Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Lucky for me, remembering a person isn’t the same as getting involved with them.
It would be convenient if I could stop thinking about her, though. If I could stop thinking of the way her eyes met mine in the reflection of the gleaming door. I felt something just from her dark eyes on mine. Sensed something in the air. Her perfume had been all around her, and it made me want to do something crazy. Something like…lean in and kiss the side of her neck even while she had her hand on another man’s arm.
He was nothing compared to her. Even the way her breath hitched was fascinating.
I’ve thought about the way her breasts rose and fell underneath her dress every damn day for six months. Like whatever had come over me was felt by her as well.
Attempting to rid her of my mind and ignoring the fact that I have to ride that damn elevator again, that it may have hints of her perfume if she’s ridden it today, I stride into my building.
I head into the lobby, scanning to make sure everything’s as it should be. Custom tiled flooring is polished and shining. Custom sconces on the walls have every bulb burning. The doormen behind the desk are properly uniformed and both of them nod to me as I go by.
It’s the weekend, but I’m headed back to my office, not to the penthouse. I don’t want to stand in the elevator and think about her. Beyond that, my personal space is as luxurious as the rest of the building. Obviously—I wouldn’t settle when it came to that, either.
Sometimes, despite all the high-end furnishings and the professional kitchen and the miles of extra space, it still feels empty.
I could have my pick of dates and outings, but after a meeting like that one, I’m not in the mood.
My office space on the fifth floor is lit from the outside. I’m not planning to turn on any lights. I’m barely past my secretary’s desk when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
The number on the screen is an unfamiliar one. It could be one of the people from the meeting, wanting to continue the conversation, and my pulse pumps harder at the thought. I could tackle some of this bullshit today. Find my footing as far as the deal goes.
I accept the call. “Graham Maxwell.”
“Hi,” a woman says. She wasn’t at the meeting. Her voice heats something low in my torso. “I mean—hello, Mr. Maxwell. My name is Madelyn Cunnigham. I live on the eighth floor of your West Grove apartments.”
I stare out my office windows, hardly seeing the cityscape outside. “I think you’re looking for the building manager, Ms. Cunnigham.”
“No. No. I was looking for you.”
“Were you?” I entertain the conversation for no other reason than because that woman lived on the eighth floor. I allow myself to imagine it’s her, although I’m careful with my thoughts. I’m more giving than I should be.
“Yes. I was hoping to have a conversation.” My gaze drops as her tone turns with slight desperation. “The building manager sent me your way as…I’m having a difficulty I am hoping you could help me with. If you had a few minutes. I wouldn’t take up much of your time, I promise.”
“Something wrong with your apartment? A broken appliance? Because I can direct you to the weekend maintenance team.”
“All the appliances are fine, but there’s a slight emergency.”
I move closer to my desk in case this woman with the beautiful voice has panicked and called me instead of the fire department.
“Fire? Flood?”
“Neither of those,” she says quickly. “Nothing’s on fire. I just wanted a conversation. I need to have a conversation with you.” I like the way need to have a conversation with you sounds. “I could meet you in your office or…or anywhere, really. I’m right upstairs. I can be ready on a moment’s notice.”
“How about this? I’ll come to you.” I have no idea what’s happening here, but I intend to find out. “Which unit are you in?”
“Unit 8A.”
“All right.” I pull the chair out from behind my desk. “Are you sure you don’t need the fire department?” I attempt to add a touch of humor to ease her concerns.
“I’m completely sure,” she promises.
“Give me five minutes.”
“Okay. Thank you so…thank you. I’ll be here.”
The call disconnects, and I tap my password into my computer. I’m not going up to the eighth floor without some basic information in my back pocket.
I have the lease agreement in a few clicks. Not much here. There’s Madelyn’s name listed underneath a guy named Kevin. My stomach sinks, but I ignore that. I don’t have any reason to be disappointed. I liked the sound of her voice. That’s all. The odds that she’s the woman in the red dress are low I tell myself. There are thirty-some apartments on that level.