Sophia
I’m going to get a little existential. I genuinely like life most of the time. I like the little things. Like tea and books and food and hot baths after shitty days.
Death is a big fear of mine, okay?
I’m saying all this because I would like my life to go on, except, that is, when I’m scrolling through job listings on Indeed.
All these positions look awful. The high-paying ones look worse than the low-paying ones. Eternal nothingness feels like a debatably better alternative than Organizational Compliance Support Officer.
And then there’s the phrasing.
Looking for a Team Player. Rockstar. New member of the family! Followed by the fine print. Must be willing to work mandatory overtime, Saturdays, Sundays, and nights. Must have a master’s degree in a related field and seven years’ experience. Many of our top-performing employees put in 60 hours a week, and we expect this level of dedication from new hires.
This job is not remote. One-week paid vacation. Two-weeks after three years. No dental.
Sometimes I wish I was a cat. Steve comes purring into my lap, stepping on my laptop keys with abandon, like he can sense my existential dread. I pet his back as he arches for more scratches. “You’ve got it good, buddy,” I say aloud.
He’s a fat orange tabby with furry ears. Healthy fat. Sincerely big boned. He was about twice the size of the other kittens in his litter.
I close my laptop and lean my head back. It’s been more than a week since James bought the gallery, and so far, there have been no noticeable changes. It’s business as usual. I should suck it up and realize how lucky I am to have my job.
I have a warm, quiet apartment. I don’t have to destroy my body for money. I can move files around on the internet and type words and make enough money to live comfortably. Could things be better? Could I have a partner to love and a future to set my sights on that isn’t work?
Sure, but I need to be happy in the moment, and I don’t have to work tomorrow. Wednesdays are a day off for me. But I have no one to go out with. Alana isn’t up for staying out late on a Tuesday and Hailee is in Washington.
Oh well. Tuesday nights are movie nights in with Steve.
I put my laptop away for the night. The sun still sets early. It’s one thing I like about winter. There’s no guilt about starting a movie this early when it’s still so cold and dark outside. I crank my heat up, get naked, and settle under a faux fur blanket on the couch.
I don’t typically lounge naked, but Alana got me a fake chinchilla blanket for Christmas, and it’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt.
I find a new thriller that looks somewhat awful, but I like the actress and I’m sick of scrolling through movies.
The movie is okay. I think. My thoughts are mostly on my life. I’m about a half hour into it when I hear noise from the apartment above.
Since I accidentally called James out on his rowdy and impure behavior, he’s quieted down. But now there’s hammering coming from directly above me. It’s so loud I have to crank the volume to hear.
I scowl at the ceiling and cross my arms. It sounds more like construction than sex. I hear a drill and more pounding. Does he have a contractor over? Doesn’t this jerk know it’s nighttime?
I turn the volume up more and more, fighting the banging from above. At the same time in my movie, the killer is chasing his first victim into the woods. He corners her against a tree, and she screams bloody murder as she fights back. I feel bad for my neighbors on either side, but they can deal because I don’t think their bedrooms are directly below James’s.
The woman screams louder, and I have to plug my ears. Steve stares up at me with a bored expression of displeasure. The scene switches to the forest in the morning. It’s quiet now. I turn the volume down and look up. It sounds like he got the message—I don’t hear any hammering.
I hit play with a victorious smirk. I’m about one minute into watching again when there’s a bang on my apartment door. Not a knock. A bang. And it’s loud. I stand and walk to where I can see the door. I’m standing naked and staring at my apartment entrance, when suddenly the door explodes open.
I see a dark-suited leg land on the ground after performing a kick. I scream, thinking I’m about to get murdered, but then I’m staring at James in shock.
He’s wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His forearm muscles are flexed, bulging as his veins and muscles vie for space. He holds a hammer in one hand, while the other is clenched in a fist. His green eyes burn.
“What the hell are you doing?” I finally say. I’ve been too shocked to remember I’m naked, but I do once I see his eyes glance down my body. He doesn’t look away in an instant like he should. He seems to be in shock, too. His gaze lingers, and I feel like there’s a charge of electricity buzzing through my blood until he moves them to the wall at lightspeed.
“I’m sorry. I heard a woman screaming.”
I dart to the couch and wrap myself in my blanket. Then I stomp back. I’m too breathless to even be embarrassed.
“It was a movie, genius. My door is destroyed.” I look at it. It’s buckled and hanging by one hinge. It’s halfway to the floor like a boxer in the process of falling to the mat.
“I’ll pay. The screaming was loud. I could hear it over my work.” He tilts the hammer in his hand for emphasis.
“Yeah, because I was trying to make you notice the noise of your work. It’s like seven p.m. What’re you even doing?”
“Putting together a couple bookshelves.”
“Can’t you pay someone to do that during the day?”
“You think I pay someone to wipe my ass, too?”
We stare at each other. James Callaway just kicked down my door. He looks hot when he’s distressed. A few locks of hair have moved in front of his forehead. Why, of all things, are these my thoughts?
