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Unfortunately, when I open the door, he isn’t alone. I can’t say I’m terribly surprised. Just annoyed.
“Elliot.” Nathan motions with the flick of a wrist. It’s all for show. “Jennifer. Jennifer, Elliot.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets and balance on my heels. “Hello, Jennifer,” I say. I don’t invite them in. He’s brought the blonde from the bar. This is a disaster in the making. Nathan Foster has terrible taste in women.
I should know. Dare I bring this up now—he’s always saying we should leave the past in the past, but I’ve seen how that works out.
She bats her eyes. “It’s just Jenny.”
Jesus.
“Jennifer is thinking about buying in the building and was wondering if she could check out your floor plan.”
I glance toward the elevators. “Actually, the place is kind of a mess.”
“It won’t take long,” the girl who calls herself Jenny says. “I just want to get an idea of what I might be working with.” She laughs. Nathan and I do not. “I’m a very visual person.”
“Check out the website,” I offer. “That should help.”
“I’m sorry, Jenny,” Foster counters as he shoots me a look. “My friend here isn’t usually so rude.”
“He’s an attorney, for what it’s worth.” When she tilts her head and offers a blank stare, I’m forced to help her out. “He gets paid to lie.”
“Elliot. Come on.” He leans against the door angling his body partway through. “Just show the lady your apartment. It’ll take all of ten minutes…”
Against my better judgment, I invite them in. Nathan manages to weasel his way out the door within ten minutes. Much to my dismay, he leaves the blonde behind. “So,” she says, “I’d love to see the master suite.”
What the hell, I figure, I’ve committed this far. Might as well see it through. Her skirt is very short, her legs are long, and the night is young. I show her the guest room.
I can’t imagine Emily would approve of another woman in our bedroom, but she can’t be too pissed about the guest room. After all, she’s on the hook for the separation. She can’t expect me to turn into a monk. And I know Emily. I’d never win her back like that.
After a brief attempt at small talk on Jenny’s part—or was it Jennifer?—we do what she came here to do. It isn’t great. She’s overzealous; she overplays the part. She makes it clumsy. There’s not much worse than clumsy sex. It’s only slightly better than spending the evening alone. Maybe Nathan was right. Except for the fact that she’s sprawled out naked in my guest room and now I have to wake her.
This part is never fun.
There’s no polite way to tell someone they’ve overstayed their welcome. Which is probably why I decide to put it off until after I’ve made the phone calls that have been on my mind since dinner.
Tapping the number at the top of my favorites list, I stare at the skyline as her voice comes on the line. Part of me is wondering where she is, part of me is wondering if she is thinking of me too. The other part is bracing myself. I never know what will happen when I hear her voice.
Maybe I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. Tonight the sound of it hits me like a gut check. I close my eyes.
This is Emily. Leave a message at the beep.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself.
You’re going to be so proud. Wait and see.
Thirty-seven days. The clock is ticking. This deal is supposed to close in thirty, which doesn’t leave much time to hammer the rest of the details out. If only I were sure about the offer on the table, the latest in a slew of them, maybe I’d feel more settled.
I dial my assistant. I need new sheets for the guest room. The call goes straight to voicemail. It’s past midnight. When I call back, she answers. The highest thread count you can find, I say. Emily appreciates quality.
Once the quality issue is taken care of, I scroll my contacts list. Anything to avoid hopping online. Over eight thousand numbers are programmed into my phone, and not a single one of them make any sense to call. What they need is some sort of hotline where you can call on objective strangers to seek random advice about life. Maybe when this deal closes and my plan is in place, I’ll get on that.
Who am I kidding? I don’t even like most people.
I glance over my shoulder toward the guest room, and I know better. Judging by the small talk she attempted, I have a feeling “Jenny” or “Jennifer” or whoever she is, isn’t much for conversation either. Not when it comes to things that count.
I could ask the bartender or the piano man their opinion on the offer. First, I have to get Nathan’s bad idea out of my apartment. When I go in and attempt to wake her, she sloppily attempts to pull me back in bed for another round. It wasn’t that great the first time, and I rarely make the same mistake twice, so I give up and let her go back to sleep.
