I waited for her to walk past my car. She wasn’t in her apartment. Hadn’t been for a while. Not that I was keeping track.

(Except I was. Obviously.)

I drove around until I spotted her—bundled up, dangerously close to the curb. I pulled up and rolled down the window.

“Ms. {{user}}.”

She turned, startled. That guarded little smile tugged at her lips. “Mr. Harper.”

“Lovely weather for a walk,” I said dryly.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Get in.”

She hesitated, stubborn as ever. I leaned over, opening the door. “You can either get in, or I can follow you the whole way. Your call.”

She muttered something under her breath but slid into the car. Victory.

The heater blasted to life, fogging up the windows. She sank into the warmth, but there was still that tension in her, like comfort didn’t come easy.

“The plants are alive, by the way,” I said, watching her tense as I brought up the subject of my apartment.

She blinked. “What?”

“The ones I’ve been paying you to look after. You talk to them.”

Her eyes widened, and a little flush crept onto her cheeks. “You heard that?”

“Security cameras.” I smirked, trying to keep the mood light. “Touching, really. They probably miss you.”

“They were wilting.”

“They’re plants, {{user}}.”

“They have feelings.”

I almost laughed, but kept it in. “You should try that on my espresso machine. Might fix its attitude.”

She laughed. The sound hit me harder than it should’ve. “You always get your way, don’t you?”

“Not always.” If I did, she’d be with me. Everywhere. Preferably in my bed, our legs tangled, my hand in her hair as she tells me her problems, let me take them from her. I’d tell her she didn’t need to worry anymore.

But I said none of that.

Instead, I parked in the Mirage garage, walked her to the elevator.

“No more solo blizzard strolls,” I said, meeting her gaze. “Bad for business if my favorite tenant freezes to death.”

She smiled, rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’d replace me in no time.”

“Unlikely,” I murmured.

No could replace you. Not even close.