Chapter 18
18
Harrison
“This is one of the most coveted units in the building, and from my research, the apartment is a steal.” I stand back near the kitchen island and let Lara, Kaz’s wife, take it in.
She walks the length of the wall of windows, stops to look out at the view, and then turns to me to ask, “Why are they selling then?”
“Legal troubles. He needs to liquidate fast.”
She turns her attention back to the view of Central Park. “Ah. Hence the steal, but it needs to feel right.”
“There are numerous units available in this price range. You can walk away and find another in the next building. It all depends on what you’re looking for.”
Glancing at me over her shoulder, she says, “I like this building because it feels like a family could live here. Kaz and I had modern design in our last home, but my tastes are changing. Instead of white and minimal, I want warm and inviting, kid-friendly.”
I don’t dare ask if she’s pregnant. I made that mistake once at a bar in my early twenties. I was two sheets to the wind and congratulated her. She wasn’t, and I was punched by her boyfriend.
With Lara’s arm lithely placed over her stomach, she strolls the main room and then ends up in the kitchen. “I’m hoping we can start a family soon. The tour and the hours . . . It’s been hard to find the right time.”
“I can imagine.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I made a rule when I started out in this business that the client in front of me deserves my complete attention. Especially when dealing with multimillion-dollar homes and the potential for hundreds of thousands in commission.
“Do you want kids one day, Harrison?” She’s not crossing any lines with me. I’m an open book, and I’ve known her for a few years. “Someday. Like you and Kaz. The right time. The right place to settle into.”
Her eyebrow arches, and she adds, “The right woman.”
I chuckle. “Definitely with the right woman.” Tatum comes to mind, but that’s jumping ten spaces ahead. I move to the stove. “Top-of-the-line appliances are included and brand new.”
“That’s nice,” she says under a soft laugh that tells me she’s onto my distraction. “Kaz loves when I cook.”
“Eating on the road must get old.”
“For him, the bedroom is most important. He sleeps for weeks after the tour. I’ll need complete blackout curtain or shades, preferably automatic, though that’s something I can have installed after the purchase. I really don’t want a renovation. I do that all day long for my job. I don’t mind minor changes, but I’d rather be able to just move in.” She snaps her fingers as something occurs to her. “We definitely need a tub to ice down his muscles. A rock star’s life is never as glamorous as people assume.”
“It has a freestanding tub. As for the bedroom, if you don’t like this one, I have another place I can show you that might work better.”
She follows me down the hall. “You mean you weren’t going to anyway?”
I wait outside the door to allow her to feel the space when she enters. “Listening to Kaz, this place was about what you wanted.” She’s smiling when she turns back. “But hearing your priorities, it’s about what’s best for him.”
“That’s marriage, if you’re one of the lucky ones.”
We see two other apartments—one she loves and one she thinks he’ll love. I’ll leave that for them to decide. As soon as I drop her off at the hotel where she’s staying, I pull my phone from the inside pocket of my jacket and check my messages in the back of the SUV.
That’s strange . . .
Tatum —missed calls (2)
Tatum —1 text message. I tap to open her chat box.
Seeing the round box with her initials has me realizing that I’ve missed an opportunity—TD. Touchdown. Just thinking about scoring with her yesterday, getting her off in the hall, and then her returning the favor has me wearing a ridiculously big grin. Fuck me, that mouth and body are magical.
I could veer off the main path, getting lost in those memories, but when I read the messages, concern tugs inside.
First message: Where are you? I need to talk.
What would she need to talk about that can’t wait until tonight when we made plans to see each other? Since hours have passed, I decide to call. Listening to the ring, I start to wonder if she might be one of those people who never answers their phone. Based on her master avoidance skills, I’m sure of it. “This box is full,” the AI voice says.
“Figures.”
Looking out the window, I don’t even know where I am in the city to be able to tell her when I can meet her or where. I text anyway: Just got out of an appointment. Is everything okay?
I wait and watch for three dots to roll across the screen, hoping they do, but nothing comes. Should I detour the car to her apartment building? Or should I keep heading back to Nick and Natalie’s?
Natalie.
She’ll know what’s going on. Just as I pull up her number, we hit a pothole, causing me to glance up. I recognize some of the landmarks, so maybe it’s best I just ask about Tatum when I get back.
