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I usher us across the parking lot towards the car. I’m glad I didn’t park far away, because I’m not sure how much more I can take of this stream of constant complaint against the US standards of measurement.
He grins at me when I open the car door for him, and when I shut it behind him, I’m glad for the second of peace. This guy never shuts up. I’m already exhausted and I’ve known him for less than five minutes.
“Where are we going?” Miles asks as I turn the engine on.
“I’m taking you to your new place. The rest of your stuff is already there.”
“Sweet.”
I pull out of the lot and glance at my map app. Twenty minutes to arrival, it says. There’s a little traffic but nothing too horrific.
It’s just not ideal that I can’t think of anything to say to him. And from the way he’s started staring out of the window, he can’t think of a whole lot to say to me either. Great.
The next four months are just going to fly by.
CHAPTER 2
MILES
It feels like we've been driving for hours. The traffic crawls forward, the road ahead of us rippling with fumes and heat. There have been like a million stop signs, and all the traffic lights have been red, and the motorway was jammed full of other people all going in our direction.
Olivia is fine enough as company, at least, but I’m still ready to have a lie down and then go out on the town. In that exact order.
Finally, we pull up behind an apartment complex. It’s still hot when we get out the car, the metal door stinging my hand. We had the air-conditioning blasting the whole time, so I almost forgot what the beating sun felt like. It's going to be hard to adjust to this. I should have brought more suncream.
I'm too busy thinking about the weather and the weirdly stunted conversation we just had in the car to really notice how fancy the place I'm moving into is until I'm staring up at the brand-new shiny white walls of the entrance. “Whoa,” I say. “This place is sleek.”
Olivia just shrugs. I can see I'm going to have a hard time with her.
“You've got the bags, yeah?” I ask.
“No,” she says with a glare. What does she mean, no? Isn't she here to look after me? She can't seriously expect me to do everything all by myself. That would just be ridiculous. It's bad enough she's following me around. If she has to do that, then the least she could do is have a bit of fun with me.
Wordlessly, I go to the boot of the car and grab two of my bags. “Fine. We'll split it,” I say. She gives me that tightlipped smile again, the kind that says You are oh, so beneath me. If I had to describe her in one word, it would be professional. She strikes me as the kind of girl who doesn't own anything except sharp business suits and has a whole drawerful of identical lipsticks that she spent ages getting perfectly matched to skin tone or whatever.
It does suit her, in fairness. It’s got a purple quality to it that goes with her eyes, which are a deep, luscious brown. If only she could lose that sour look and maybe untwist her hair from that tight bun stacked on her head. She'd be quite gorgeous if she did that, actually. Her hair looks like it has a gorgeous curl to it, if she’d let it, a luscious brown cascade to frame her olive face. If she lightened up, I think she would be totally entrancing.
She helps me lug my stuff out of the back of the car and into the lobby of the building. She taps a fob on the entrance panel then hands the keychain to me, the keys clanking against each other. “This is yours. One’s the door; one’s the mail. Don't lose it. You'll have to pay for a new one.”
“All right,” I say. “Who put your knickers in a twist this morning?” She blinks at me like I'm speaking a foreign language, and I will confess I did just say that to wind her up. I take a not insignificant amount of delight in knowing that I succeeded. “So what number am I?”
“Forty-three,” she says, gesturing across the room. “The elevator’s this way.”
“Well, you've already scoped the place out.” She glares at me again. If she's not careful, I'm gonna end up thinking that she's really, really hot because that's the kind of look girls tend to give you when they want you to wind them up more because they love the tease.
But Olivia is definitely not enjoying this, and I also don't want to get hit, so I decide to back off. We hop in the elevator together, my bags forcing us to stand shoulder to shoulder. From here, I get a whiff of her perfume. It’s not overpowering, but noticeable enough that you know exactly who you're standing next to. I think that says a lot about her. She's the kind of girl who's not going to take any shit whatsoever. I can respect that.
I can also feel how tense she is. Maybe I should suggest we go for a massage together. If she’s going to insist on staying three feet behind me at all times, then I’m going to make sure we have some fun with it.
Finally, we get to my new apartment. Olivia gestures to the door, and we both stand staring at it for a long moment before I remember that I've got the key. I give her a sheepish smile, then fumble with the key until finally, I let myself in.
It's a big space, bigger than the one I have at home. And it’s clean — the floors look like no one's ever walked on them. Impressive for cream carpets. “Sick,” I say to myself.
“Cheers for the drive,” I say, hoping that Olivia will get the hint. But she doesn't. Of course. She just stands there in the doorway, looking at me like I've done something wrong or am about to do something wrong.
In fairness, that's not too far from the truth, but she doesn't need to know that. “I think I've got it from here. Thanks,” I say flashing her my very best little grin.
She remains unswayed. “Unlucky for you, I have to make sure that you get settled in.”
