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“Don’t tell me you have no idea how women react to you.” I roll my eyes.
“If you’re the one I’m gauging by, I don’t,” he quips. He doesn’t wait for me to argue that I find him hot beyond belief, which I respect. “How about lunch?”
“Sounds good to me.”
We choose a martini bar called Coax, which might be the newest, most sparkling restaurant I’ve ever set foot in. The bar gleams, the tables shine. You know the saying the floor is so clean you could eat off it? You could.
There aren’t a lot of people in here yet, but I have a feeling they’ll flock to Grand Marin after five o’clock. Once we’ve enjoyed our drinks—Nate, a beer and for me, my usual dirty martini, we snack on an ahi tuna plate and a dish called “sticky chicken bites.” The food is delicious, and I’m pleasantly buzzed from my martini. The manager visits the table and strong-arms Nate into allowing him to comp the food. I can tell this isn’t their first meeting, and again admire Nate and his business skill. Everyone seems to like and respect him, which is impressive. It challenges the idea I had about how wealthy folk are self-serving. Especially when Nate leaves an impressively large tip on the table for our hardworking server.
Outside, the sidewalks are teeming with people and in the parking lots beyond, cars are pouring in from the road.
“You know how to draw them in,” I say, impressed.
His hand clasps mine as we dodge an incoming gaggle of men who look like they just came from the office. They’re aiming for a sports bar on the corner.
“I want to show you something,” Nate tells me. We cut across the street and pass several retail establishments. A store selling jewelry and handbags, a boujie shop outfitted with top-of-the-line dog accessories like diamond collars and sweaters and memory foam beds. So taken with the sights around me, I nearly plow into him when he stops abruptly at an unmarked wooden door with potted plants on either side. He pulls out a key and unlocks the knob and then locks it behind us. The stairwell is cool and dim, but windows here and there looking down on the street let some light in. At the top of the stairs is a glass door with the words PROPERTY MANAGER stamped on them in white.
I know where we are. The office he pointed out and asked me if I wanted to work in, the one sitting above the street and overlooking the property.
He slides a keycard and the door whispers open. You know how there is a “new car” smell? Well, if there’s a “new office” smell, this one has it.
The entry is outfitted with a tall white counter. Potted plants adorn the surface, their greenery spilling over the edges. I run my fingers along the spidery leaves of one as Nate says, “This is reception or an assistant’s desk. If you—or whomever—takes this position needs some help.”
I smirk as he slides me a smug glance.
Behind reception is the office. It looks larger from the inside than from the outside looking in. There are two glass walls, given this is the corner of the building, overlooking the street.
“This is the side you saw,” he says. “You can see out. They can see in.”
The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a gorgeous view. I could swear there are even more people milling about than a few minutes ago.
“Over here”—he walks us past the desk, bookshelves, and another plant—“is the conference room.”
“This is a very nice office.” I run my hand along the metal chairs flanking the long, black table.
“It better be. Cost a mint to design.”
A wall separates the conference room from the corner office, glass, but there is a half-wall on the bottom, its top ledge draped with a long box of overflowing plants. I touch one of the leaves.
“They’re fake,” he says. “No sunlight required.”
Next, he points at the shoppers below. “They can’t see us over here. There’s a coating on the windows on this side.” Then he turns his back to the window, where people wander to and fro. He reaches for his belt. “Want me to moon them to prove it to you?”
I cup a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.
“Caught you off-guard and you actually gave me a big grin.”
“Did not.” I affect a serious expression. He walks over to me and rests his wide palms on my hips.
“What do you think? Would you like to run Grand Marin?”
My heart races at his proposition. At the idea of being in charge of this entire place. Of being in charge, period. It’s scary, and my track record is terrible. But the gorgeous office, the stunning view, the opportunity for challenge and excitement…
It’s tempting. And frightening at the same time.
“I have no idea how to be a property manager, Nate.”
“And yet you’re absolutely breathless at the prospect of learning. You’re excited. Admit it.”
