Chapter 14
Gabriel
When I slide into the back of the limo, I look up at Eric who smirks. “No luck, sir?”
“Fuck off, Eric,” I say in jest. “No. No luck. She’ll be a tough nut to crack.”
“Worth it, I imagine,” Eric says pulling away from the curb.
“I suspect you’re right about that old friend.” Eric and I went to college together. He quit when he found out his girlfriend was pregnant. We’ve remained good friends. When he needed a job, I asked him if he’d like to be my driver. The rest is history, I suppose.
At my city home, a condo in a building I designed on South Michigan Avenue, I make myself a turkey sandwich on whole wheat and pour myself a glass of milk. Sitting in front of my drafting table I’ve set up in my open concept combination kitchen, dining, family, living room, I stare out the floor to ceiling windows that look out onto Lake Michigan. “Ah, this is the life.”
And it is––a very good life. It’s just a lonely life. I should have invited Lexie back here for a nightcap but that’s not my style. I never bring women back to my sanctuary. They would start to get ideas about moving their things in, rearranging furniture, and redecorating. Not that this place needs redecorating. I designed the interior myself so, of course, it’s amazing.
This condo is my home away from my main home in Glencoe, a suburb about an hour north of Chicago. This apartment is over four thousand square feet and sits up high––the sixty-ninth floor. I’ve got three bedrooms plus a den, four and a half baths and a lovely balcony that spans the entire length of the unit and overlooks Lake Michigan and a portion of Michigan Avenue. In a word, it’s perfect.
“I wonder what Lexie would think of this place?” I look around and for the first time, I realize that I’ve no Christmas decorations.Why don’t have I have any Christmas decoration?“Because I’m the only one who’d see them. So why bother?” Lexie bothers, though. Even if hers are a little sad, at least she tries.
Slumping my shoulders, my thoughts return to my homes. My guess is she’d prefer my estate in Glencoe. It’s old, vintage, built in the 1940s. When I renovated, I made sure to retain as much of the 20s charm and décor as possible. Of course, I updated all of the mechanicals, gutted and redesigned the baths, and kitchen, but I chose materials and styles that mimicked that era. Yes, Lexie would like that home. I can just imagine her wearing a gown from that era as she descended the long staircase.
I shake my head, “What the hell am I thinking? Lexie is an employee. She’s just following orders.” That notion puts a sour taste in my mouth. I set my half-eaten sandwich down on my plate. Damn it. Is she doing this because she feels like she has to or does she kiss me back because she wants to? I want the answer to that question, but I’m honestly afraid to ask.
Picking up my phone, I press my first contact. “Hello?” she answers on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”
“Why would you think something’s wrong, Victoria? Congratulations on your show, by the way. It looked wonderful. Chip said you’d sold several pieces.”
“Thank you, big brother. I did. I sold all but two pieces.”
“Wow, that’s wonderful. I’m so proud of you.”
“Awe, thanks, bro. Now, cut to the chase, tell me what’s wrong.”
Chuckling, “Nothing. I promise. I just had a question for you about Lexie.”
“Yes. I like her. A lot! She’s real and genuine. Keep her. Don’t screw it up.” She pauses, “Was that your question?”
“No. But, thanks for your unsolicited advice.”
“You’re welcome.”
“No, my question relates to her clothing. You spent very little money, but she assures me she’s got the clothing she needs to get through this busy holiday season. I find that difficult to believe.”
“She’s got what she needs. She’s a frugal shopper. I practically had to beg her to buy things.”
“Hmm, interesting.”
“I know. Your previous Eliza Doolittle’s didn’t hesitate to spend, spend, spend.”
“I’m well aware.”
“She’s special. Don’t screw this up.”
“You know it’s all pretend.”
“Is it?”
I pause for a second. “I, uh, yes.” It is pretend, but there’s a part of me who wishes it weren’t.
