his new home. It was a three bedroom, two-and-a-half bath, with a living room, dining area, sitting room, and one of the most beautiful modern kitchens I’d seen. It had an extra room that was more open and a bit smaller than the rest, one that could be used as an office or in-home gym, if he wanted.
As we walked, I made notes in my phone and in his file, took measurements, listened as he told me what he liked, what he didn’t like. I was thrilled to hear him mention his love of wood and warm lighting, since most of the modern condos I designed were all about bright light and minimalistic design. Makoa, on the other hand, wanted to fill his new home with art and color and warmth.
“I want it to feel like home, not just for me, but for anyone who comes through the door.” He wrinkled his nose as we rounded our way back to the kitchen. “The last thing I want is for it to feel like a model home, or like something not lived in. Does that make sense?”
I smiled. “It does. You don’t want people afraid to sit down on your plush white couch or feel like they can’t use the hand towels in the bathroom.”
Understanding bloomed in his eyes. “Exactly.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have even one piece of furniture, or art, or décor,” I mentioned, eyeing the boxes. “You were in San Francisco for a while, weren’t you?”
He cleared his throat. “I was young,” he said. “And a little more focused on… other things.”
I smirked, because he and I both knew other things was code for girls, and with a face and body like that, I didn’t blame him one bit.
I just hoped to be first in line to welcome him to Chicago.
I had to chuckle to myself at his comment at being young, like it was past tense. His file revealed his age — twenty-seven — and at thirty-two myself, I