“She’s gorgeous, and she’s white, which means she would go very well in your office,” I murmur, and Crawford grins.
“Can you imagine her at work? I’d never get anything done.”
“You might confuse her for a cushion if she sat for too long on your couch.”
“Hah! Yes, I’m not sure she’d appreciate that.”
Ambrose is watching us, a little frown on his face as he looks at Crawford. Then he turns back to me.
“So, when you’re not at work, what do you like to do with your free time?” he asks, stretching out his long legs toward the central table.
“Uh, I like to paint.”
Crawford leans back too, an arm over the couch. “Really? What do you paint?”
“Well, lots of things really. But I do paint my sister a lot. She hates it. I have quite an abstract style sometimes, and last time she said I made her look like a Picasso.”
They both laugh.
“What do youliketo paint?” Ambrose presses.
“I do enjoy portraits, but they’re difficult. Eyes particularly evade me. I never feel like I’ve captured the soul of a person, you know?” He nods, and I get the same feeling from him as I do from Crawford—he’s really listening, not just waiting for his turn to speak.
“But I like landscapes too. I would love to paint this view. It’s breathtaking.”
“I’m sure Lucas would welcome you any time,” Ambrose says, and I’m surprised to see Crawford’s cheeks turn a little pink.
What was that about?
I glance at the clock. It’s after midnight now. I don’t feel particularly tired, but I wonder what Crawford wants to do. Part of me wondered if I’d show up and he’d just drag me into the bedroom. The gentle introduction has been good, but now my nerves are returning.
What do they want from me?
Crawford seems to sense the change in me and places his glass down on the table.
“Would you like a tour?” he asks, and I finish my wine. I’m glad I don’t feel at all tipsy. I want a clear head for whatever is coming.
“I’d love one.”
We step out of the little sunken area and make our way to the staircase. My anticipation builds as we ascend, and my knees feel a little weak as I look down at the view.
“Jesus, that’s high,” I mutter.
“Luca has an obsession with being taller than everyone else,” Ambrose mutters, and I laugh. Crawford turns, giving his friend a glare.
Alexis trots up the stairs behind us, meowing insistently before Crawford picks her up. She settles in his arms contentedly, and they make a surprisingly sweet picture.
He shows me the five bedrooms on the top floor and the palatial owner’s suite bathroom, which I long to have a bath in. All of the fixtures and fittings are bronze, and Ambrose delights in telling me how much they all cost as Crawford keeps telling him to shut up.
It’s a really lovely space, but in every bedroom, I tense up, and I can tell Crawford notices. I’m embarrassed by myreactions, but when I don’t know what is expected of me, I can’t relax.
I’m surprised when the tour takes us back downstairs and we end up in the dining room, where Crawford spins in place with a flourish.
“This is my favorite room, I think,” Crawford says. “If you can deal with the view, come look down at the park. It’s stunning at this time of night. I’m sorry you missed the sunset.”
I go over, standing beside him. Ambrose hangs back, and as I look down at the park, I feel Crawford gently put a hand on my waist.
“You can see Columbus Circle, and our office is just visible behind the Time Warner Center, see?”
