16. Alba
SIXTEEN
ALBA
“You’ll be comfortable here,” he declared as the private elevator opened directly into the vast apartment.
My heart thundered as I stepped out, floor-to-ceiling windows giving me a view of the snow-covered Central Park.
We were on the southern end of it, looking straight up the length of it.
It was like the apartment I used to live in—full of gorgeous furniture and finishes, pristinely clean, and absolutely enormous.
I was a sad, dirty lump of despair by comparison.
I didn’t belong here—not anymore. Besides, I couldn’t accept this kind of generosity from my boss.
Not after we’d kissed. Not when I was supposed to be keeping my distance and figuring out my next steps.
Gulping, I turned to him and gave him a sharp nod. “I just need a couple of nights.”
He frowned. “You can stay here as long as you want, Alba. It’s empty most of the time.”
“I just need a couple of nights,” I repeated, a little more forcefully.
He held my gaze for a moment, then shrugged. “The master bedroom’s through here. It’s got a great view of?—”
“Oh, that’s okay. That would be your room, wouldn’t it?” I gave him a tight smile and gestured to the closest door, where I could see a large space with a plush-looking bed. “This one should be fine.”
He opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it again. With a nod, he said, “If that’s what you want.”
I walked over to drop my bag inside the door, feeling his gaze on my back.
Sure enough, when I turned around his frown had deepened. “Are you limping?”
“What? No. Well—yes. But it’s just my hip. From the accident.” I waved a hand. “It’s fine.”
“I’ll get the concierge to bring some food up,” Vaughn said, crossing to the kitchen where he glanced in the refrigerator.
His eyes slid back to me, and I tried my very best to walk normally as I joined him in the big, marble-covered room, crossing to the opposite side of the massive island.
Putting physical distance between us seemed like a necessity.
“I have to get back to work. I’ve still got my daughter, so I won’t be able to?—”
“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Call me if you need anything,” he demanded.
I nodded. “Will do.”
“I mean it, Alba.”
“So do I.” I gave him my best smile, which only made his scowl deepen. After only a brief hesitation, he nodded, said goodbye, and made for the door.
“Vaughn,” I called out.
He paused, the distance between us vast. “Yes?”
I didn’t know how to put into words what I wanted to ask. We’d kissed, and now he’d swooped in and brought me here… “Is this… Thank you for this, but I…”
“Just say what you need to say, Alba.”
“I’m worried that you think that because we kissed, I might owe you?—”
“You owe me nothing. I need you fully committed to the job, and you can’t do that if you’re sick with inhaling black mold.”
“Right. Yes.”
“Is that all?”
The distance between us shimmered with all the things I wanted to say to him. That he was the first man I’d wanted in over a year. That he made me believe in hope again. That he terrified me. Instead, what came out was, “I still don’t think we should have kissed.”
His blink was slow, and the curl of his lips a little bit wicked. “Understood. It won’t happen again.”
I straightened, nodding, pretending his words didn’t fill me with disappointment.
“It won’t happen again until you beg me for it. Then I won’t let you go so easily.”
I opened my mouth to shout a retort, but the door snicked shut behind him, and I was alone.
Exhaling, I spun in a slow circle. Everywhere I looked, there were incredible views and beautiful items. I ran my fingers over the back of the sofa in the vast living room, then poked my head into all the rooms. It felt familiar and strange at the same time.
Apparently, I’d gotten used to living in squalor. This apartment was just like my clothing: it felt like it no longer fit me. It was so nice that it made me think it would all be snatched away as soon as I took a wrong step. I was afraid to enjoy it.
I jumped at the buzz of the doorbell, then shuffled across the beautiful timber floors to open the door. A tall, thin man gave me a slight nod, his cart laden with enough food for a small army. “Ms. Enders?”
“Yes.”
“For you,” he said, nodding to the cart as I opened the door wider. “The masseuse is running a few minutes late,” he said, rolling the cart inside the apartment. “I’ve given her your phone number.”
“The masseuse?” I asked, staring after him.
“Mr. Avery organized it,” he explained, and started unloading the groceries into the refrigerator.
I made to help him, then stepped back when he gave me a confused frown. It took me a few moments to slip into my old skin, where I was used to other people doing things for me. I drifted over to the sofa and scrolled mindlessly on my phone, then stood when the man told me he was done.
As soon as the door closed, my phone buzzed. Vaughn had messaged.
Vaughn
Have you eaten?
I bit my lip to hold back the smile that tried to break through. It shouldn’t have felt so good to have someone take care of me. I wanted to be independent. I wanted to stand on my own, to never be as vulnerable as I was before I was disowned.
But maybe, just this once, I could let someone take care of me again. I drifted to the refrigerator, and grabbed one of the pre-prepped meals, snapping a photo of it to send to Vaughn.
Alba
Thank you
The masseuse arrived when I was done with my meal, apologizing profusely for her tardiness—apologies that I waved away. By the time she was done with me, my aches had faded to a low background buzz.
That night, I slept like the dead.
I allowed myself three days. Three days of comfort. Of luxury. Of daily massages and beautiful food. Three days of winter views from my perch on top of the world, so my muscles could unknot and I could take a breath.
Then I forced myself to pack my bag and leave Vaughn’s apartment, because it was too much like my old life.
If I got used to it, it would hurt just as much as the first time when I got kicked out.
I didn’t know how to turn off a broken faucet, but I wasn’t stupid.
I’d learned my lesson: I couldn’t rely on other people to be the safety net that I trusted to catch me when I fell.
Vaughn called me before I’d even left the building. “You’re leaving,” he said.