“I’ll put a work order in tonight. I’m sure we can find someone to fix the door by midnight,” James says.
“Thanks,” I say. My initial shock of having my door busted in and being caught naked has worn off. I shouldn’t be furious. James did just run to try to save my life with nothing but a hammer. It’s kind of funny. Only because I don’t have to pay for the door.
I smile and shake my head.
“What?” James asks.
“This is ridiculous.”
He seems too serious about righting his wrong to agree. “I’ll go so you can get dressed. And I’ll make a call about the door.” He goes into the hallway. “I’ll come back down in a minute and let you know what they say.”
When I’m done getting dressed, James still isn’t back. Another five minutes pass, and no one.
Did he just bail for the night? I’m expecting a handyman to show up, but not James. I go back to the living room and sit with Steve. I don’t have anything better to do, so I start the movie. In a half hour, there’s a knock on the… door?
I stand up to see James smiling with his knuckles extended over the broken door, mid-knock. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
“Ha-ha,” I manage to say, but really, I’m staring at James’s smile. It lights up his eyes. Takes his handsome features from a ten to an impossible eleven.
It’s the kind of smile you can’t say no to. A get away with murder smile.
He could rule the world with it, and as far as I know, it’s not even a weapon he bothers to keep in his arsenal. James Callaway doesn’t smile.
“You should do that more,” I say genuinely. He should. It’s warm and inviting. It makes him look like a human.
“What? Break down doors?”
“Smile.” I can’t believe I just said that to him, but I’m becoming addicted to the thrill of challenging a man this powerful. A man who is never talked to like this.
His charming smile slowly collapses. The sun vanishing behind a cloud bank. “I don’t often have a reason.”
“If I were you, I’d have a billion reasons.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Do you think money doesn’t buy happiness?” I ask, but not accusingly. I’m truly curious what his take is.
“Of course it does. But only to a certain extent.”
“I’ve heard that. Like once your worries are gone, it becomes an addiction. You always want to make more.”
James shrugs. “Something like that. Power. It changes your brain chemistry. You stop wanting to do things… and you start wanting to conquer them.”
I raise my brow, a teasing smile on my face. “And what’s the difference between doing something and conquering it?”
He gazes piercingly deep into my eyes. The look is enough to shorten my breath. It takes away my mocking look, and I swallow hard.
“Ownership,” James says in his gruff voice.
He lets me take that in for a moment. My skin still buzzes under his gaze. I can’t look away from him.
“You make things yours,” James continues.
Is he still talking about money and business? I don’t think so. Sexual undertones are always there with a man as handsome as James, but right now they’re more like overtones.
“But does it work?”
“Does what work?” James looks at me, waiting for me to elaborate.
“Conquering things. Does it make you feel better?”
“Maybe for a moment.”
I’m lost for words now. All I can think to do is lighten the subject. “So did you conquer the door when you broke it? Is that why you smiled when you knocked?”
James smiles again, and it pulls the corners of my mouth up with it. A magnet.
“No, it was more the absurdity of it.”
“Hmm. And here I thought violence got you off.” I nod down at the door.
His eyes narrow at me. He can sense I’m being flirtatious, and he seems to be saying cut it out . Something seems to flash behind his eyes. A realization. A wake-up. Like he’s said too much to me already.
I gulp and look away. “So, when is this getting fixed?”
He slowly takes out his phone and looks at it. “The repairman is on his way up.”
I sigh and lean against the wall. I try to act natural, but I’m blushing. The silence between us is most definitely awkward.
So awkward that saying anything now or going to get a glass of water would just acknowledge the awkwardness. So I stay still and quiet until the repairman comes panting down the hall in his stained gray jumpsuit.
“Howdy!” he says but looks at the door before either of us responds. “Geezus. Was this a police raid?”
“It was Captain America’s right foot,” I say.
“Well…” He looks over James. “Strong foot.”
James just stares at me icily.
The handyman bends over without any tools. He’s just working on the diagnosis. “You really did a number on this.”
James just shrugs.
“You see here? The frame has cracked, and it’s going to need a new one. It’s not just the door.” The handyman sighs as he stands from his knees. “I’ll need to buy new lumber and get the okay from your building’s management to take out the old frame. I’m afraid this is far from a quick fix.”
James pinches the bridge of his nose. “There’s nothing you can do tonight?”
“Afraid not.”
“Okay, thanks for coming out late. Come by first thing in the morning, and I’ll have management give their approval.”
“Okie-doke. That’ll be six a.m. for me.”
“Sounds good.”
James and the handyman shake hands, and the man takes off with his toolbox down the hall.
How am I going to get to sleep tonight with no apartment door? The building has security, but still… I’m not sure I like the idea, especially after watching half a scary movie.
“I’ve got four guest bedrooms,” James says as if reading my mind. “Take one. You won’t even see me.”
