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“You totally work out,” he said. An excuse to scan her, top to toe. “Yeah, not bad Health club, I mean.”
She gave no response to the unwieldy flirt, and he continued, “When’re you going to start the buildout?”
“Getting estimates. You?”
“Three, four weeks. Lemme help.”
“You don’t have to. Seriously.”
He assumed a grave look. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.”
“What’re you, a lawyer?”
“Broker.”
She frowned. “Do they do much insisting?”
“What we do for a living. You can’t say no to a broker.”
“Just be careful, please.”
He took over on the handcart and rolled it, step by step, up the stairs—yes, carefully. Simone carried boxes up behind him. At the top, she unlocked the door and swung it open. She followed him inside.
“So you bake?” A nod at the big box.
“Hobby.”
“An attractive neighbor who bakes. Jackpot!” He looked around, taking in the scabby walls, the soot-covered ceilings, a rusty metal pillar. “You got some work ahead of you.” Pointing to a patch of green on the floor. “Watch the mold.”
“I have somebody coming. First call I made.”
“I can picture it now. You totally have to put your bed there.” He pointed to a corner.
“That could work.”
Did he give her a slightly coy smile?
She locked up and they returned to the van.
“You heard about those attacks?” he asked, looking up at the crane.
And whatdidit remind her of?
“Yeah. Scary. Terrorists or something?”
“Assholes.”
She frowned. “If it was going to fall, would it come this way?”
He studied it. “I don’t think so. But, you know, the next attack’s supposed to be tomorrow morning.”
“I heard. Ten o’clock.”
“They might have some other shit planned too.” As he gazed upward, he was doing some fast calculations. “You want, just going to throw this out. You want, maybe we could maybe get out of town for the day. I’ve got a BMW. M8. Ragtop. It’s sweet.” His eyes glowed.
She smiled at the nice try. “Rain check?”
“Deal.”
