This time, I’m going to get it right.
Ricky claps his hands together. “Well, enough with the small talk. Let’s get you moved in.”
“Sounds great.”
I move around to the back of the truck. When two of Ricky’s guys slide the door open, I can’t help but smile. This stack of furniture is about to become my new domain, and it feels fucking great.
They start unloading a few of the pieces in back, shooting me questions every so often about which room this chair is for, where the bed is going to go. The penthouse is spacious enough that moving things around inside shouldn’t be an issue, but Ricky has moving down to a science, so he doesn’t want to waste time rearranging too much once it’s up there.
Good man.
Things are migrating onto the sidewalk when Ricky nods at me from the top of the ramp leading down from the truck bed. “Excuse us, Mr. Kingsley. We’re going to need to put a sofa right where you’re standing. Was this for the master bedroom or the living room?”
“The living room,” I say as I step up onto the curb, backing up a little bit to get clear of the other furniture. “The leather one is for the living area of the master bedroom.”
“Right,” Ricky says, his muscles flexing as he carries the sofa down the ramp. It’s not going to be long until they’re taking things in through the lobby. This building has a freight elevator in back, which is mighty convenient.
I turn toward the front entrance to see how much foot traffic we might be blocking—not that I really care—and that’s when I see her.
My mouth goes dry, and I can feel the adrenaline spiking through my veins.
Holy fuck.
There, standing on the sidewalk, looking at me, is Carolyn Banks, looking like a goddamn vision in some kind of flowing dress, her lips red and vibrant, her hair spilling down over her back.
Her dark eyes are huge and wide, and her mouth is half open.
At first, my brain can’t make the connection, and when it does, it’s like I’m being swept under by a tidal wave.
This is Carolyn’s building.
Her expression confirms it. She wouldn’t care at all if she were leaving a friend’s place. She wouldn’t be frozen on the sidewalk if she never had to come back here.
The wave of sheer excitement that first hit me fades beneath a jolt of pain.
Oh, shit.
I can’t silence the drumbeat in my mind.
Of all the apartments in New York City. Of all the buildings I could have chosen to move into. And this one is hers. It’s fucking hers.
Heat crackles between us, even from 20 feet away.
Is this a cruel trick from the universe or a goddamn neon sign blinking BE WITH HER over and over in the night?
She straightens her back, and her lips press together into a thin line. Then she tears her eyes away from mine, turns around so gracefully it hurts to watch, and moves down the sidewalk, her steps measured. She’s not rushing. She’s the queen of everything around her.
Steel races up my spine. Well, awkwardness be damned. If I can’t handle running into Carolyn Banks in the elevator now and then, who the hell am I?
At least now I’ll have an excuse for thinking about her ceaselessly, every second that I’m awake. She’ll be close. So close.
She might not want me to be here, but I’m done backing down. I’m done hiding.
I’m moving into this building, come hell or high water.
Chapter Thirteen
Carolyn
So what if Ace Kingsley lives on the top floor of my building?
I’m not going anywhere.
I’ve lived in my apartment for seven years, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some man chase me out of it because I can’t bear to run into him in the lobby. Not a chance.
It hasn’t happened yet—aside from that weird encounter on the sidewalk—but it will, and I’ll handle it with grace.
He’ll never know how my hands tremble when I’m waiting for the elevator, or how my heart pounds when the doors slide open to let me out. In case he might be there.
I hate him.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to avoid a man you hate.
He could have chosen any building in New York City to move into, but….
I lock the front door to the boutique with a vicious wrench of the key, then take in a deep breath of crisp evening air. I appreciated the silence of the apartment all weekend, but now I’m torn. I don’t want to go out, but I don’t want to stay in alone either…especially knowing that he is in my building, just a few stories up…. No. I’m not going to think about it.
On the walk back to my place, I pull my phone from my pocket and text Jess.
Girls’ night in?
She’s rarely in town now that she’s the Queen of Saintland—it sounds fake, but it’s so, so real—and I need to seize the opportunity to hang out with her when I can.