# Chapter 8: The Penthouse, the Kitten, and the Favor She Never Asked For
Hello everyone, it’s me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review Chapter 8 of *Seduced By My Ex's Divorce Attorney audiobook free*. And wow, does this chapter deliver a quiet storm of tension, humor, forced proximity, and one very dangerous little kitten. So settle in, because Hannah Crowley is about to spend the weekend in Roarke Baldwin’s penthouse—and nothing about it is as simple as it sounds.
The chapter opens with Hannah arriving at Roarke’s building, Lucy the dog at her side and far too much luggage weighing her down. A doorman named Will opens a side door for her, and Lucy, being Lucy, follows happily behind. When Will asks who she’s there to see, Hannah explains she’s housesitting for Roarke Baldwin. Will confirms it, checks his computer, and asks if she’s Hannah Crowley. She holds up the key like a badge of honor—or maybe a badge of inconvenience.
Then comes the first sting of Roarke’s control. Will mentions that Roarke said Hannah would need a dog walker four times a day. The building supplies one. It’s already billed to Mr. Baldwin. Already paid for. Hannah insists on paying the fee herself, but Will politely refuses. According to the notes on the screen, if Ms. Crowley tries to pay, he is to politely decline. Hannah sees red. Of course Roarke left instructions about her. Of course he did. She swallows her temper because it isn’t Will’s fault, but she promises herself she’ll reimburse Roarke directly. Will smiles, teeth yellow from what is probably years of smoking, and offers to take her upstairs. Hannah says she can manage, but he keeps the elevator doors open and presses the floor for her anyway. She tries to tip him. He refuses. Roarke has already tipped the entire weekend staff. Hannah steps into the elevator, murmurs that Roarke is such a jackass, and tells Lucy they have two days and then only three favors left.
The elevator opens on the eighty-fifth floor. Hannah mutters about Roarke not having enough money for the top floor, then wanders hallways with no doors, no signs, and the feeling that she’s walking in circles. When she finally finds the right door, she lets herself in. Lucy, however, has other plans. The moment the lock clicks, Lucy shoves the door open and bolts inside, yanking Hannah forward. Her purse spills across the expensive marble floor, her overnight bag drops, and she has to yell for Lucy to stop. The little dog is on a mission, sniffing out the cat.
And then Hannah sees him—a tiny silver furball darting under the couch. Lucy circles the furniture like a detective on a case. Hannah uses the moment to take in Roarke’s condo: greys, blues, whites, dark floors, huge windows with different views from every room. He might not own the entire floor, but he owns half of it. Three bedrooms, each with its own bath, a rarely used office, a huge living room, an open kitchen, and a long dining table running alongside one of the large windows. Everything is clean, orderly, and perfect. No beer cans, no giant television, no clothes hanging out of a hamper, no dried toothpaste in the sink. A perfectionist definitely lives here.
On the kitchen counter, Hannah finds a handwritten note. Not typed by an assistant—just Roarke’s sloppy handwriting. He thanks her, explains the dog walker and the already-paid tips, and tells her not to overtip the doormen because they will refuse. He gives instructions for “Kitty”: soft food in the fridge, hard food in the cabinet, water obviously. No plants to water, and the cleaning service has already been there. Then he adds that he’s trying to keep Kitty out of the guest bedrooms, so Hannah can sleep in his bed. All sheets have been freshly washed. He says he’d love for her to stay Sunday for dinner, but not enough to use it as a favor. The decision is hers. He signs it “R.” Hannah stares at the note and says, “Seriously?” A list of nearby take-out places sits beside it.
Then Lucy barks. The little kitten peeks out from under the couch, and Hannah realizes something bizarre: Roarke owns a tiny, cute, fluffy kitten. A Doberman or a Pitbull would have made more sense. But this? This is unexpected. Lucy licks Kitty—a stupid name, by the way—and Hannah sits on the couch. The kitten crawls out, pounces from the coffee table to her lap, and starts purring. Hannah pets his soft grey fur and decides he doesn’t look like a “Kitty.” He looks like Nickel. Lucy immediately gets jealous, shoving her nose under Hannah’s arm and flipping it up in the worst emotion ever.
