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“So the contract is in your top drawer. Is he expecting me at a certain time?” I glance at my watch. “I can run up there now.”
“Actually, he’s at home today; but yes, he will be expecting you. I’ll call him now, and you can just grab that contract from my drawer and take it over to his penthouse.”
“His penthouse?” Okay, now I’m even more panicked. I don’t want to invade his personal space.
“You promised you’d do it, Sadie, you can’t take it back.” Her tone is petulant, and I can practically see her stomping her foot.
I groan. She’s right. I mean, I didn’t promise, but I still can’t refuse her. Not with the memory of Beth’s kindness in high school all those years ago fresh on my mind.
“Fine, I’ll do it. But make sure you call him so he knows. I’ll let you know once the courier picks them up at three. Can you have them meet me in sales instead of on the executive floor?”
“Yay! Of course, I’ll call Mr. Snow now, and then the courier. Thank you so so so so much, Sades!” she exclaims, using the weird little pet name she’s always called me. “You are saving my life. I owe you so much. Gotta go, bye!”
The call ends and I grab my purse, heading upstairs to grab the contracts before going outside to take the train over to Park Tower in the Gold Coast. Everyone knows where Mr. Snow lives, of course. It's the most elite and expensive residential building in Chicago.
“Uh, hi, yes. My name is Sadie Emmert,” I say to the doorman after I walk through the large door he’s holding open for me.
“Hello, Sadie, I spoke with Beth. Follow me. I’ll take you to Mr. Snow’s private elevator.”
“Private elevator?” I follow closely on the doorman’s heels. Reaching the elevator, he scans a card on the control panel and selects the penthouse.
“Only accessible with a keycard,” he says, holding it up as the doors close between us.
I grab a compact from my purse and furiously attempt to fluff my hair, also checking to be sure I don’t have any leftover poppyseeds from my salad in my teeth. Suddenly, I feel overheated and out of breath. I plaster on a big smile as the doors open, but nobody is standing there.
“Hello?” I step into the massive entryway and the sound of my heels clicking against the marble tiles echoes around me.
“Mr. Snow?”
I take a few more steps inside and peer around a corner, but there’s no answer and no sign anyone else is here.
I pull my phone out of my purse to see if I missed a text or call from Beth, anything to indicate a last-minute change to Mr. Snow’s location, but my screen is blank.
I contemplate calling her to double-check but decide against it. Walking into the main living area, I slide the phone back inside my purse. My eyes are immediately drawn to the massive floor-to-ceiling bay window. It has a nearly unobstructed view of the partially frozen Lake Michigan. It’s breathtaking. So much so, I find myself mesmerized by the blue expanse of water, which is dotted with ice.
I jolt, remembering I’m not just in some random building, but that I am standing in my boss’s private living space. Clutching the contract tighter, I turn and walk through a sitting room that looks professionally decorated. It’s excessively tidy, to the point that I’m not sure the room has ever even been used.
“Mr. Snow?” I say it louder this time, hoping he will hear me so I don’t have to continue wandering aimlessly around his house.
I snake my way down a hallway, unsure whether I should try knocking on the doors I’m passing, until I hear his muffled voice.
“Hello? Mr. Snow?” I follow the sound to a cracked open door. His voice grows clearer the closer I get, and I figure he must be on a call in his office.
“Thanks, yeah, that works just fine. All right, Tanner, Merry Christmas to you too. Talk to you next week.”
He finishes his call just as I reach the door.
“Mr. Snow?” I knock once, then gently push the door open and step inside the room. “Sorry to bother you at home but—oh my god!” I shriek, covering my mouth with my hands and scattering the papers I was holding across his office floor.
Only…it isn’t his office. It’s his bedroom. And the low-slung towel hanging off Mr. Snow’s hips slides down his muscular thighs, landing in a perfect pile at his ankles.
My eyes drop, locking onto his very well-endowed manhood that hangs low between said thighs.
Why am I staring?
I squeeze my eyes shut, flinging my hands out as I spin around.
“I’m so sorry!”
