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It’s actually eerie. And Elodie—I feel like I need a shower after she looks at me. Her dirty thoughts might as well be playing on a reel projected from her forehead. God only knows what she puts Olivier through up in 1204. Let me tell you who doesn’t want to know. This guy.
“You’re in a good mood,” Babs Connelly says as she breezes into the lobby smelling like a vodka distillery and Baccarat Rouge. Her prize-winning toy poodle dressed in Chanel is bundled in her arms and looking up at me expectantly.
Babs is a gem. A widow and a philanthropist. She’s strongly anti-puppy mill. I especially like her because she’s never treated me like a servant or a loser. She even knows things about me. Where I’m from, how many siblings I have, that Peggy is a bitch, and that the fashion industry won’t have me. She also knows not to bring up modeling with me anymore.
“Am I?” I ask as I give Pearl an appropriately sized treat and a scratch under her curly chin.
Babs taps my forehead. “Your elevens are missing.”
“I must’ve misplaced them. My apartment’s a mess.”
“Oh! Speaking of your apartment. I know a boy looking to come to the city from London. He’s a homosexual, and he’ll be staying with me until summer, but if he lands the job he’s interviewing for, he’ll need something more permanent.”
“I’m not sure if our place would be the most comfortable place for someone like that,” I say.
“Someone like what? Homosexual?”
I laugh. “No, uh…” I give Pearl another treat to buy a few seconds. “Someone coming all the way from London to interview in New York. He sounds kind of…fancy.”
“He’s a techie. Computers and such. His family is from Ireland. I don’t think he’s the kind of fancy you’re thinking of.”
“The living arrangements at our place aren’t exactly ideal. It’s only a two-bedroom.”
“Hmm.” Babs frowns up at me. “How does that work?”
“Well,” I walk toward the elevator to press the button for her. “It varies.”
While she waits, I grab the couriered envelope that arrived for her today and tuck it under her arm.
“Are you still with that Jerica lady?” she asks.
“Jericho. And yeah.” I mean, technically. I haven’t seen her in a week, but we’re still texting like nothing’s wrong.
“There they are.” She gives my forehead another tap. “Do me a favor, Drew. Go back to thinking about what was on your mind when I came in. You’re too handsome to be so grumpy.”
I give her half a grin. “Have a nice night, Babs.”
“You, too, dear.”
The elevator spirits her away to 912, and I return to my post. Before I can sit, I notice a private courier waiting outside. Busy night. I open the door and usher him in, giving him the log to fill out and signing off on the package for Mr. Olivier Arnaud. Most of his packages are FedEx standard from some high-end retailer or another, but this one is more distinct. Tiffany’s.
I examine the small parcel once the courier leaves and give it a small shake. The plot thickens.
After the wave of late-night dinner-goers trickle in, and the dogs return from their pre-bedtime walks, I pull up the Tiffany’s website, scroll through it, and familiarize myself with the inventory.
When The Heir returns alone at midnight, he doesn’t speak as I let him through the door.
“Something came for you,” I say.
“You know the drill, Jack.”
“It’s small.”
“I’m tired,” he says flatly, striding to the elevator and jabbing the up button. It’s his lucky night because the doors open right up. I shake my head as he steps on, tucks his hands into his winter coat, crosses his long legs at the ankles and looks down at the floor. His hair falls perfectly to shield his face. The doors close on that snapshot of him: the poor little rich boy.
I smooth out the elevens on my brow and wonder where Elodie went, and if, the next time I see her, I’ll be able to spot whatever’s in that box on her body somewhere. God knows, she won’t mind if I look.
Dawn comes along with the runners and the dogs. The doctors and the Wall Street traders. Killian arrives, and I relay to him the reminder we’ve been passing back and forth for the past week that the new penthouse resident is moving in today. 1208. Ellis Bryan and family. Ellis is the star of a very popular HBO series who wants a better neighborhood to raise her school-age kids. In other words, she’s moving up here from TriBeCa because the schools are better.