The vehicle pulls up to the curb, depositing me at Nick’s. A weird feeling twists in my stomach as I rush up the stairs. Tatum and I haven’t been texting up to this point. It’s been the bane of our relationship, or should I say the lack of texts, actually. So it’s surprising to see this one, but the missed calls are even more strange to receive. The smallest bit of hope grows with every step I take that maybe Tatum will be here, and I can ask her instead.
I’m hit with the smell of something delicious as soon as I walk in. “Hello?”
“Hey, Harrison,” Natalie calls from the back of the house. When I reach the kitchen, she’s cutting carrots.
I’m tempted to hit her with fifty questions, but I have to play this carefully. The last thing I’d want to hear is that Natalie told Tatum I was acting possessive and psycho. “What are you cooking?”
“Chicken noodle soup.” She looks up with a self-deprecating grin. “I think it’s called nesting actually. I can’t seem to want to do anything other than get the house ready for this baby.”
“That’s understandable.” Pulling a barstool out, I sit. I’m hoping she won’t notice my bouncing knee. I’m not foolish enough to believe it will stop until I hear from Tate.
Leaning against the other side of the island, she asks, “How was your day?”
“I think it went well. Lara has two great choices. She only has to decide what’s most important right now. The rest she tends to fix and personalize. I was gone longer than expected, though. Have you heard from Tatum today?” Worst transition ever.
She starts to laugh, stirring the pot, and I wonder if it’s just the soup by how she glances at me out of the corners of her eyes. “She was meeting with a client today. I haven’t gotten an update all day.” Setting the spoon down, she continues, “Some clients like to be babied and decide every detail instead of letting us do our job, especially with so much money involved. Others don’t want to think about a thing and let us handle it all. She’s working with the former, so I’ve not heard anything from her. It seems you two are finally getting along.”
“A lot of years and troubles have flowed under our bridge, but . . .” I chuckle, smiling ear to ear. “Yeah, we’re getting along.”
I understand her curiosity in how Tatum and I made amends. I also get that Tatum’s her best friend and most likely tells her everything.
“Yesterday was good?” she asks.
“It was a great day.” I shrug, feeling a little gun-shy to reveal too much. “Things between us are evolving. Yesterday helped.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Harrison. For both of you.” She looks around as if she’s checking for eavesdroppers, and then says, “Tatum’s birthday is in two weeks.”
And there’s the gut punch. “She didn’t tell me.” And I hadn’t asked. It’s obvious we still have ground to cover if we are going to move forward.
“She usually loves making a big deal out of it and celebrating all month long. But this year, she’s been silent, so I’m not sure what’s going on. Maybe the situation with her mom, but I’d love to surprise her and do something to show we care.”
“So you want to have a party?”
“Yes, and I’m hoping you can help keep her off the scent.”
“I’ll do whatever you need.” What do you buy the woman who not only has everything but can buy anything she wants? On top of that, she’s a professional gift-buyer. I’m so screwed.
“I was thinking it could be the week of her birthday, but on Tuesday night, instead of Thursday when she’ll expect it. I know a Tuesday is a weird night for a party, but she doesn’t have anything scheduled as of right now. I think it’s the only way to pull this off. What do you think?”
“Sounds like a good plan. You said it’s that Thursday?”
I try to ignore the all-knowing grin. I just need the details. Not the side of sass.
“It sure is,” she says.
Good to know. Good to know.
While she goes over this elaborate scheme that she apparently just whipped up off the top of her head, I look at my phone, wondering why I haven’t heard back from Tatum.
“Harrison?”
I look up. “Yeah?”
“Did you hear anything I said?”
I look to the left, trying to recall, but all I get is, “Two weeks Tuesday.”
She starts cackling. “Oh my God, you’re smitten with Tatum.” Adjusting a knob on the stove, she then passes by and pats me on the way to the stairs. “That is the cutest thing ever.”
“Don’t say anything to her, okay? She’s skittish.”
“Boy, don’t I know it.” Climbing a few steps, she turns back to add, “Your secret is safe with me. Will you still help me with the plan?”
“Anything you need.”
“I’ll text you the details. If you’re hungry, there’s food in the fridge, and the soup will be done in an hour.” She starts walking again. “I want to get the mural sketched so I can move onto painting. There’s so much left to do and only seven months to do it. I’ll be back down in a few minutes to check on the soup.”
“Thanks, Natalie.”
“My pleasure.”
I can’t sit here wondering what Tatum needed to talk to me about, so I decide to try to find her. I’ll start with her apartment.