“Or driving down the M62 to Manchester,” Megan laughed, optimistic forthe former.
“I hope you’re working on that mid-range, that’s what will get you into Lyon. They’re missing some mid-range magic.”
“Every day, it’s not like I can dunk, Michael. I wasn’t graced with your height. My jump shot is all I’ve got.”
Michael Davis chuckled. “Okay, smart ass. You’re right. You can blame your mother for that. She brought you down afew inches.”
They both laughed in unison. Amanda Davis’ 5’4” frame was often blamed.
“I don’t think that will ever get old. Where is mom, anyway?”
“She’s with the developers at the new plot.”
“How’s it coming along?”
“Better than expected. We’re ahead of schedule by a week or so. We should be able to get them on the market soon.”
“That’s great, Dad, I can’t wait to see some photos.” Megan drank the last of her smoothie, disposing of the remains down the drain.
“Where have you been playing ball, anyway?”
“Down on 46thand 9th, it’s the closest one, otherwise I would have to go all the way over to Hudson River.”
“I know the one.”
“It’s decent, not quite Stanford levels, but it’lldo the job.”
“I’ll let you get to it then, sweetheart. Call me when you hear from Cheryl, okay?”
“Okay, Dad, I will.”
***
Megan collected her basketball, a bottle of water from the fridge, and headed for the door. The usual elevator routine commenced—twenty-one floors—the timing was terrible; everyone would be leaving for work. The alternative of taking the stairs was something she regretted the day before. Regardless of her athletic nature, it took a mere five floors before she gave up and opted for the elevator.
The elevator doors opened up to the ground floor, the classic brown marble flooring was polished to perfection. The concierge smiled as Megan passed by, a friendly chap with a full head of grey hair, brown square rimmed glasses and a brown suit, he fitted in superbly with the surroundings. Despite the forty-one floors and 200+ apartments, the building never feltovercrowded.
The black revolving doors stopped directly in her path, the transition from inside the lobby to the sunlit street outside swift. The heat was already notably hotter than yesterday morning, Megan noticed.
The same doorman stood to the right of the door in his crisp white shirt and gold-buttoned black suit, eagerly awaiting to greet her as she left. The gold name tag read, Alberto.
“Good morning,Miss Davis.”
Megan chuckled internally to herself, remembering briefly the conversation with Ashley. The urge to speak to her had been present since the day before, and she made a mental note to tell her about the doorman who now knew her by name—she would find that amusing.
“Good morning. Don’t you ever takea day off?”
“It would seem as though I don’t, but someone needs to be here to watch the door.” Alberto shrugged and smiled politely.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Ten years,Miss Davis.”
Megan took a guess that he must be in his late forties. She thought he was handsome for his age; the military crew cut and wrinkle-free complexion helped his cause.
“You must have seen a lot of things, huh?”
“I have enough stories to last a lifetime, but I don’t like to gossip.” Alberto winked playfully; his smile wasinfectious.
