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I’m not sure what time “drinks before dinner” starts, since that’s not something I have ever done in my life, but the sun is beginning to lower in the sky out my feature window. I quickly move to unpack my suitcases, diligently hanging my clothes in the closet, lining up the shoes I brought and putting away the rest of my things in the drawers inside the closet. I stow my suitcases at the back, and turn to my hanging clothes, chewing my lower lip.
I have no idea what to wear. I move to the section of clothes I packed in case I needed to attend any functions or events while I’m here, working at Haven Property. I guess “drinks before dinner” counts as an “event”. Thinking back to what I’ve seen women wear in movies set in New York, I select one of my black cocktail dresses and a pair of black heels. Hopefully, it’s suitableand I’m not about to make an absolute cake of myself on my very first night.
Ugh. I had imagined spending the night luxuriating in a tub in my hotel room, getting some room service and watching a movie. Not wracked with anxiety, terrified of putting a foot wrong, and praying that my mouth actually works when the morose god I’m living with deigns to talk to me. You know, to-may-toh, to-mah-toh.
Whatever, there’s no point dwelling and paralyzing myself with fear. As Andrew would say, I’m burning daylight. I take a moment to smile fondly at the idea of him standing in the doorway, ordering me to hurry. But I really have to hurry.
Ducking across the hall, I clutch my toiletries bag to my chest as I close the door to “my bathroom” behind me. It’s spotless for an obviously unused room. The walls and floor are brushed white tiles, with a decently sized tub, and shower with awaterfallshowerhead, and a large mirror above the small vanity. I don’t even need the bedroom with the view. I could live inhere.
Still not sure of my timeline, I quickly shower. Oh god. I will be getting up early tomorrow to take advantage of the heaven that is this shower. Ugh. Stupid Andrew in my ear telling me to stop wasting time and water. He’s so annoying.
Shutting off the shower, I reluctantly climb out, toweling myself down, and approach the mirror. Oh, hey strip lighting on the sides. This is amazing for makeup. I might be a designer but, to my everlasting dismay, my creativity and artistic abilities do not translate to my face. I can’t do things as well in a mirror as I’d like.
With that in mind, I settle for an up-do and natural makeup, with my small gold stud earrings that I wore to Andrew’s passing out parade. Hurrying back to my room wrapped in a towel, I dress quickly, smoothing my hands nervously over my skirt. I face the mirrored built-in door, smoothing my skirt again. Okay. I don’t look terrible. I look… professional. That’s perfect for work drinks. Right?
I’m dallying. It’s a nervous habit of mine. Time to bite the bullet. Leaving the relative safety of my cozy room, I make my way back through the condo, pausing at the bottom of the internal stairs.
Thismustbe what he meant when he said “upstairs”. Otherwise, he would have told me I needed to leave the condo. Besides, Cathy pressed the very top button in the elevator. There wasn’t an “upstairs” accessible by elevator. Nervously, I head up the stairs, which curve back around, wondering what is up here. More open plan living area? But no, I come instead to a small landing and a glass door leading outside.
Grasping it, I step out and my breath catches in my throat. Oh. My. Stars. It’s a small rooftop terrace, overlooking the entirety of Central Park. Like, all of it. My mouth is dry, my eyes wide as I drink in this spectacular, once in a lifetime sight.
We’re on the north edge of the park, so the entire thing is spread out at my feet. Holy hell. Off to the left is an outdoor dining area with a wooden table that seats six. At the end of that is an outdoor seating area. To the right is a small wet bar, and ahugehot tub.
I would stay frozen in position, but I’m not alone up here. Mr. Brooks Westerhaven is looking over at me from where he’sstanding next to the wet bar, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of whiskey that he’s sipping.
My cheeks heat when I note that he changed as well. His suit is no longer a sharp gray, but a navy blue. His eyes lazily peruse my body, and my cheeks get even hotter. My stomach clenches as his smoldering eyes drop to my chest, my legs, and all the way down to my toes. It’s like I can feel fingers stroking where his eyes touch.
They move back up to my face, and he smirks arrogantly, gesturing to the bar behind him.
“What would you like to drink, Ms. Kasan?” His rich voice cuts through my musings and I swallow. I hope he didn’t notice my attraction to him. This isnotthe time to be crushing on my, kind of, landlord.
“Uh, wine please,” I squeak. At that embarrassing noise, his smirk widens. Oops. I subtly try to clear my throat as he moves around the bar.
“White or red?”
Duh. Of course there’s more to ask for than “wine”.
“Red.” Thankfully, I sound more confident and less squeaky this time. Mr. Brooks Westerhaven pours me a glass, moving back around the bar, holding it out. My fingers accidentally brush his when I take it and I manage not to gasp, though I want to squirm.
At least he doesn’t seem to notice that either, gesturing at the outdoor sitting area with his glass of whiskey. “Shall we?”
We get to sit up here? Yes, please! I quickly move to sit down as he follows me.
Chapter Three
David
I have to stop myself from chuckling when Anica seats herself on the very end and edge of the sofa, staring with wide eyes out at Central Park.
“You have a lovely home,” she whispers, her voice low, like a velvet caress, and I grin.
“That’s why I picked it.”
She blushes even deeper than she did when she first appeared up here. If she flushes that easily, maybe this will be more amusing than I originally thought. I could have some fun with this. Seating myself on the lounge across from her, I allow my eyes to lazily peruse her once again. She’s dressed a little more appropriately now, thank God. The oversized, ugly ass sweater is gone, at least. Pity it didn’t go straight into the trash.
Anica has dressed herself in a modest black lace dress that molds to her figure, which I didn’t notice earlier, since it was hidden beneath that monstrosity of a sweater. It’s surprisingly delectable… her figure, that is. Of course, she’s still nothing like the woman I usually date. Or bed. Like my cousins, I have something of an affinity for models. Hell, why not? Anica is slender… but different. Not tanned and blow-dried and all made up. Her slenderness is softer than I’m used to. She has a tiny waist, and even though they’re covered up by her modest, rounded neckline, her small tits would fit perfectly into my cupped palms.
Not that I’m thinking about that kind of thing, of course. I shake myself out of my inappropriate thoughts that seem to have come straight out of left field. I need to focus on something other than Anica’s body. Like her hair. Her hair which has finally been combed and is pulled back off her face in an elegant twist.
