Chapter 286
**Sara**
I closed the door, Leo's words still bouncing around in my head like a hyper ping-pong ball. Marriage proposal in Tom-speak? Yeah, right. Next thing you know, his coffee machine would get down on one knee and present me with a ring made of coffee beans.
I went back to the couch, sinking into its embrace. The TV chef had moved on to destroying someone's attempts at a chocolate soufflé. "It's so dense, it could sink the Titanic!"
The sound of a key in the lock made me sit up straighter. The door swung open, and there stood Tom, his tie loosened and hair slightly disheveled. He froze mid-step when he saw me, then broke into that crooked grin that always made my stomach do backflips.
"Well, well. There's a beautiful woman on my couch. Should I be concerned about this home invasion?"
"Depends. Are you going to call the cops?"
Tom shrugged off his jacket, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. "Don't worry. Sometimes, my heart is kind and generous enough to let homeless girls stay in my apartment."
I sat up straighter, narrowing my eyes. "Oh really? And exactly how many girls have you let stay in your apartment, Tom?"
"Why, Sara, is that jealousy I detect in your voice?"
"Jealousy? Please." I crossed my arms, trying to look dignified despite being curled up on his ridiculously plush couch. "I'm just concerned about the apartment's previous occupants. You did just call me homeless, after all."
"Yes, but I called you a homeless girl who's beautiful enough to stay." He loosened his tie further, those eyes of his twinkling with mischief. "There's a difference."
"Right." I stood up, smoothing down my skirt. "Well, this homeless girl should probably get going. Wouldn't want to overstay my welcome in your charity house."
Tom's expression shifted from playful to concerned in an instant. "Sara, wait—"
"No, no, it's fine." I gathered my purse, putting on my best dramatic face. "I'll just go find another billionaire's apartment to crash in."
"Sara." He caught my wrist as I tried to sweep past him. "You know I was joking."
"Do I?" I arched an eyebrow at him. "Because this homeless person isn't so sure."
Tom's fingers tightened around my wrist, tugging me closer until I stumbled against his chest. His other hand found my waist, steadying me. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around me, making it hard to keep up my mock indignation.
"Sara, I was just kidding. You know that, right?" His voice had that soft, worried edge that made me want to laugh.
I couldn't hold it in anymore. A giggle escaped my lips as I looked up at his concerned face. "Of course, I know that, you dork. You should see your face right now – you look like someone just told you the stock market crashed."
"I-" Tom started, then stopped, his expression morphing from worry to realization. "You were messing with me."
"Guilty as charged." I pressed my palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath his shirt. "And you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker."
Tom's eyes narrowed. "You're an evil woman, you know that?"
"Oh?" I batted my eyelashes innocently. "A minute ago, I was just a homeless woman, and now I'm evil? That sounds like an upgrade to me."
"Definitely an upgrade. At least evil women are interesting."
I tilted my head, pretending to consider this. "True. Being homeless was getting boring anyway. Oh!" I snapped my fingers. "I forgot to tell you – your brother Leo stopped by."
Tom's grip tightened slightly. "Leo was here?"
"Mhmm. He helped himself to something from your wine collection."
"He what?" Tom's head whipped toward his wine collection so fast I thought he'd give himself whiplash. "Which bottle?"
"Um..." I scrunched my nose, trying to remember. "It had a label? With words on it? Possibly in French? Or maybe Italian?"
"That describes literally every bottle in my collection."
"How am I supposed to know? All those fancy wines look the same to me. It was definitely bottle-shaped?"
Tom shook his head, moving to his wine collection. His fingers traced over the bottles until they stopped at an empty spot. His face fell like someone had just told him his favorite economic theory had been disproven.
"No, no, no. He didn't."
"What? What's wrong?"
"That little..." Tom ran his hand through his hair. "That bottle was a limited edition. Only five hundred were ever made."
I walked over, peering at the empty space. "Was it really that special?"
"I was saving it." He looked so devastated I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Who knew wine could make a grown man look like a kicked puppy?
"Saving it for what?"
"Any special occasion." Tom's shoulders slumped. "A celebration, a milestone, something important."
"Like getting tenure? Or maybe when one of your students finally learns the difference between assets and liabilities?"
That earned me a look. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Me? Never." I leaned against the wine rack. "By the way, did you tell Leo I was your girlfriend?"
"What? No. Why?"
I shrugged, trying to keep my voice casual. "Nothing. Just asking." I gestured to the empty spot in his wine rack. "So what are you going to do about your precious bottle?"
"Buy another one, I suppose." Tom's fingers traced the outline where the bottle had been like he was mourning a lost friend.
"Then why are you acting like Leo just stole your firstborn child? If you can just replace it-"
"Oh, kind of like how you acted when I called you homeless?" His eyebrows shot up, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
"That-" I pointed an accusing finger at him. "That was completely different."
"Was it?" He stepped closer, backing me against the wine rack. "Because I seem to remember someone getting very dramatic about finding 'another billionaire's apartment to crash in.'"
I felt the cool metal of the wine rack press against my back as Tom loomed over me, that infuriating smirk still on his face. His body's proximity made it hard to think straight.
"That's not fair," I protested, trying to regain some composure. "You started it with the homeless comment."
"And you escalated it with the billionaire hunting."
I needed to change topics before I completely lost my train of thought. "When are you flying to Australia?"
Tom pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Now, who's changing the subject?" His fingers traced lazy patterns on my hip. "But since you asked – tomorrow. Why? Already dreading my absence?"
"Please." I rolled my eyes, ignoring the way my stomach dropped at the word 'tomorrow.' "I won't miss you at all. In fact, I might throw a party to celebrate having your apartment all to myself."
"Is that so?" His hand slid up my side. "A party without me?"
"Absolutely. A big, wild party." I grinned up at him. "With loud music, dancing, and maybe I'll even reorganize your precious wine collection by color instead of region."
"You wouldn't dare." His eyes narrowed playfully. "You're lying about the party."
"Am not." I lifted my chin defiantly. "I've already got the guest list ready."
"Such a terrible liar." His thumb traced my jawline. "Your nose scrunches up when you're not telling the truth."
"It does not!" I protested, fighting the urge to touch my nose. "I'm serious about that party."
Tom stepped back, his warmth suddenly gone. "Well then, have fun without me." His voice carried an edge I couldn't quite place.
I watched, mouth slightly open, as he walked to the couch and settled into it, leaving me standing by the wine rack like an idiot. The TV still blared in the background – some poor chef getting destroyed for an undercooked chicken.
What just happened? One minute, we were flirting, and the next...
I padded over to the couch, sinking down beside him. The leather squeaked beneath me as I turned to face him. "Okay, what's with the silent treatment?"
He stayed silent, staring at the TV as if it held the secrets of the universe.
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