I glanced up at the corners of the lobby. “You got cameras on me, or something?”
He huffed. “Alba. Stay.”
My heart thundered. We hadn’t seen each other since the day he’d brought me here, and even the sound of his voice was weakening my resolve. I stared at the wintery street outside the lobby door and straightened my shoulders. “Thank you, but no. I’ve got a home.”
Vaughn was quiet. “Fine. But you’ll take a car.”
“The subway?—”
“It’s already waiting for you.”
My gaze shifted to the black sedan parked outside the building.
I bit my lower lip, knowing I should refuse.
Knowing that every time I accepted something from him, some of my resolve weakened.
But one little car ride wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
It’s not like I was kissing Vaughn again.
It was just accepting a courtesy. “Thank you,” I whispered.
His sigh ruffled the speaker. “Are we still on for tomorrow’s lunch?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I’ll see you then.”
“See you then,” I replied. After I hung up, I clutched my phone to my chest, pretending that the warmth in my ribcage was simply the result of three days’ rest. Then I stepped outside and waved to the driver, who opened the back door for me and took me back to my apartment.
Except I never made it to my apartment. I made it to the building and was intercepted by a spry, middle-aged redheaded woman in the lobby. She exited the office tucked in the corner next to the elevators and marched toward me. “Alba Enders?” she called out.
I paused with my finger on the elevator button. “Yes?”
“Here are your keys,” she said, thrusting a new set at me.
I frowned. “My keys? What keys? Who are you? Where’s Mr. White?”
“Retired,” she announced. “New management. Name’s Gina. Nice to meet you.” She pumped my hand, then slapped the keys into them. “Your things have been moved to apartment 815. We’ve started work on your old studio. The mold—my goodness. Have a good day!”
I blinked at her back. “Wait!”
Her door slammed just as the elevator door opened. Dazed, I stepped inside, my finger hovering over the button for the fifth floor, where my studio was, before moving to the eighth. I pulled out my phone and found Vaughn’s number, sure that this was something he had done…
But how? He’d whisked me off to his apartment and booked a few massages for me, but he’d have no control over my apartment building. I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder and made my way to the door marked 815. Half expecting the key not to work, I slid it in slowly and turned.
The door swung open to a clean, bright apartment much, much bigger than my studio.
My things had been packed in boxes and left in the corner of the living room.
There was no hint of my old, two-seater sofa.
Instead, a long three-seater faced two armchairs, all surrounding a coffee table on top of a plush rug.
The kitchen was tucked in the corner next to the front door, and through three doorways, I spied a bathroom and two other rooms. Upon closer inspection, one had been furnished as a bedroom, and the other as a small office.
The furnishings were nowhere near as luxurious as Vaughn’s penthouse, and there were no decorative touches or any artwork on the walls, but it was solidly built and ready to move into.
I wobbled on my feet as the walls closed in. A two-bedroom apartment…furnished…
How much would this cost me? Why had they moved me? What was going on?
Back downstairs, I banged on Gina’s office door and was greeted with silence. I spun around in a circle, hyperventilating, then I pulled out my phone.
Vaughn answered on the first ring. “Hello, princess.”
“What did you do?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“What did you do , Vaughn?” I repeated, leaning a palm against the wall before placing my head on the back of it. “You did this.”
“Again, you’ll have to?—”
“My apartment !”
Vaughn paused, then said, “I might have called the building management and impressed upon them the importance of having habitable accommodations?—”
“I can’t afford the apartment they’ve put me in, Vaughn.”
“Your rent isn’t changing, Alba.”
“But—”
“You need somewhere clean and safe to live. Now I need to get back to work.”
“I—”
“Yes?”
I gulped. “Do you do this for all your employees?” My voice was small.
The silence between us stretched, and I wondered if Vaughn would answer at all. Then, finally, he said one word: “No.”
“Oh,” I whispered.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, gently.
“Yes.”
I hung up, my head still leaning on my hand on the wall, then slowly straightened.
When I stepped through the door of my new apartment once again, I couldn’t help the sardonic huff that blew through my lips.
He must’ve known I wouldn’t stay at his place, and he organized this.
Strong-armed the landlord, no doubt. Maybe even paid for it.
As I sank into the brand new sofa and stared out the window at the building opposite, I couldn’t help the easing of my muscles.
The next week and a half passed in a haze of winter and Vaughn. We had late afternoon dance lessons, with the space between our bodies kept at a professional arm’s length, just as I’d requested. The warmth of his hand cupped mine and the press of his fingers tingled at my back.
At night, beyond the windows of my new apartment, snow swirled under the streetlights, and I came to the thought of those hands on my body.
We met for lunch at all my previous favorite restaurants, and I pretended that I didn’t find the dining rooms stuffy and pretentious while I scanned for old enemies. I watched him become more comfortable as I squirmed, the touch of his foot against mine sending sparks dancing through my legs.
He presented his elbow for me to hook my arm through when we entered and exited, and I ignored the way his scent made me want to lean closer. He held my jacket and slid it on over my shoulders, his knuckles brushing the sides of my neck. The perfect gentleman.
I went home, collapsed in bed, and pretended the wetness in my underwear hadn’t been there since the moment I saw him. My clit ached, engorged, throbbing, needy.
I sat on the couch at Mr. Koval’s shop, watching the older man pin the beginnings of a tuxedo on Vaughn’s frame, then went with him to an Italian shoemaker to get his foot measured for a pair of bespoke shoes.
He stood close to me, his fingers brushing mine as he took a display boot from my hands, the scent of leather and Vaughn making me dizzy.
He didn’t kiss me. He barely touched me. I felt like I was starving. I was in too deep already.