“Come in,” I call out.
“Cash would be great,” Jordan jokes quickly before Harper steps inside with a bright smile, a FedEx envelope in hand.
“Sorry to interrupt. This just came from Zurich. Thought you’d want it right away.”
“Thanks,” I say, still chuckling.
Her eyes flick to Jordan, and I don’t miss the quick flinch before her smile snaps back into place. We’re sitting close, knees touching, cozied up like there’s a lifetime of history.
There is.
Jordan doesn’t even glance at her. Just sits there, relaxed, like she knows exactly who she is and doesn’t need to prove it. It’s something I’ve always loved about her.
“Enjoy your lunch,” Harper chirps before slipping out.
The door clicks shut.
My eyes slide to Jordan. “She really gets under your skin.”
She doesn’t miss a beat as she reaches for her iced tea, calm as hell. “Well, Jesus Christ, Matt. She clearly wants to fuck you. She didn’t need to bring those to you. She just wanted a reason to come in here.”
I smirk. “So what if she did?”
Heat zips through my veins.She’s jealous.
Her tone softens, smooth but deliberate. “Just be careful. She’s young.”
My eyes drag over her. She looks cool and composed, but there’s something fizzling beneath the surface. “I’m always careful,” I say evenly.
Her gaze flicks to mine, steady but unreadable. For a second, neither of us says anything.
Then she reaches for her curry. “Eat your lunch, rich boy,” she says, smiling, like she didn’t just completely rattle me.
Chapter Six
JORDAN
The Uber turnsoff Madison and stops in front of my grandparents’ building, an old, upscale high-rise overlooking Central Park.
“Thanks,” I say, stepping out with a grin when I see Tom, the doorman. He’s been here since—well, forever.
“Morning, Miss Jordan,” he calls out, his Queens accent still bringing a sense of nostalgia after all these years.
“Hi, Tom. Yiayiá still out?”
“Lunch with the ladies,” he says, giving me a wink as he pulls open the door for me. “You’ve got a window.”
Tom knows everything that happens in this building, but if anyone were to ask, he doesn’t know a thing.
“Thanks. I’ll steal a cookie for you on my way out,” I call over my shoulder, heading for the elevator.
Three minutes later, my pappoús opens the door with a welcoming smile.
“Ah, my kouklaki.” He kisses my cheek.
“Hi, Pappoús.”
“Come in, come in,” he says, waving me inside. “You look beautiful.”
