by Anya Sharpe
In front of the building, I get out and hurry to open her door.
“Evan, this place might be a bit out of my price range.” She’s staring up at the glossy, contemporary building Dad constructed last year. Twenty stories of shiny steel and glass.
“Take a look. Looking isn’t a commitment.”
Marti Zelig, Dad’s assistant meets us in the lobby, dressed professionally in a light gray suit and black pumps, her dark hair slicked back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Not a hair out of place.
“Hello, Marti. Good to see you again.” I reach out to shake her hand.
“Mr. Giamatti, good morning. Your father asked me to show your friend the apartment he has available.” She turns to Erynne. I hope it meets your expectations, Ms. Sommers.”
Erynne is clearly impressed by Marti. “I’m sure it will be beautiful.”
The concern on her face is easy to detect. Dollar signs are flashing before her just from viewing the marble and travertine lobby and the exterior of the building.
We ride up to the nineteenth floor. Once off the elevator, a small lushly carpeted lobby leads to only two doors—one on the left, the other on the right. Marti unlocks the one on the right, number 1910.
The door swings open and directly in front of us is a large open living space with floor-to-ceiling windows facing out onto a big balcony overlooking the city. Bright sunlight pours in, shining onto gleaming light wood floors and a sparkling granite kitchen island to the left.
“Holy crap, Evan. This place is enormous. I can’t afford this.” Her mouth wide open, she wanders into the middle of the space before turning back to Marti. “Uh, how big is this?”
“About fifteen-hundred square feet.” Marti answers proudly, the clicking of her heels echoing in the unfurnished space. “It was recently finished. One of the last apartments to be completed in the building. Everything is new, of course. We were about to put it on the market when Evan called.
Erynne explores the pristine granite and stainless kitchen, her fingertips trailing over the shiny surface. “This is a penthouse. I can’t afford a freakin’ penthouse.”
“No, it’s not,” I say.
“Not what?”
“It’s not the penthouse. That’s on the twentieth floor.”
“Oh.” She’s perplexed. “Wait. You said you live in this building? Don’t tell me you’re in the apartment across the hall.” She narrows her eyes suspiciously.
I chuckle. “No. I’m not, sweetheart.” Oops! That sorta slipped out.
She didn’t catch it though, being so overwhelmed by this place.
“Oh.” The gears turning wildly in her pretty head. “What floor do you live on?” she asks casually, as she checks out the view.
“Ahh…the twentieth.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Erynne
I whirl around faster than an ice skater mid-spin. Evan’s working hard to stifle a laugh. Yeah, so I’m gawking like a teenager in the front row of a boy band rock concert, but he’s totally blown my mind right now. I can’t even imagine what his place is like. I’m not sure I want to know.
“You live in the penthouse?” I stare at him like an idiot.
“Yeah.” He shrugs.
“Jesus, Evan.” I shake my head as I glance around. “I can’t afford this. Let’s go see an agent.”
“Don’t you want to see the rest? The master suite? The office?” Marti’s frowning in disappointment.
“I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time, Marti. You’ve been great. I’m not sure what Evan told his father, but this is way out of my budget.”
As I head toward the door, Evan snags my hand and tugs me into the master suite.
“Take a look and quit being such a priss,” he says with faux exasperation.
“What? A priss?”
“Shh. C’mon.”
Of course, the master suite and the office area are amazing, but really, we’re wasting our time here.
“It’s wonderful, Evan, but…”
“How much is the rent on your current apartment?”
I tell him.
“Can you afford that on your own?”
“Yeah, probably, but…”
“Funny thing. That’s the rent on this place. You’ve been getting ripped off on that hell hole.” Can I slap his smug smile?
“It’s not a hell hole, and you know it. There’s no way that’s the real rent for this place.” What kind of game is he playing?
He actually bats his eyelashes at me. “Marti. Tell her.”
She replies the same figure. Minus five hundred dollars.
