For a moment, I imagine her inmy bedroom, wearing one of my shirts from the night before—the one I’d tossed carelessly on the floor in my hurry to be with her. The thought lingers, almost too vivid, before I force it away.
“No, just follow my lead and learn,” I reply, sneaking a glance at her out of the corner of my eye, curious to see if my comment would be enough to make those green eyes of hers flash with irritation. Sure enough, she shoots me a glare, and I meet it with a wink and a smug half-smile, knowing exactly how to push her buttons. Her makeup today hides her freckles, the ones she never liked showing. I remember a few times in school when she’d skip the foundation, and when she did … damn.
My phone buzzes with a message from Andrew saying he’s in the lobby.
“He’s here. Can you go get him?” I ask.
Lauren nods and heads toward the entrance, her hips swaying, the sound of her heels echoing through the empty apartment. I wonder if the noise bothers her. Back in school, she used to walk around with headphones in, which drove me crazy because it seemed like she was so lost in her own world, like no one else existed—not even me. Then I realized Lauren was different; loud noises got under her skin. I’d often see her flinch or cover her ears when a phone rang too loudly. After that, I started keeping my phone on vibrate.
I hear the door open and know it’s showtime. I walk gracefully toward it, smiling with open arms.
“Andrew!” I exclaim, with exaggerated enthusiasm, clients like the attention and admiration.
“Silas!” he replies, giving me hearty pats on the back. “It’s good to see you.”
Andrew, with his white hair and a belly full of the best food in the world, is a friend of my father’s, a billionaire, and owner of an oil company. I remember seeing him as a giant when I was a kid, but now I’m taller than him.
“Likewise. When was the last time we saw each other?”
“Christmas 2015, at the wonderful party your mother organized,” he replies, puffing out his chest.
Lauren smiles as she watches us interact, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since she came back into my life. She didn’t used to smile much in school, and I suspect I was the cause, so this is oddly refreshing.
“You have a better memory than I do.” I laugh and rest my hand on her shoulder. “I see you’ve met my assistant, Bunn—Lauren.”
“Yes,” he says, glancing at her, “charming lady.” He winks at her, and Lauren looks down in embarrassment, causing the smile on my lips to fade.
If anyone is going to make her uncomfortable, it’s me.
“Are you ready to take in one of the best views in Manhattan?” I lead the way to distract him and start the tour.
Andrew asks questions, and I answer them. Lauren takes notes on her tablet, though I have no idea what she’s writing. I’ll have to check later.
“This apartment has seven bathrooms, a gym, and at least sixteen rooms. Each room has potential for different purposes: a studio, office, guest room, wine cellar, or even a red room if you want.”
The reality is that I only use four spaces: my bedroom, the master bathroom, the kitchen, the living room, and the gym. This place is excessive, yes, most rooms in my apartment collect dust. But, as I said before, investing in this is about securing a future.
Sixty minutes into the tour, Andrew clasps his hands together behind his back and nods thoughtfully as I talk non-stop. “Yes, I think it could work. My daughter is getting married next August, and I want to give this apartment to her. Since her husband travels frequently, I’d prefer her to be in a safe place like this.” He taps his finger on his lower lip, thinking. “Oh, your father told me you live in this very building. Is that true?”
Dammit. I glance sideways at Lauren, whose long eyelashes flutter as she waits for my answer. “Yes, eighty-sixth floor,” I reply, looking up at her. “It’s a great place to invest.”And spend the night. One night only, don't get too comfortable on my pillow, please, thank you.
I smile back at Andrew, hoping this will seal the deal. He looks at Lauren. “Would you live here, miss? My daughter is about your age.”
I’m very interested to hear her answer. We both look at Lauren, who takes a second longer than usual to respond. “Oh, yes,” she says with excessive enthusiasm. Is she lying? “Who doesn’t dream of having views like this every day?”
“Yes, but do you think this place can become a home? So much glass and marble makes me feel it would be an impossible task.” He laughs.
Lauren clutches her tablet close to her chest. “I think if a couple loves each other unconditionally,” she says, “you can create a homeanywhere.” She smiles broadly, and for a moment, we both just stare at her.
The Lauren Effect
“I would like to believe so. I just want them to have a nice place to live.”
“I think it's the best gift you could give your daughter.”
Andrew looks at me; I can feel his gaze, but my eyes remain fixed on her. All the frustration she’s ever caused in me resurfaces, like an old toilet overflowing with shit.
How can I want someone who stirs up so much frustration in me? I need to stop.
