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Valerie surveys our intimate position. Lana sits in her chair, and I’m leaning next to her against the desk. Val fixes her eyes on me. “Mr. Warte is here to see you.”
More curiosity flickers over her features. From my peripheral vision, I see Lana slide her chair closer to me. I glance down to confirm it, then look at Valerie. “Thanks, Val. I’ll be right up.”
Nodding, Valerie leaves. I study Lana, who appears unsettled.
“What is it?” I ask.
She opens her mouth, but closes it before turning her head away. “Nothing.”
But I see her helpless jealousy before she can conceal it. If nothing, it just fuels my hope that maybe I have more than just a chance.
“I’ll see you at seven,” I say.
Before walking into my interview with Siemens Warte, I tell Valerie to inform Elise that no member of Lana’s family is to be allowed within the building.
* * *
A few hours later, I’m standing in the center of Lana’s apartment, which is so different from the image she portrays to everyone. Splashes of color are everywhere, even on the mismatched furniture in an odd variety of shades. An armchair that is positively hideous, but obviously well loved. A fridge adorned with drawings made by children, which have been gifted to ‘Ant Lana’.
I stroll through the apartment. It’s not huge, but it’s cozy. As I pause to stand in the middle of the living area, with a coffee table surrounded by two armchairs, a long sofa, and a television, I can almost see Lana curled on the bright pink sofa with a tub of ice cream in her hands as she settles in for a quiet evening.
The mental imagery is so pleasant I suddenly have a yearning to share that with her, to walk into the scene, toss off my coat, and force her grumbling form up so I can hold her in my arms.
Loneliness? I muse, opening my eyes to see the empty room. But it’s only Lana I can see myself doing these things with. No one else.
Spotting a romance novel on its side under the coffee table, and I kneel to pick it up. It has a racy cover with a full-breasted heroine wrapped around a smoldering male who seems inches away from kissing her.
I grin.
So, Lana likes these sorts of books?
The sound I hear from behind me is something akin to a screech. I jump, the book falling from my hands onto the table. Whirling around, I see a horrified Lana dive toward it. She grabs it, hiding it behind her back as if the very gesture would erase my memory.
Her face is beyond red. “That’s not— I don’t— Don’t snoop.”
“I most certainly am not,” I say with dignity. “It was simply there. I just happened to pick it up.”
Lana eyes me suspiciously before retreating into her bedroom to continue packing. To my disappointment, she takes the book with her.
“Does this mean I shouldn’t make myself at home?” I call after her. To my amusement, her response back is rather unflattering.
I prowl through the two-bedroom apartment, eager to learn as much as I can about this woman who is as prickly as a porcupine. Where others might find her behavior toward me rude, I can’t help but be charmed as she gives me an inch and then fights me off when I try to take a mile.
There’s a knock on the door. With a shrug, I decide to answer it.
It’s a good-looking man who seems like he belongs in a country club with his spotless white T-shirt and Bermuda shorts. He hand is lifted, caught in the attempt to knock again. The only thing he’s missing is a tennis racquet, I think with disdain.
“Y-e-s?” I drawl out icily.
The man looks startled at seeing me. “Uh, is Lana here?”
He tries to peek around me, but I pull myself up to my full height to block his view. Suddenly seeing him as a threat to my nonexistent, one-sided relationship with Lana, I say, “She’s busy. Maybe I can help you.”
I make sure the words sound ominous, and they’ve clearly made an impact as the man before me wilts.
Weak, I think with disgust.
Then, he pulls himself together, swallows, and tries to appear brave. “I want to see Lana.”