I’m about to blow a gasket. A strong emotion begins to boil over inside me, and I stomp toward Evan. Latching onto his arm, I drag him into the kitchen, out of Marti’s earshot.
“What the hell is happening here, Mr. Giamatti?”
“Oh, simmer down, hot stuff.” Of course, the bastard is grinning at me. To him this is an opportunity to mess with me.
I growl and stare at him. He huffs, then gives in.
“All right. I called Dad. This place was open. I said I needed a favor for a very good friend who is going through a rough time. He was happy to oblige. He told me to set the rent at whatever you could afford. Take it. Doing shit like this thrills my dad. He’d rather you take the apartment than some stuck-up celebrity schmuck. There are enough of those types in this building anyway.”
“I can’t do that!” My voice rises to a screechy level. “The going rate on this place has to be ten times what I can pay.”
“Nah. No more than five. But who’s counting?” He’s sporting a sexy, suave grin—one I’d like to either slap or kiss. The second option sends a shiver through me.
“Hello, hello, hello!” A booming voice echoes from the front door.
“Dad, you didn’t need to come all the way out here.”
“Nonsense. I thought maybe I could help.”
A carbon copy, yet older version of Evan, strolls toward me like he owns the place. Well, okay, he does own the place, but…it’s his sense of confidence and self-worth that’s striking. He’s a goddamned good-looking man dressed in a goddamned good-looking suit.
“You must be Ms. Sommers.” Out goes the hand. “Victor Giamatti. Glad to meet you. Like what you see here?”
Without realizing he’s done it, Victor has my hand in his, kisses the top of it, and gives me a billion-dollar smile which nearly knocks me on my ass. Evan merely stands in front of us grinning with complete amusement.
“Mr. Giamatti pleased to meet you, too.” Oh, hell. Now, what do I do? “The apartment is more than lovely. It’s stunning.”
“Terrific. You’ll be taking it then.” It wasn’t a question.
“Well, I think Evan misled you…”
“Oh? You aren’t seeking a new apartment?”
“Yes, I am, but this is…”
Victor interrupts me again. “Evan, remind me what I quoted you for the rent on this little spot?”
He gives his father the same low-ball number Marti named. I hold my breath waiting for his dad to go ballistic and threaten to cut him off at the knees.
Instead, he laughs. “Oh, of course.” He winks at me happily, while rubbing his hands together. “I’m so forgetful these days. So, you’ll take it? Nothing would make me happier than for one of Evan’s friends move in.”
“Uhh…” Words escape me. Was I just bulldozed by one of the city’s biggest real estate moguls? No wonder the man’s a zillionaire.
“I’ll even throw in the movers. Marti—are those papers ready for Ms. Sommers to sign?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Magnificent. Can’t wait for you to move in. May I call you Erynne?”
“Of course.” I’m surprised I can get those two words out, because I’m pretty sure I’ve turned into a statue.
Victor Giamatti places a hand on my back and directs me to the granite counter, where Marti spreads out an array of documents. She explains each one, focusing on the rid
iculous monthly rent and the lack of first and last month’s deposit.
A pen is thrust at me, and soon I’m robotically signing the lease on an apartment I can’t, in reality, afford. A set of keys are pressed into my palm, and before I know it, Mr. Giamatti and Marti are shaking my hand and saying goodbye.
Leaving me standing here with my mouth hanging wide open.
****
“Let’s go move you in. I can get a truck to your place in an hour.” Evan’s expression is dead serious.
“What?” The cogs in my brain are beginning to move again at a slow pace. Moments ago, something happened I had no control over whatsoever.
Evan moves to the shiny stainless fridge and takes out a bottle of champagne, which he deftly opens. Why is champagne even here? He pours it into two flutes. Me? I’m standing still, dazed and confused. I’m sure I look like a total idiot.
“To your new apartment.” He hands me a glass, smiling as if he just won the Nobel Prize or something equally grand. Robotically, I accept the drink and take a long sip. Maybe some alcohol will knock sense into me. One can only hope.
“This…This can’t be my apartment. I can’t afford this. Is your Dad insane?”
