Page 9 of Worth Loving You

Two days until I saw him again. Two long, agonizing days.

Chapter 4

Chastity Monroe

Anxiety was shaking my bones. Milo Pampinella’s business card said he was a CEO, so I knew he was well off, but when I pulled up to the luxury apartment skyscraper, I was stunned.

It was an older building, the inside art deco and almost gothic in appearance. I had lived in Chicago my entire life, yet until today, I had never noticed this place. How? How could I have never seen this beautiful building? How was it even possible to not see a building forty-two stories tall?

The ones surrounding it were fancier and shinier, walls and walls of glimmering glass. And then, in the middle, was a dark stoned, gothic revival type building, almost appearing as a shadow.

The elevator door swished open, and I hesitated, my leg bent to take a step. Instead of seeing an entire floor, I saw a private hallway. Confused, thinking I went too high, I held my hand to keep it open, pulled my cell out my backpack, and checked the text.

“Okay, then.”

I stepped out onto the cream toned, stone tiles. One wall was a bright, off white, the others old, worn brick. The accent one had a piece of abstract art of vibrant colors in different shapes. It didn’t really make sense to me, but I was sure it was expensive.

At the end of the hallway, I turned back toward the elevator and climbed the four steps to a tiny landing that veered to the right for two more steps to the entrance. My palm gliding up the cool, brushed steel railing, I was growing more uneasy by the minute. There had to be a mistake. Why the hell was I here? I didn’t belong somewhere so…extravagantly lavish.

I rang the doorbell and cleared my throat, smoothing my hair. After a minute or two, the metal door swung open to reveal a tall man whose shoulders were so wide, I wondered how he fit through the gap. He was wearing a maroon, button up shirt that was taut across his chest and tucked into the waist of a pair of black slacks that were snug around thighs as thick as mine, giving a hint at a natural bulge that had my eyes protruding.

My heart skipped, my focus scanning his rugged features with the chiseled jaw and thin, taut lips. A long, wide nose flared with a sharp inhale, bright blue eyes popping against his dark complexion already judging me inadequate. His hair was black and slicked on top, short on the sides.

“What?” he snapped when all I did was ogle with my mouth open.

“I…think I’m lost. I’m looking for Milo Pampinella.”

His lids narrowed as he scoped me from head to toe and back so slowly, I writhed with shame when he made eye contact again and I could see disapproval. “Of course. Why am I surprised? Whatever.” He stepped aside and swept his arm for me to enter.

I squeezed past, pulling my shoulders to my ears. My large bag knocked into him, and he grunted, bumping the brick wall behind the door.

“Sorry.”

Afraid to go anywhere, I shrugged the strap off my shoulder, holding the bag in front of me. The floors were a golden oak, the cabinets in the kitchen beside me a couple shades darker with black accents. The counter tops were gold, tan, and black speckled granite with a dull surface, so the lights didn’t reflect blaringly. The appliances had faux finishes to make them match the cabinetry, giving a uniformed appearance.

I took a quick step toward the narrow, oval dining table, my hand on the back of one of the chairs when the man moved to shut the door. The walls transitioned between a pale yellow and exposed brick. A couple wide windows and a set of French doors that opened to a small balcony gave a view of the neighboring building.

The living room had two, light tan, leather sofas and two matching armchairs surrounding a glass coffee table that overlooked a large, flat screen television mounted to the wall, a built-in shelving system covered in glass doors beneath. There was a dark hallway directly in front of me, and a double, frosted glass entrance on the far side of the living room. The décor was traditional and warm with burgundy accents and antique furniture, giving a very homely vibe that soothed my nerves.

Tipping my head to peer up at the fifteen-foot ceilings, I saw the large man stomping by, his ginormous hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Stay. Don’t move.”

I narrowed my lids and snipped, “And if I’m a good little dog, do I get a treat for obeying?”

He paused to crane his neck, sneering. “Funny.”

He went to the corner, opened one of the doors, and turned sideways to fit through. Less than a minute later, he was strolling toward me, the corner of his mouth curled, a look of displeasure on his face.

Holding his palm out, he wiggled his fingers. “Give me your keys so I can go to your car and get the bench.”

“Oh, uh.” I set the bag on the table and dug around the inside pocket, pulling out a ticket. “Valet.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

Snatching the receipt, he stormed out of the apartment, the metal banging loudly behind him.

Well, that guy did not like me. Fun times.