Page 40 of Mr. Perfect

Ninety minutes later—please, what kind of girl would I be if I could “pull myself together” in thirty minutes?—I make it up to the seventh floor of the Atrium. Stephanie’s desk is clean so obviously she has the whole day off. And no one else is here but Jennifer Sluts-around and her sidekick assistant, Ellen Interoffice-sexcapades.

I open the door to my office and find Mac sitting in the bubble window seat, one foot up on the cushion, one foot on the floor, back leaning against the right wall, pensive expression on his face as he continues to look out at the view.

Three seconds of ‘what the hell is going on?’ from me, and he finally turns in my direction. “What are you doing?” I ask, walking forward and slowly closing the door behind me.

“I was thinking…” Mac looks back to the view. I walk over and look too. What’s so interesting about it? This side of the building is actually kind of boring. Just rolling pine-forested hills and cows. Although I might have to look closer, but I think there are baby cows out there too. “That I really hate the city.”

“You do?” I ask, sitting down on the opposite side of the window seat. I rest my back against the glass and find it cool, even through my shirt.

“I like the view from this window. I like looking down at the cows.”

I find that strangely relatable. “It’s very country, right? And peaceful.”

“That’s not why.”

“Oh. Why then?” I ask.

He sighs a little. “Have you ever heard people say they want a view of this or that? The river, the lake, the beach, the mountains, the city. And if you ask them why—why do you want a view of the river?—they say things like… ‘I want to see the boats.’ Or the rowers. I don’t mind people who want to see the boats, or the sunset, or the snow, or any of the other natural things one might like in a view. But the rowers always bothered me.”

“I’m not following,” I say. He’s veered off onto some other road and it’s not going anywhere I’m familiar with.

“Because the rowers are people just living their lives. And to that person standing up in the penthouse condo looking down on the river, the rowers are scenery. I never liked the thought that people are scenery. So I prefer the cows to the cars. I don’t want to see the lights of the apartment across from me flicking on and off. I don’t want to know about what that means to the people inside. I don’t want to view them as scenery.”

“Where do you live?” I ask him.

“You know that Occulus Building over by the resort?”

“Oh,” I say. “Wow.”

“Yes, it’s just as pretentious as you think. Penthouse, roof garden, indoor pool, private gym, and a twenty-four seven concierge desk.”

“Yeah.” I laugh, trying to picture it. “I remember when the Occulus Building was built. Huge party. I was invited, of course. I know the builder. She’s been interviewed over here millions of times. I go to her every time I need to schedule someone for real estate, or building, or architecture.”

“Did you see the penthouse?”

“Yeah. It’s quite nice.”

“Yeah. Rich people problems, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Mac says, tearing his gaze away from the view to look me in the eyes, “I hate it. But there’s probably a billion people who would kill to live there.”

“It’s… not to your liking? The decor? Who owns it?”

“We own it,” Mac says. “We own not only the whole building, but that whole resort.”

“Oh.” I chew on that for a second.

“We own most of the land in the Tech Center. My father bought up the land thirty years ago before any of this was here. And we lease it out.”

Jesus. What kind of money is that? I can’t even begin to understand it.

“Anyway,” Mac says, standing. “I’m waiting in here for a reason.”

“Is that right?” I stand up too, but my heart beats a little faster when I take him in. He’s wearing a dark gray suit today, a blue shirt that is so light it’s barely a color, and another brilliant cerulean-blue tie that makes his matching eyes shine as they stare into mine.

I don’t know why, but I step backwards. His full attention on me suddenly feels more like a force than a look. He steps forward, hands reaching for me. I bump against the wall, no escape, and then he fists the front of my blouse and rips it open, revealing my silk cami.