“Well, you already signed the papers. So, yeah, it’s yours.” He finishes his glass and refills them both. “And, to my knowledge, my father’s sanity is not questionable.”
“I don’t even have any furniture to fill this place up.”
“That’s easily fixed.” In a flash, he whips out his phone, and shoots off a text.
“Wait…What did you do?” A sudden burst of anger builds. I’m being pressured into numerous things this morning, and I don’t think I like it.
“I ordered you some furniture.”
“You! You can’t do that! Stop it!” I slam the glass down on the counter and pace the large kitchen. “Evan…” I take a few deep breaths. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but this all goes beyond help. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. All I needed was a simple little furnished apartment I could live in while I put my life back together.”
Remorse takes over his confident expression.
“I’m sorry, Erynne. I only wanted to help you.” He turns his back to me and moves toward the balcony windows. “I thought this would make things easier. My dad…he loves to be helpful when he can. It’s no skin off his teeth. When I explained your situation, he suggested this place. To him, the rent doesn’t matter. Whatever you can afford. It’s not the first time he’s done this for a friend or family.”
I touch his arm. “Thank you. It’s more than kind. I’m overwhelmed.” I allow my head to rest on his shoulder for a moment, as I try to figure out how to handle this.
Evan touches my forehead, then begins to stroke my hair. I peer up to see him smiling.
“Please let me—us—do this for you. The furniture is nothing more than what they use to stage homes. It’s sitting in a storage unit collecting cobwebs. Marti will pick out great stuff from the stash and send over. It’ll be good. I promise. Think of it as a furnished apartment.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I nod in agreement. I hope I don’t regret this.
Evan checks his watch.
“C’mon.”
“Where’re we going?”
“Upstairs. My cook has lunch ready for us on the terrace.”
“Your cook?”
“Ah, yeah. I can’t cook. I’d starve otherwise.”
At the elevator, he inserts a key into a spot on the door with a guilty look. “Uh. Key to the penthouse.”
I can’t hold back a giggle. The elevator dings and we step in and ride up to the twentieth. This ought to be good, I think, wondering exactly what his home looks like.
“You live here?” The place is like a page out of Architectural Digest or something. You know, those magazine spreads of high-end New York apartments no one you will ever know in this lifetime lives in? This is one of those. Trust me, the words “looks lived in” do not apply here.
Evan’s apartment is twice as large as “mine,” the one I signed the lease on minutes ago. His takes up that space plus the one from the apartment across the hall. Filled with leather and glass and chrome, splashes of bold accent colors—including one bright red wall—off-set the clean background palate of black-and-white, making it interesting to the eye. Windows are everywhere. A spiral staircase at one end goes to…how the hell should I know? I glance at the floor.
Am I standing on freaking marble?
“Yeah, it’s marble.”
I blush, from blurting the thought out loud.
“Why are you so shocked? You’ve been here before, you know.” The grin on his face is seriously annoying me right now.
“What are you talking about?” Confused, I do catch a wave of familiarity with my current surroundings. Which is stupid, because I would sure as hell remember if I’d ever been here.
His smile grows tight. “I guess you weren’t quite conscious then.”
I stare at him as his expression sobers.
“The night at Malone’s? When we got you out of there, I brought you here until we could figure out what to do.”
Someone might as well have thrown a glass of ice water in my face. We’d never gotten around to talking about what happened that night. Too much other shit was busy piling up.
“Mr. Evan?” A sweet looking, older woman of medium height comes into view wearing black slacks and an untucked white button-down shirt. Her silvery hair is slicked back into a tight bun, and wire-rimmed glasses are perched on her nose.
“Oh, Olive.” He springs to life. “Is lunch ready?”
“Yes. I heard you come in. Lunch is on the terrace, as you requested.”
“Perfect. Thank you, Olive.”
“No problem, Mr. Evan. If you don’t need anything else, I’ll be going.”
“Please do. I’m sure we’ll manage. I appreciate you coming in to make us lunch.”
