He heads for the door. After he opens it, he looks back. “Let us know if you’re bringing a plus-one.”
“I don’t know anyone in this city who could be a plus-one, so you’re stuck with me coming alone.”
“Natalie can set you up on a date if you’d like. She has plenty of single friends looking for love in all the wrong places.”
“Wrong is right, so I’ll pass.”
“The offer still stands. Anytime you’re ready, just let us know.”
“I think Mom’s rubbing off on you.”
He chuckles. “Have a good night, man, and don’t work so hard.”
The door closes before I can think of a comeback, and silence invades the space like he was never here. Enough light still claims it’s still day when I look out the windows, but night’s coming in quick. I won’t make it home before nightfall at this rate, so I bury my head in work and get these reports done.
I look up, my body stiff from sitting too long. Stretching my neck to the side, I realize darkness has only taken over outside. It’s past ten. Again. Work has stolen another night out from under me.
But as I pack up, Nick’s words return. “One day, you’re going to wake up and wonder if an actual life was worth the sacrifice.”
Scrubbing over my face, I attempt to fight the tiredness that’s overcome me, but I’m done for the night. I’ll blame the start of my day since that threw everything else off.
The monitor goes dark as I grab my jacket and slip it on. When I open the door, most of the lights are turned off, and the vacuum roars somewhere down the other corridor. No other employees should be here, but I do a quick walk around just to make sure. Working late is practically in the CEO’s job description, but for others, I’m hoping they find the balance that eludes me.
I nod to the cleaning crew on my way out. I know I’m not the only one working in this thirty-five-floor building, but it sure feels like it as I ride down in an empty elevator. This may be a first for the bustling building.
The lobby lights are dimmed, and the security guard is caught up in a cop drama on his covertly hidden phone from the sounds of it. I say, “Good night.”
“Good night,” he replies, glancing up as I pass.
The car is at the curb waiting, the door open when I approach. “Good evening.” I slip into the back with a quick nod of my head.
“Good evening, Mr. Christiansen.”
When the door closes, the weight of the day drains from my body. I never needed someone to drive me around in LA, but I appreciate the luxury here in Manhattan. Usually I bide my time, checking emails, text messages, and listening to voicemails. Tonight, I take a deep breath and just relax.
At my apartment building, Gil opens the door for me. “Seems we’re working the same schedule today, Mr. Christiansen.”
“Seems that way. Good day?”
“Great.” His answer makes me realize it’s been a while since I’ve felt the same. He asks, “You?”
“Not too bad,” I reply, trying to keep my mood from souring as I head upstairs.
My state-of-the-art apartment has a programmed ambience set to begin prior to me walking in the door—soft music not overpowering the view—to welcome me home.
Home.
I don’t let that sink in. It’s a rung on the ladder, two years at worst, sooner if I have my way.
A quick push of a button on my phone has the bathroom filled with steam by the time my suit hits the bed, and everything else lays at the foot of it. The heat envelops me, and when the hot water hits my shoulders, my tension begins to melt away.
Closing my eyes, I step under the spray. Usually, I’d recount my day, but tonight, Juni outweighs that habit. I have time for this . . . or her.
Not sure why I’m trying to convince myself. Nick is right. I’m married to my job, and I don’t see a change in that commitment anytime soon. So why get involved with someone in New York when I plan to move back to LA?
Nick is a prime example. He came here for work and stayed when he met someone. That’s not my plan. I’m not even open to it. Though I imagine my mom would have a field day if she knew my focus even slipped for a minute.
The bottom line is I’m not interested in strings or complications. I’m not sure if that’s what Juni is, but by how our lives have already tangled together, there’s a strong possibility.
I take several deep breaths to calm my mind, letting it fog over like the glass of the shower, my muscles easing under the pounding of hot water. Resting a hand on the marble wall, I lower my head and close my eyes. I can’t stop my stomach from growling, reminding me that a small bag of Fritos and an apple at four won’t tide me over for long.
After pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I try to figure out something quick to make for dinner. Loud music begins as soon as I set the mustard on the counter.
Surely, playing music that loud is against the rules, especially after eleven. This wouldn’t fly in the building where I lived in LA. It was filled with lawyers, doctors, agents, and even a few celebrities, looking for peace from the outside world, not to have it shattered. That’s why I lived there. If I wanted to party, I would have lived on Sunset or in The Hills.
I finish making my sandwich and eat while I move from vent to vent, listening with the rapt attention I usually reserve for my work. I’m quick to narrow it down to three vents in the living room as I eat. Tomorrow, I intend to find out who’s at the other end. I don’t need another stress. Not. Here.
The kitchen only takes a minute to clean, and then I make my way to the bedroom. In the bathroom, I stare into the mirror, not recognizing myself as easily these days. I’ve aged beyond my years, the stress of building a family empire wearing into my skin. I run my hands over my jaw, feeling how the long hours add to the growth. I didn’t shave every day in California because I didn’t have to. But from what I’ve seen of this city, even from my brother, the professional community takes a more formal approach.
I pull out my razor blade and set up for the morning. Organizing things now feeds my need to control things. I brush my teeth, floss, and then climb into bed. After a day of being surrounded by TV screens blaring while watching the stock market, this is much-needed peace.
I’m not that lucky, though.
The upbeat melody from the offending neighboring apartment sneaks in. I bury my head under a pillow. Shit. Seems to be a running theme today.
4
Juni
What if I get there early? Do I stay and wait to order? Or do I order and then take the coffee, telling Barry the bill will be paid as soon as a certain man who lost a jinx shows up with the money?
Oh wait, they won’t even make the coffee until it’s paid for. Hrm . . . I could arrive fashionably late, but that would be rude. I have no idea what to do. It’s been a long time since I met someone of the opposite persuasion for coffee. This flirting-dating business has me feeling woefully unprepared for this meetup. And with someone I find extremely hot, in spite of his ever-changing moods.
I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. It’s coffee. Nothing more.
Anyway, a molehill is all it can be since I have a job today. I grab my bag and hurry downstairs.
Pete is helping Mrs. Smith to the curb. The door closes behind them as I cross the lobby, determined to ignore the wilting row of variegated snake plants against the far wall. I lose. Again.