Then Hannah’s phone rings. She should have let it go to voicemail, but she answers. It’s Roarke. His deep voice sends a shiver up her spine. He asks if everything is to her liking. She says his condo is okay. He chuckles and apologizes that it isn’t as costly as hers. They both know their condos cost roughly the same, and Hannah admits his views are better. She says she could barely afford much after her divorce. He says, “Touché.” She tells him she renamed Kitty. He’s amused and asks what she named him. She says Nickel, because he’s silver grey. Roarke says Platinum sounds better. Hannah fires back that maybe if the cat was a she. They banter about platinum being better than nickel, and Roarke says, “You caught yourself. Good job, Hannah.” The way he says her name makes a million flickers of energy ignite in her stomach.
Hannah tells him everything is good, and favor number two seems like a cinch. Roarke laughs and says he’s glad she’s settled, tells her to help herself to whatever is in the fridge, and mentions his assistant stocked up on items for her. Hannah asks if he was ever in the hospitality field. He laughs again and says she knows nothing about him—he’s just a nice guy. She teases, “Not in the courtroom.” And then the thought hits her: Oh my God, are we flirting? Roarke says he can’t argue that point; it’s his job, his clients hire the best, and that’s what he gives them. He starts to say he knows she was on the other side, but Hannah cuts him off. She doesn’t want to go over all that.
Then a female voice calls Roarke’s name in the background. Hannah stiffens. Roarke tells her if she needs anything, his assistant’s phone number is on the back of the paper, or any of the doormen can help. The same woman calls him again. He thanks Hannah again, and she says you’re welcome, pushing back her irritation at hearing another woman’s voice. What business is it of hers what he’s up to this weekend? They hang up, and Hannah taps her phone against her chest while watching boats sail along the glimmering lake. That might have been the first conversation where she didn’t want to rip his head off. She isn’t sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one.
The weekend passes without incident. Roarke doesn’t call again. Then, on Sunday morning, something wakes Hannah up. There’s noise coming from the kitchen. She bolts upright and sees Lucy and Nickel fast asleep in Lucy’s dog bed. Worst guard dog ever. She slides out of the million-thread-count bedsheets that smell way too much like Roarke, tiptoes to the door, and peeks down the hall. A suitcase sits next to the hallway table, with keys and sunglasses strewn on top. Soft music plays, and someone is cooking. Hannah wonders if he hired her a cook. She looks back at the alarm clock. Nine o’clock. She has no idea how she slept so late, but binge-watching Netflix most of the night probably didn’t help. Once the dog walker came for Lucy, she changed into pajamas and vegged out for the first time in who knows how long. She usually has charity events or dinners at the club with her parents. If she liked Roarke even a little, she’d thank him for giving her a Saturday night to herself. She softly scolds Lucy for not alerting her to someone inside. Lucy picks up her head, looks at her, and plops it back down.
Reader’s Impressions & Star Rating: This chapter is a delicious mix of forced proximity, subtle class tension, and slow-burn chemistry. I loved the contrast between Roarke’s polished, controlled world and the chaos Hannah brings with Lucy, spilled purses, and a runaway kitten. The note, the already-paid tips, and the “sleep in my bed” line are all perfectly Roarke—generous, controlling, and infuriatingly thoughtful. The phone call is the highlight: the banter is sharp, the flirting is undeniable, and that female voice in the background lands like a small knife. Nickel and Lucy are comedy gold. My rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.8 / 5 Stars.
Next Chapter Prediction: That noise in the kitchen is almost certainly Roarke himself, back early with his suitcase, keys, and sunglasses. Hannah is about to be caught in his penthouse, wearing pajamas, with his bedsheets smelling like him and a cat she’s already renamed. The awkward tension will be electric, especially after the mysterious woman’s voice on the phone. I predict breakfast, a confrontation about Sunday dinner, and Hannah trying desperately to pretend she isn’t affected by him. The favor countdown is also looming—only three favors left after this weekend—so the stakes are about to get much more personal.
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