Page 8 of A Taste Of Darkness
PLAYING FAVORITES
Sterlie Adams
I’d never been in a penthouse before.
I grew up rich, yes, but we lived in a huge house. For a couple of years when I was a teenager, I desperately wanted us to move into a penthouse because I thought it was cool.
I was right.
Milo had an extra card that he needed to open the elevator to get us inside, then a security code just after he pressed the button for the penthouse, and he had to confirm the card and code with his fingerprint. I didn’t know why he needed so much protection, but it made sense. I could only imagine how many people didn’t like him.
My eyes were blessed the moment the elevator doors opened and I could see the inside of his penthouse. White marble flooring, black and golden accent colors all throughout the entrance, and probably the entire penthouse. He had massive, diamond chandeliers hanging from the ceilings that didn’t light up; instead, he used the cove lighting. It looked surprisingly elegant.
Soup started to make whimper-like noises as she grew restless, eager with curiosity to inspect every inch of this place, but I refused to let her down. She was the sweetest dog ever, but clumsy. Yes, dogs could be clumsy, and Soup had a talent for running into furniture and breaking vases.
I couldn’t have possibly afforded a broken vase in this place.
To be fair, she was in a dog wheelchair, so it wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t move like any other dog.
“I aspire to be this rich,” I muttered under my breath, not thinking Milo heard.
He did, though, because he replied, “I wish I could tell you that you’re not missing out on anything, but that’d be a lie.”
Whoever said money didn’t buy happiness didn’t have enough because if I had even the smallest fraction of the money Milo must’ve spent for the renovations of this penthouse, I’d be the happiest woman alive.
Money might not buy happiness, but it sure bought everything I needed, which would’ve made me happy.
And honestly, if I had to choose between being sad and broke in an apartment with shitty neighbors, or sad and rich in a penthouse like this one, I’d choose the latter.
“Was Flora ever here?” I asked and followed Milo inside. “If she was, I don’t know how she managed to leave again because, Milo, I’m considering moving in. I can bark, you know? I could be your dog.”
He chuckled. “I prefer a pet-free life,” he said. “Being a pet owner is a huge responsibility, and I’m unable to provide the kind of care a pet needs. So, as much as your offer touches me, Miss Adams, I’ll have to decline.”
“You can’t provide care for a pet?” I followed Milo into the open living room, still looking around with astonishment even though I knew I had to cut it down a notch. “It’s the easiest thing ever. You feed them, give them water, play with them, make sure they’re healthy and happy. And well, if it’s a dog, you’ll have to walk them a couple of times a day. And, obviously, love them. They’re pretty easy to please.”
Milo nodded. “I don’t have time for any of those things.”
“Not even love?”
“Especially not love,” he answered. “Don’t you want to let her down?”
I looked at my dog, then back up to Milo, shaking my head. “She pees a little when she gets excited, and I know she just went outside, but I’m scared she’ll still do it and ruin your perfect floors.”
He chuckled, again. According to Flora, Milo didn’t know what laughter and smiles were, so this was a bit strange to me. Great, though, because I loved laughter.
“Well, if it happens, it can get cleaned.” Milo carefully took Soup from me, then set her down on the floor, and she instantly ran off to explore. “To answer your previous question, no, Flora’s never been here before.”
I asked that? I couldn’t even remember.
“So, that means I’m a step ahead of my sister for…” My eyes fell to the coffee table, eyebrows drawing together when I took in the black fruit bowl filled with pink lollipops. “OH, MY GOD!” I pointed at the bowl with one hand while I pulled on Milo’s sleeve with the other. “PINK!”
He looked toward his table. “Pink,” he repeated.
“I don’t know about you, but Milo, to me, that looks like you’re a fan of the color.” I mean, out of all the great lollipop flavors and colors, he has an entire bowl filled with pink lollipops. If I had to guess, they’re all probably bubble gum flavored, which is the worst of them all. Actually, I hated the apple flavor more, but bubble gum is a close second. “Unless you have a strange love for bubble-gum-flavored things, of course.”
“They’re pink lemonade, actually,” he corrected.
My head whipped around, eyes set on his immediately. “No way.”