Page 70 of Mr. Perfect

We say our goodbyes and hang up after that. I can’t help but feel the wind has been taken out of my sails. And maybe that’s not a bad thing. This was the day from hell and all I’m thinking about is seeing Mac. Aside from the lunch today, everything we’ve done so far has been during work. I’m dying to find out what he’s like in real life. Away from the job. When he’s not my boss, just my lover.

I pack some clothes and stuff. Not work wear, for once. And I can’t help but wonder if he’s anxious to learn more about me too? We don’t know much. And what he does know is mostly from my delusional textual relationship with his brother.

God, that’s so embarrassing.

But it’s all real. That’s the thing. It’s the real me. Maybe the real me on steroids, but that’s me.

And he’s still interested. I think that counts for something.

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Ellie

I get to his building and pull up to the front doors because the parking garage has a gate and I have no key. A valet comes to my window while the doorman appears with a smile. “I’m here to see Mr. Stonewall in the penthouse,” I tell the valet.

“Yes, Miss Hatcher,” the doorman says. “He called down and told us to expect you. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you up and let you in.”

“Isn’t he home?” I ask, getting out and going for my bag in the backseat.

The doorman beats me to it and says, “He stepped out a few minutes ago, Miss Hatcher. But said he’d be right back.”

Well, that’s interesting. He trusts me in his home. Alone. Tsk. Men. I hope he is not expecting me to sit demurely and not snoop through his place. That’s probably beyond my capability. I’m consumed with curiosity about this man.

I follow the doorman into the lobby, which is ridiculously luxurious. There’s a large modern fireplace as the center point of a sitting area that’s big enough to host a party. The furniture is modern too. All fancy lines and curves that tells me it’s probably hand-made and more expensive than anything I’ve ever owned, and my stuff is not cheap.

There’s a piano in the corner in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, which go up at least three stories. My flat shoes click a little across dark marble floors that are shiny enough for me to see my reflection and I’m suddenly sorry I wore jeans. I knew this place was fancy. It’s a landmark here in the Tech Center. And an architectural original. But I didn’t think about doormen and valets when I put my weekend casual outfit together. At least I didn’t wear shorts.

The elevator we take is off to the side. “Penthouse only,” the doorman says, like he’s in charge of impressing me in Mac’s absence. It makes me smile.

“I’m Ellie,” I say, sticking out my hand.

“George,” the doorman says. “I like Mac. He’s… unusual. Not like the rest of the people who live here.”

“Oh, really?” I say, leaning in with interest. “What’s he like? I just met him last week.”

“Pleasant. Generous. He’s a great tipper. Whenever he needs help, he rewards me even though it’s not expected here. And he smiles a lot. Especially when he talks about you.”

“He talks about me?”

George laughs as we get in the elevator and he uses a key to make the penthouse button light up and the doors close. “Yes. He’s come down in the middle of the night a few times talking about you this week.”

“Oh, God. I hope none of it was embarrassing.”

“Nothing too personal. But he did admit he was slightly obsessed with you, Miss Hatcher. And as a father I’d usually be concerned about a remark like that. But it came off as, you know…” He trails off.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like a man who made a mistake and regrets it. Like he thinks you’re something special.”

Well, well, well. I smile and sigh at the same time. That’s a wonderful little piece of information. I’m glad to know I wasn’t the only sleepless one this past week.

“I’ve known Stonewall Senior forever. Worked here since the building opened. But I never knew he had two sons. Not until Mac showed up.”

“Really?” That’s… weird. How could a doorman, the guy who should know everything about everyone, not know about Mac? It’s like he’s some kind of secret. Maybe he’s the bastard child?

I almost snicker at that. No, Mac doesn’t come off like the product of an out-of-wedlock tryst.

When we reach the top floor George twists the key again and the doors open straight into Mac’s penthouse apartment. “Wow,” I say. The first thing I see is a view of the city. It’s dark, so the lights are just breathtaking. We are high up and I can see all the landmark buildings downtown. The windows are framed in sheer white curtains that probably cost more than my car.

“Yes.” George nods, waving me into the massive room. “It’s really beautiful at night. Where would you like your bag, Miss Hatcher?”