Chapter 23
twenty-three
I learned long ago to never tell Abuelita about my dates.
The mention of a viable man either sends her into a delirious tizzy of matrimonial excitement or down a Catholic Guilt spiral. Since I know I’ll probably spend the whole night at Graham’s, I make up a story about sleeping at my new friend Tris’s place after a night out.
I hate lying to her, but it’s the only way to explain my outfit and the small overnight bag slung over my shoulder. If I’m not careful, she’ll tuck a rosary into my coat pocket.
On a last-minute impulse, I chuck my ankle booties in favor of my red heels.
There , I think, slipping them on. Make him sweat a bit .
At six-thirty on a frigid Saturday, the F train is virtually deserted. I ride it all the way to Manhattan, then over to the Lower East Side. After a short jaunt from the Second Street station, I’m standing in front of The Ludlow.
Its impressive facade rises higher than most around it. Hundreds of windows shine, even in the dimness of dusk.
Of course the pinchao lives here , I grumble internally, frowning at the doorman.
The modern teak lobby makes me sigh. There are no buttons to press, so I have to talk to the concierge. As I give my name and wait for approval to enter the elevators, I wonder how many other women the front desk staff have buzzed up for Graham.
It’s possible I’m not even the first girl this week… or this week end .
You don’t care , I coach myself. Even if there was someone else here last night , by the time you’re done with him, he won’t remember her.
I do my best to carry that confidence all the way to his door. It swings open, revealing a gorgeous half-dressed Graham, who silently waves me in while holding his phone to his ear.
“Right,” he says to whoever is on the call. “I understand that.”
His entryway consists of a narrow strip of hall, its walls covered in small pieces of modern art. I linger while he locks the door, inhaling the spicy smell of his cologne and the unique woody musk of his apartment.
My eyes roam over his clothes, taking note of his open vest and unbuttoned collar. The elegant light gray pants have a fine sheen to them. The luster coordinates with the purple-and-silver-silk paisleys on his vest.
He frowns as he listens, but his eyes fall on mine. A spark ignites in their midnight depths, blazing hotter when he trails his gaze down my body. Seeing my shoes, his jaw hardens. “Uh-huh,” he grits into his phone.
Spurred on by his reaction, I unceremoniously drop my coat, turn on my red heel, and make a big show of sauntering down the hallway.
Until I almost trip over my feet.
Ay Dios mío .
The hall empties into a spacious great room with hardwood floors and high, white walls. To my left, white marble and steel cabinets gleam under recessed lighting. Beyond the island and barstools, an attractive walnut dining table stands further to the left, covered in papers and a glowing MacBook, with a gold Sputnik chandelier winking overhead.
The large living room rug complements an asymmetrically curved sofa as red as my shoes. White leather Eames loungers sit perpendicular to the couch, standing like sentries under the floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall window at the back of the room.
It’s gorgeous . I find myself clutching my hand to my heart. “Oh my…”
Behind me, Graham makes a noncommittal sound. “Possibly. I have a few other portfolios I’m considering. Let me get back to you. I have something time-sensitive in front of me right now.”
Me . I toss him a coy look over my shoulder. “Am I time-sensitive?” I mouth.
His eyes rove over my face, down to my cleavage. A black stare spears me. “Yes.”
I don’t know if he means to answer me or whoever he’s on with. Either way, he promptly hangs up, sliding the phone into his back pocket and hooking an iron arm around my waist in one smooth motion.
“Yes,” he says again.
And then I’m against the wall.