“Oh, fuck right off if you think we’re ever discussingthat.” At Jake’s growled words, Brandon wisely fell silent. “You have my number. Text when you want to set up our first meeting.” Without another word, Jake snatched up the battered box, turned and left the office. On his way to the exit, he passed Skip in the hallway. The man’s jowly face held none of its usual affability as he took in the blood-soaked cloth swaddling Jake’s fist and the crumpled banker’s box in his hands. How closely had Skip followed the farce that was his apparently not-so-private dance with Mabel over the past months?
Probably pretty closely, so he might as well hold nothing back. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he said, “I’m headed out for the day. If… if anybody asks, please let them know how sorry I am that things unfolded the way they did.”
Skip’s stern expression didn’t twitch, but his voice was warmer than Jake expected. “If it comes up, I sure will.”
Jake made it two steps before Skip’s voice stopped him. “Oh, and I’d skip the flowers. She’ll just stuff ’em down the garbage disposal.”
Jake froze with his back to Skip, shutting his eyes against the hurt the words summoned. Without turning around, he said hollowly, “Thanks for the advice.”
Anger and regret battled in his chest as he drove back to his hotel, navigated the parking lot, and entered the lobby.
“Welcome back to— Wow, what happened to your hand?” The desk clerk’s question stopped him.
Jake bit back a groan. All he wanted to do was retreat to his room, but he’d been raised too well to be rude to the woman in the pixie cut.
“Oh, uh, I had a little slipup.” He kept his hand by his side, not wanting to prolong the conversation as she winced sympathetically.
“Looks awful. Do you need Band-Aids or anything? I’m Thea, by the way. I’ve noticed you coming and going all month. Jake, right?”
Thea leaned over the counter for a better look at his hand, testing the tensile strength of the fabric covering her upper body. He needed to get out of there before somebody got hit with flying buttons from her shirt.
He started to walk on, then paused midstride when a thought struck him. He might not be able to force Mabel to listen to his apology, and he might not have any say in his city of residence for the foreseeable future, but hecouldcontrol his living arrangements.
“I need an apartment with a month-by-month lease,” he told Thea. “Got any suggestions on where I should look?”
Her bright-eyed expression dimmed. “Oh, you’re checking out?”
“Well, I can’t keep living on takeout and minifridge food.” His attempt at a smile was probably ghastly, but it was all he had left in his tank.
“Oh sure. I understand.”Hersmile was plenty sincere as she pulled out her phone and scribbled something on a scrap of paper, then leaned the top of her body across the desk again to push it toward him.
“Here. My landlord’s number. It’s a nice complex on the north end of town. Mostly young professionals, not many kids. Clean, quiet. Flexible leases.”
“Sold,” Jake said. “Thanks.”
“My number’s on there too. Maybe we’ll end up on the same floor!” she called hopefully after him, but he was already crossing to the elevators.
In his room, he punched the landlord’s number into his phone and explained his situation: temporarily in town, immediate move-in preferred. The man agreed to meet Jake in an hour, so he ended the call and prepared to head back out.
Living in a hotel had been a respite from his real life. He’d been able to leave the pressures of promotion and partnership up in Chicago and enjoy spending time with a pretty girl. Moving into a regular apartment would force him back into a routine: up early, gym, office, home, cook dinner, early to bed. Focus on work. Forget about anything personal. It’s what he did up north. It’s the stability he should be craving. So why did it sound so fucking empty?
Two hours later, Jake’s credit had checked out and the property manager was showing him around the apartment complex. It was big for Beaucoeur—six buildings, twenty units in each—and he had his choice between the two available furnished apartments that were in move-in condition: one was a first-floor apartment that faced the parking lot, and the other was a fifth-floor apartment that faced the lake in the center of the complex.
Fifth floor. No contest.
Jake followed the property manager into the apartment and took thirty seconds to examine the kitchen, living room, bedroom, and bathroom. White walls, beige carpet, tan countertops. It was all clean, functional, and lifeless. Perfect for the way his downstate life was shaping up, in other words.
“I’ll take it,” Jake said. “Month-by-month lease.”
“You got it.” The manager awkwardly shook Jake’s uninjured left hand. “You might need to hit a furniture store to pick up an extra lamp or two, maybe something for the walls. Want a suggestion?”
Like he gave a shit about the bare walls. “Nah, I’m good.” Furniture stores were all tied up with memories of Mabel.
Some emotion must have flashed across his face, because the manager shot him a knowing grin. “Ah, I see how it is. You got a girl to help you decorate.”
Great. Now even strangers were rubbing it in.
“No. No girl,” Jake replied evenly.
