Still, I couldn’t help getting snippy. “Not all women like pink, you know.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Of course they don’t. I have another guest room.” He picked up my suitcase.

I sighed. How immature I was being. Pink wasn’t my favorite color, but I had nothing against it. He was offering me a place to stay in this amazing apartment for free.

“This room is fine,” I said.

“You sure? There’s another, but it’s closer to my master suite. I thought you’d feel safer being farther away from me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You seemed so…apprehensive about being near me,” he said. “I want you to feel protected.”

“Actually,” I replied, “I think I’d feel safer if I were closer to you.”

He smiled. “Good enough.” He picked up my suitcase and led me down a hallway to another door and opened it.

This room was decorated in black and white—the furniture was black lacquer, and the bedding was zebra-striped. I gasped again. The room was roughly the same size as the other, but the view was even more spectacular from here.

“Is this better?” Reid asked.

“This is fine. Thank you. Where’s your room?”

“Right across the hall.”

Curiosity rolled through me. What might Reid Wolfe’s bedroom look like?

He set my suitcase on the floor and led me to the bathroom, which was even more decadent than I could have imagined. “There are robes in the closet for your use. Lots of shampoo and conditioner and body wash. Towels and wash cloths. Everything you’ll need, and if there’s something else you need, just let me know. Lydia can get it for you.”

“Lydia?”

“She’s my housekeeper. Head of staff.”

Staff? “Oh. Okay.” I imagined a shapely woman dressed in a black and white French maid’s uniform.

“Just push this button.” He indicated a pad on the wall that looked like an intercom. “Lydia will come.”

“She’s not here now, is she?”

“She’s off duty, but the night maid is here. Her name is Monique.”

Monique. Yeah, definitely the French maid mini-uniform with black fishnets. “I don’t want to bother anyone.”

“They’re paid to see to my guests. It’s not a bother. What do you need?”

“Maybe just some water.”

“Not a problem.” He pushed the button. “Monique?”

“Yes, Mr. Wolfe?”

“We have a guest tonight in the second bedroom. She’d like some water, please.”

“Right away.”

I was still mesmerized by the view when someone knocked on the door.

Reid opened it. “Good evening, Monique.”

I turned.

And nearly burst into laughter.

Monique was lovely, but she was an older woman with silver hair à la Helen Mirren, and she wore black slacks and a white shirt. Hardly a French maid’s uniform.

“Here you go, Mr. Wolfe.” Monique held out a bottle of Fiji water.