CHAPTER TWO - THE PENTHOUSE & HOUSE RULES
895 Words
Arielle Brooks decided within five minutes that the penthouse was not a home.
It was a museum that accidentally allowed breathing.
Everything was white, glass, marble, or steel. The couch looked like it had never known the weight of a human being. The kitchen counters gleamed like operating tables. The city skyline wrapped around the apartment in panoramic arrogance.
Ari set her suitcase down gently, afraid the floor might bill her for damage.
"This is... nice," she said.
Nice. The same word she once used for a slightly cracked thrift-store lamp. She needed a stronger vocabulary.
Damian removed his suit jacket and draped it over a chair that probably cost more than her semester tuition.
"You'll have the east wing," he said. "Bedroom, bathroom, sitting room. Anything you need will be provided."
Ari turned.
"East wing?"
He pointed casually.
She walked down the hall and opened the door.
The bedroom was the size of her entire Brooklyn apartment.
She turned back.
"Mr. Cross... do you people get lost in here?"
Lucas, leaning in the doorway with a grin, said, "Only emotionally."
Damian ignored him.
"If you require anything," Damian said, "ask the house manager."
Ari folded her arms.
"And if I just want to ask the person whose baby I'm carrying?"
Damian paused.
Just a fraction.
"You may ask me directly," he said.
Progress. A millimeter. But progress.
Later that evening, Ari explored the kitchen.
She opened the refrigerator.
Nothing but perfectly organized bottled water and green vegetables that looked too expensive to chew.
She closed it.
Then laughed softly to herself.
A Savannah girl in a billionaire's fridge full of celery.
She ordered takeout.
Thirty minutes later, there was a knock.
Damian stood at the doorway, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up.
"What is that smell?" he asked.
"Fried chicken," Ari said proudly, holding up the bag. "Real food."
He stared at it like it might bite.
"You eat this often?"
"Yes, sir."
Lucas appeared behind him like a summoned demon.
"Oh thank God," Lucas said. "I was about to die of kale starvation."
Ari smiled.
And for the first time that day, the penthouse felt slightly less like a museum.
Later, as Ari settled into the enormous bed, she whispered to herself, "This is temporary."
She didn't know yet how wrong she was.
Arielle Brooks discovered the first rule of living with Damian Cross at exactly 6:00 a.m.
Silence.
Not the gentle kind of morning quiet that came with birds and distant traffic. This was the kind of silence that said: Do not exist unless scheduled.
She padded into the kitchen in her cotton sleep shirt and mismatched socks, hair tied into a loose puff. She reached for a cabinet.
Nothing.
She opened another.
More nothing.
Every cabinet door revealed perfect emptiness, like a luxury showroom pretending to be a home.
"Who lives in a house with no cereal?" she muttered.
Behind her, a voice said, "I don't eat cereal."
Ari turned.
Damian stood there in gray workout clothes, hair damp, skin faintly flushed from exercise. Unfortunately, he looked unfairly good for someone who woke up before sunrise.
"That," Ari said, "does not solve the cereal problem."
He studied her. Bare feet. Sleep shirt. No makeup. No borrowed dress. Just her.
For the first time, she wasn't performing politeness.
"You should have informed the house manager of your preferences," he said.
Ari leaned against the counter.
"Mr. Cross, I'm not ordering drapes. I just want breakfast."
Damian walked past her, opened a hidden panel in the wall she hadn't noticed, and revealed a fully stocked pantry.
Ari blinked.
"Oh."
He reached for a box of oatmeal.
"There," he said.
"Oatmeal is not cereal," she replied.
Lucas' voice floated in from the hallway. "She's right, boss. This is a tragedy."
Damian closed the pantry panel.
"There will be cereal tomorrow," he said.
It sounded suspiciously like a promise.
Later that morning, Dr. Patel arrived for the first preliminary appointment.
Ari sat in the clinic room, legs swinging slightly off the exam table. Damian stood by the window like a statue that occasionally signed documents.
Dr. Patel checked charts.
"Everything looks excellent," she said. "We'll begin the process this week."
Ari nodded.
Damian nodded.
Then Dr. Patel smiled kindly at Ari.
"Any questions or concerns?"
Ari thought of the contract clause.
No emotional involvement.
She thought of sleeping in a bed bigger than her mother's living room.
She thought of the look in Damian's eyes when she mentioned being human.
"Yes," Ari said. "What happens if feelings happen anyway?"
Damian turned sharply.
Dr. Patel's smile softened.
"Feelings always happen," she said gently. "The question is whether you honor them or bury them."
Damian's jaw tightened.
Ari met his eyes.
Challenge accepted.
That evening, Damian called Ari into his office.
He held a document.
"House rules," he said.
Ari took it.
1. No unauthorized visitors.
2. No media contact.
3. No public outings without security.
4. No discussion of the arrangement outside medical or legal personnel.
5. No emotional expectations beyond the agreement.
Ari read the list slowly.
Then she took a pen and wrote beneath Rule Five:
6. Respect goes both ways.
She handed it back.
Damian stared at the addition.
Lucas whispered, "I like her."
Damian ignored him.
Finally, Damian said, "Agreed."
Ari smiled.
The contract had been signed.
Now the real negotiations had begun.
- Writer
