The Cage Sessions(7)

"No you didn't!" I say as I hit her on the arm. "He's fucking old!"

She just nods and holds the door for me.

The blonde at the desk looks barely out of high school. She's wearing a strapless purple dress that's almost nonexistent. Her nails have little smiley faces painted on them.

I feel old suddenly.

"How may I help you?" she says like she's been rehearsing it all day.

"We're here to see Mr. Colton," says Isabella. "Isabella and Annika. He's expecting us."

"Oh, of course. Go right up."

We get in the elevator and Isabella presses the button for the Penthouse Suite.

At the top, the doors open into a sunny glass hallway with a door on the left and another on the right. A view of the ocean streams in through a tall window at the other end.

Isabella goes to the door on the left and presses the buzzer. In a few seconds the door opens.

Meet the famous Greg Colton. About fifty. Gray-black hair, some white. Good-looking in a George Clooney-kind of way. Lean. Lots of chisel around the chin. Some wrinkles, but good ones. Light expensive suit, dark blue shirt, black shoes.

Tingle.

Oh my God, did I just get a tingle from an old man?

Shit, I think I did! Holy fuck! What's happening to me?

"Greg!" says Isabella.

Unlike most guys who melt when Isabella walks into a room, Greg holds his own. He leans on the door jamb with his arms folded and a smirk on his face as he looks at Isabella. His expression is like he's inspecting her. Sizing her up. Then he nods and with a head movement motions her to move in and hug him.

Damn, that's sexy.

Come to think of it, that's how Damien acts. Maybe there is something to this teaching men how to act sexy bullshit.

"You look amazing," says Greg in a totally non-kiss-ass manner.

Yep, they've definitely fucked. There's that glow between them.

Shit, they're staring into each other's eyes now. What the fuck do I do?

"Greg," says Isabella, "this is my friend Annika. She's the one I texted you about. She needs a place ASAP."

"Hello, Annika," says George Clooney... er... um... I mean, Greg Colton... as he turns his stunning face to me.

He takes my hand, a firm grasp with just the right amount of touch. His eyes are brown and deep.

Tingle.

Shit, why am I getting tingles? Stop it, Annika. He's ancient. Fuck!

"Annika, it will be my pleasure to help you find a place," he says with a smirk that sends goosebumps all over me. He steps out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

Before it closes, I catch a glimpse of a spectacular penthouse suite done in dark wood with lots of leather. I bet there's a girl in there.

He steps between us over to the opposite door. He keys in a code and it opens. He holds it for us as we walk in.

We are in the biggest office I've ever seen. The view of the Miami skyline behind Greg's desk is breathtaking. I think I even see the orange roof of Damien's house way over to the left.

Greg steps behind his desk and fires up his desktop. The walls are dark paneled wood with fancy oil paintings. A glass case encloses a series of baseballs, each one on display facing a different direction. I see Derek Jeter's signature on one.

"Sit," he says, gesturing to the two chairs in front of the desk.

I look at Isabella, communicating Wow! to her silently. She communicates back I know, huh? silently.

"So Annika..." says Greg.

Oooooh, I love the way he says So Annika. God, I'm hopeless. I'm a complete out-of-control horndog, aren't I? Seriously, is there anybody I wouldn't fuck lately?

"What type of place are you looking for?" he says.

"Well," I say, "I hate to say this but I don't have the kind of money Isabella does so I don't even think–"

"How much can you afford?"

"I... uh... hadn't thought–"

"How's a thousand a month?"

"Well, I could go up to fifteen."

Isabella looks at him. He smiles at her.

"A thousand it is," he says. "How's this place?"

He flips his computer screen around.

According to the photos, it's the entire second floor of an old restored Art Deco house. Surrounded by a rose garden and elaborate fence. Far enough from the beach but not too far. Close to shopping & Isabella's.

Oh my God!

"That's more than a thousand," I say. "That's three thousand at least. I can't take that."

Greg faces me directly. His eyes are commanding, almost fierce behind his friendly smile.

"When Greg Colton says a thousand, he means a thousand."

I freeze.

"Okay," I say. "That's... gorgeous. Um, I don't have my checkbook with me."

"I'll bill you," he says with a smirk. "First month is on the house anyway."

He prints the listing and hands it to me. He stands up.