NINETEEN
Claudia
When I walk outside,I immediately recognize the vehicle and the driver.
“Hey James, I didn’t realize you had a side hustle.”
He opens the door, “A little bird told my boss you needed a ride, and I was in the area.”
“Thanks,” I say as I climb in and set Savannah’s seat in the base that’s already strapped in.
“Where are you headed?” I rattle off the address, and he pulls out of the driveway.
The drive took barely twenty minutes, though it felt longer. Anxiety about getting there on time, when now I know Koa and Nalani were absolutely stalling. But Sofie’s driver handles the traffic with more patience than any cab I’ve been in.
“Any chance you give driving lessons?” I joke, sort of.
“I do not, but if Miss Fairfax asks me to…”
“Noted,” I say as I settle back into the plush leather seat.
“You really want to drive in this?” He asks.
“I’ve always loved the freedom of knowing if I need to know if I have to go somewhere, I can. Now with a baby? I need that even more.” I tell him, and he chuckles.
When we roll into Midtown, the buildings have changed. Glass instead of brick, money instead of noise. It honestly feels like we’re in a different city entirely. When the SUV pulls to a curb, I look out the window, and the buildings tower above the street, all glass, steel, and clean lines. The buildings have no names on them in this part, giving off the vibe that if you don’t know, you have no business entering.
But to be sure, I ask, “Are you sure this is the right building?” When he opens the door.
“It is Ms. Holloway.” He nods across the street to an equally impressive building. “That’s Fairfax Media.”
“Incredible.”
I shoulder my bag and unclip Savannah’s seat. He pulls a card from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. “Call or text, I’ll be back.”
“Thank you, James.”
The doorman holdsthe glass door open before I can reach it, greeting me with a polite nod that makes me instinctively realize I’m dressed like… a mom who was lounging all day.
Inside, the lobby gleams—cream stone floors, a reception desk that looks more like a sculpture than furniture, a floral arrangement so perfect it could have been assembled petal by petal with tweezers and a magnifying glass. I imagine even the silence in this place is expensive. Thick, controlled, softened by the faint hum of hidden vents and distant elevators.
As I step toward the elevator bank, my reflection glints back at me from a dozen panels of polished brass. I look too ordinary for this kind of place. Yoga pants, puffy jacket, tired eyes—but I square my shoulders anyway as I glance down at Savannah, and even though she's asleep, I whisper, “The clothes don’t make the woman little one.”
Yet still, I straighten my posture.
“Let’s go meet the man who’s about to start charging me by the breath.”
Because whatever this costs, it’s less than letting someone else decide what my life or Savannah’s looks like. That’s when the elevator dings, and the doors slide open, and it empties, all except for one man, Paul, who is grinning like the universe’s least likely welcome committee, and he’s not using his walker, he’s using a cane.
“Well,” he says, stepping back in, “if it isn’t my favorite tenant.”
“What a surprise,” I smile.
“The goalie got me in to see his lawyer; she’s drawing up your lease.” He states.
“We could have just written one up ourselves,” I say as the doors close behind me. “Shoot. Were you getting off here?”
He waves a hand. “Nah, I’ll ride with you. Places like this, you need company. Too many suits, not enough heart.”