“My pleasure.”
I’m gawking. “Your cook came in special for today?”
“I thought you’d be hungry. She doesn’t usually work weekends unless I need her. During the week, she cooks and freezes a bunch of stuff. I zap whatever I’m in the mood for.”
“Oh.” Evan leads me to the intriguing spiral staircase. At the top is a glass door, which he holds open.
Outside in the warm sunshine, I spot a wooden patio table with two padded chairs. A beautiful chicken Caesar salad is arranged on two plates, along with a small loaf of yummy looking bread. A corked bottle of white wine is set in an ice bucket. Evan—or Olive—has thought of everything.
“Wow. This is amazing.” Suddenly, my stomach growls.
“Yeah, Olive is a terrific cook.”
We dig in, eating and drinking silently for a few minutes. The whole time, a persistent question tumbles around in my head.
I set down my fork and take a sip of wine first, then set my gaze on Evan.
“Please, tell me what happened that night. I don’t remember a whole lot after seeing Derrick. The next morning, I woke up at Maya’s. In between is kind of murky.”
Clearly, he’s considering how to answer as he finishes chewing a bite.
“Well, you and Maya pretty much went into shock. I’d told Lance where we were going to be if he was interested in stopping by. Thank God, he did. He arrived as the whole thing unfolded. We put you two into a cab, but I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to where we’d go. All I knew was I had to get you out of the restaurant.”
He pauses to sip his wine before continuing.
“So, we came here. You were in shock, I guess. When Maya finally pulled herself together, we gave you half of a sleeping pill. It seemed like the best course of action at the time. Then, I drove you back to her apartment.”
I simply nod.
We eat and drink in silence for a while longer.
“Erynne?”
“Yeah?” Our eyes meet, his tender and sweet.
“I’m very sorry for wh
at happened to you.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
“It will get better. I promise.”
I try to read the secret message his blue, blue eyes are sending me.
Either I can’t, or I’m afraid to.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Erynne
“I’m moving out.”
“You’re what?”
Derrick’s voice is low, but the tone of disbelief is evident.
“I’m moving out of the apartment. Actually, I moved most things over the weekend. I figured you were tired of staying in a hotel or…wherever…” I cringe at the thought of him living in his sex pad.
“Hotel.”
For some reason, I’m relieved to hear that.
“Why are you moving out, Erynne?” There’s an edge to his words.
“I couldn’t stay anymore. It hurts too much.” I’m glad I’m telling him this on the phone. In person would be way more difficult.
“Babe, you can have the apartment. I’ll give you whatever you want.” He sounds desperate, and I know he wants a second chance. Only I can’t give him one, and staying would only encourage him to try to convince me.
“A courier will drop the keys by your office once all my personal stuff is moved. I’m leaving the furniture for you. My new place comes, uh, furnished.” I roll my eyes, because if he saw this apartment, he’d freak out. Maya nearly wet her pants when she helped me bring in my things Sunday afternoon.
“Keep the keys. I still have mine.”
“Um, I had the locks changed. After the night you…um…I was a little scared, Derrick.” I curse myself for stammering.
“Fuck, Erynne.” I can picture him swiping his hand across his face.
“I’m almost finished packing. I should be done by tomorrow, okay?”
“No. It’s not okay. I don’t like this. At all. I want you to stay. I want to come home to you. I want this mess to go away.” His anger is not aimed at me per se, but his words hurt.
“Derrick…” I speak quietly to soften the blow. “I can’t. This was too much.” Then, I hang up before he can say anything else, cover my face with my hands, and start to cry.
****
I should have stayed at the new apartment tonight. My decision to sleep here one more night is awful. Most of my things are gone, and the apartment looks bare and hollow, even though all the furniture remains. A slight echo mirrors the hollow feeling inside my chest. Memories lurk in practically every corner. Pictures on the walls, scraps of paper, ordinary notes or bills hardly worthy of a second glance at any other time taunt, fueling guilt at my decision.