My mouth is open. I’m about to protest, but then as if the universe is urging me to take him up on his offer, my strange neighbor down the hall appears from where the elevators let off.
He’s not that strange, but everyone has that one neighbor they’re not quite sure of. He’s early forties, lives alone, and doesn’t smile when I pass him in the hall. I doubt he’s a serial killer, but the vibes are off.
He gives James and me a quick glance before unlocking his door and disappearing into his apartment.
“Sure,” I say. “Let me just brush my teeth and everything first. And… do you mind if I bring my cat?”
“Of course not. Your elevator doesn’t go to my floor. You’ll have to meet me by the stairs.”
“Sounds good!” I cringe when he turns. I said that far too chipper.
James is nicer than his evil persona makes him seem. If he was truly the asshole I thought he was, he probably would’ve just tossed some money on the broken door and left the fixing it to me.
Or not come to the rescue in the first place when he heard a woman screaming.
I don’t have time to do my full nightly routine with James waiting for me. I scrub off the remainder of my makeup, skip the slugging, and vigorously and quickly brush my teeth.
I’ve been doing all this and trying to ignore the fact that there are butterflies in my stomach.
Butterflies . But they’re not lovey-dovey butterflies. More like little fiery stabs of anticipation.
James is hot. That’s all it is. And he looks like he’d rock my world. But I’m not going to feed his massive ego. Not to mention I work for him now. I forgot about that one—there’s an ethics issue on the table, and I don’t want to be that girl.
I find James on his phone waiting by the stairwell door. I hold Steve under one arm.
“This is Steve.”
“Nice to meet you,” James says in the same tone he would use for a person, and then he turns and opens the stairwell door and lets me walk in front of him.
We get to the second to last floor, and James types a code into a lock on the door. It beeps and flashes green and then lets us into a small square room with nothing but another door on the far side of it.
He unlocks this one by code, too, and we step into his apartment.
Lots of security. I can tell he must’ve made some enemies while building his fortune.
“The kitchen is that way.” He points right down a marble hall. “So is the largest guest suite. The room has everything you should need.”
The space is modern. There’s no dark hardwoods or paints. The walls are white and also made of marble. Of course they are.
I hear a faint trickle of water. I look left to what must be the foyer and see a modern metal fountain with flat tiers pouring into each other. The water is underlit with bright-blue light.
“Thanks.”
“And these doors lock behind you on your own. When you want to leave, just go out the way we came in.”
“Okay.”
I set Steve down, and he immediately darts off to explore. “Don’t worry, he’s well behaved. He won’t pee anywhere.”
“That’s fine. Sorry about your door.” James hesitates. “Good night,” he says and walks left towards the foyer and fountain. The butterflies begin to dissipate. What was I expecting? That we’d be bunking up together?
I’ve seen the listing. This place is around 10,000 square feet. It’s a mansion only above the streets of New York. I walk to the kitchen. It’s all warm light wood and white marble countertops. The fixtures are light gold. It’s all very tasteful. Nothing about this new construction screams tasteless bachelor. There are no empty whiskey bottles as decoration or swords on the wall.
It smells great, too. Like cedar incense and cold water.
The furniture is all modern and not over the top. It takes me a minute to realize James hired someone to do all this. Of course he didn’t lift a finger, even if he does put together his own bookshelves. But I cut him some slack. There are plenty of gaudy designers he could’ve hired. He chose a good one.
I find the bedroom and slip off my shoes. My soles are warm on the floor. It’s heated. Once again, of course it is. I suddenly understand the appeal of this penthouse. It’s a sanctuary above the city. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a zen garden somewhere in here. I wish he would’ve given me a tour out of curiosity, but it would’ve been lame to ask.
The bed in the guest bedroom is a king and low to the ground, and I flop onto it. I stare at the ceiling, almost pissed. This mattress is incredible. It feels like a cloud.
Money really does buy everything.
It’s been a strange day, and I’m suddenly very tired. I wouldn’t mind going to bed early. I go to the bathroom, turn on the light, and stare at the walk-in shower for almost a full minute. Admire, I should say.
It’s black marble with white veins. There are a dozen shower heads coming out of the wall and a speaker in the ceiling. It might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I strip naked right there and crank on all the nozzles. I stay in for a good fifteen minutes. There’s a detachable shower head on the wall that I keep staring at. There’s a tickle in my core. An itch that needs to be scratched.
I need to get the image of James’s fiery green eyes flickering over my naked body out of my head. But putting this shower head on my clit will do the opposite.
So don’t even think about it, . I listen to the angel on my shoulder and resist.
I step out of the shower, surprised to see the mirror isn’t fogged. Rich people magic. I stare at my reflection; my eyelids are already halfway closed and dreamy. This wasn’t how I planned my night before my day off, but I’m not going to complain.
I dry myself, put on my clean underwear and T-shirt, and fall face first into the bed. It’s not much longer before I’m drifting off to sleep.