Free Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance) by S. Ann Cole

live-in arrangements with a complete stranger. What if this turns out to be one of those frying pan into the fire cases? Well, aren’t I the biggest idiot on the planet?
    Nonetheless, I’d rather take my chances with Sexy Demon than go back to Andrew.
    It’s 7:33 when the cab finally drops me off outside Wells Height Apartments. The doorman does his job and I shuffle in, amble to the concierge’s desk and stare at him like a buffoon.
    “How may I help you, Miss?”
    “Ah, I’m supposed to be meeting here with…someone…”
    Adam, as is read on his name-tag, cocks his head ever so slightly. Judging me by appearance, no doubt. Surely, the residents, or associates of this complex, don’t wear old, washed-out jeans, ratty Chucks, or unraveling denim jackets. Nor stink of cheap perfumes. I don’t belong here; his winged eyebrow says as much. 
    “Who might this ‘someone’ be, Miss?”
    I adjust my bag on my shoulder. I don’t have a name. I’m half-an-hour late, and I don’t have a name. I do have a description, but in an uber-cautious, well-secured place like this, I’ll get nowhere with just a description. I’d been a rich kid long enough to know the effort and caution that goes into providing residents the peace of mind they pay for. “You know what, never mind.”
    Turning away from the concierge, I walk over to one of the lofty, beige sofa-chairs and plop down. If I have to wait all night in this lobby until I see that man, then that’s what I’ll do.
    I’m sitting there for eight minutes and thirteen seconds, watching the door and the elevator like a hawk, deflating at every face that passes through that’s not Sexy Demon’s, when the elevator pings open for the umpteenth time. I perk up again, waiting, hoping to see his face this time and not some skinny socialite with a shaved puppy.
    A sigh of relief whooshes through me, and I’m instantly on my feet, when the door parts and he walks out. Except he has a stunning redhead by his side, her delicate hand on his bicep as she titters daintily, batting her eyelashes at him.
    His steps are sure and tall, his posture arrogant and secure. In an impeccably fit charcoal suit, he’s sharp and suave and downright delicious. Groomed hair. Shadowed face.
    Seeing him fully clothed for the first time, I can’t decide if I’m more attracted to him with clothes on, or without.
    The statuesque beauty beside him is all smiles and flirts, but he seems distracted as he glances down at his watch, and then at his phone screen.
    His strides are long, eating up the distance toward the exit. My legs aren’t long enough to catch up without jogging, so I call, “Abercrombie!”
    He immediately stops moving and turns, as if his ears had been perked and listening out for that call. 
    Hurrying toward him, I offer a wave and a smile. “Hey. I’m so sorry I’m late. Rush-hour traffic—”
    “I’m sorry, but did this…er, person just call you Abercrombie ?” scorns the redhead at his side, scrunching her face at me like I’m a dirty diaper.
    Sexy Demon turns to the woman and gives her a closed-mouth smile. “It was nice catching up, Marlene. But I’ll have to take you up on that offer some other time. As it is right now, I have a momentous meeting scheduled with this young lady.”
    As the woman begins sputtering something in disbelief, he takes me by the elbow and steers me to the elevator. “Come with me.”
    “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said 7 PM sharp . Half-an-hour late and you’ve already got a model on your arm.”
    “She wasn’t on my arm.” One long finger reaches out to push the call button. “She joined me on the elevator on my way down.”
    “Huh. Well, she seemed more attached than that.”
    “I waited. For thirty minutes. I went up to my apartment only for a few minutes to make some arrangements.”
    “Arrangements?”
    “I was on my way to—”
    “Mr. Van Der Wells!” 
    At the interruption, we both turn to see a stout