Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Everything of mine from New Jersey is piled in the entranceway. It’s difficult to get through to the living space, but I need to choose a bedroom before I start moving any boxes.
The first thing that comes into view is Leo’s huge TV screen. I eye-roll hard. No doubt he likes his sports and his porn big. Giant television aside, the apartment is a little more low-key than I expected. It’s big and it’s in a great location, so it must be worth a fortune, but it’s not fancy. There’s no expensive art on the walls and there’s almost not enough furniture to fill the place. What’s here doesn’t precisely fit. Some of it looks a little small, like it wasn’t purchased for this space specifically.
Which, come to think of it, is a little surprising. Leo knows every interior designer in New York City, and I’ve heard him on the phone to people talking about design concepts for his build-outs—most recently New River. He’s got very clear ideas about what he wants for the interiors of the place.
But his own home doesn’t look like it’s ever met an IKEA catalogue, let alone an interior designer. I poke my head through the door on the far side of the living space. It’s a formal dining room that doesn’t look like it’s been touched. The next door is an office, which again, doesn’t look like it’s been used.
Did I pass the bedrooms? I double back and realize there are six doors off the entrance hall currently obscured by my boxes. Leo didn’t say anything about any part of the apartment being off-limits and I don’t want to pry—scratch that, I absolutely want to pry—but I won’t go hunting for his bedroom.
The first door I open is a bedroom. This one definitely looks like it’s something a designer has done. Unlike the main living space, this room is coordinated without being matchy, in light blues, silver, and white. The sheer number of pillows on the bed tells me Leo had nothing to do with this room. I make my way over to the window and the eastern view seals the deal. I can see the whole city.
“Hello,” a male voice calls. It sounds like Leo. Shit, I’d wanted to have all my stuff in my room by the time he got back.
I race outside to find him surveying the boxes and suitcases. “Hey, sorry, I’ll have this all cleared. I was just trying to figure out which bedroom I should take.”
“It’s not a problem,” he says. “Need a hand?” His tone has changed a little from how he usually sounds in the office. It’s warmer. More open. It’s not like he’s cold at work—he’s not. He’s always friendly and nice, but it feels… different somehow. This is the voice of the man I met at the not-costume party all those years ago.
“Oh I’m good.” I’m not good. Hanging out in my boss’ apartment like we’re old friends when in reality we barely know each other is beyond weird.
“Have you decided?” he asks, nodding to the blue-and-white room. “It’s my favorite after the primary.”
“It’s really pretty.”
He chuckles. “Pretty. Okay, let’s go with that. Not the vibe I was going for.”
“You had someone do the design?”
“Of this room and all the bedrooms. Then, I just… gave up. I had too much to do and I just needed it to be functional. What I actually needed was for the designer to make all the decisions, but I think she was too scared to execute in case she made a mistake. I guess she saw it as an audition. But I’ve lived with it like this for eighteen months now. I’m used to it, even though it pisses me off that it looks a bit like a student flat.”
I laugh, half at his accent and the way he says “student flat,” and partly because the design of the place—or lack thereof—bothers him. It’s kinda unexpected. “I’m pretty sure there aren’t many students who could afford something like this, so you can rest easy on that score.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs and picks up a box. “Shall I take it in?”
“Sure,” I reply, grabbing a suitcase. “Ever had a roommate before?”
“Not since… a while. My friend Fisher and I lived together in our twenties.” He sets the box down and I realize I didn’t even see it, but there’s a walk in closet that leads through to an attached bath.
“You’ve never lived with a girlfriend?” I ask as we both grab a box from the corridor.
He takes a couple of beats before he answers. “Not really,” he says.
That’s not exactly a no, but if he’d said yes, I’d have been more surprised. It was clear the first night I met him that he wasn’t looking for just one woman to commit to. Hell, he wasn’t even looking for just one woman to flirt with. Not that I’m still bitter about it. I’m just pissed I fell for it.