Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Faye
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Willow says as she hurries down the sidewalk. She’s out of breath, but going strong in those heels. “I had this client that—never mind. This is your time. Apartment. Fill me in.”
My sister is always a little stressed, way too busy, and a tad late.
Her engine is always running hot, but she truly doesn’t have any other way of being in the world.
When we used to go on family vacations, she’d be doing sprints around the lake while the rest of us were eating pancakes in our pajamas.
“Where’s the apartment building?”
She’s looking around for a dilapidated, crumbling building that I can afford, but around here, it’s only luxury.
I glance at the address on the paper in my hand for the tenth time and I still can’t believe it.
“It’s right here,” I say, looking up at the spectacular building. It has doormen. Plural. Valet parking. Functional water pressure. It’s incredible.
Willow snorts out a laugh as she looks at it. “No, seriously. Where is it?”
“Seriously,” I say, in disbelief myself. “This is it.”
Her mouth drops open. “This is the Warndorph. We saw an apartment here but it was way too expensive for us. Like way too expensive. How are you affording this? Did someone leave a winning lotto ticket in your tip jar or something?”
I tell her about Owen’s desperate situation and how he wants me to help.
She just stares at me in shock the whole time. “You just have to pretend to be the rich chemist’s wife for the weekend and you get this?”
I swallow hard as I look up at the gorgeous building. The windows are so clean. My last apartment had spiderwebs upon ancient spiderwebs in the windows when we moved in. You could see the spider’s entire genealogy right there in the corner of the windowsill.
“And maybe a couple of other work functions, but yeah.”
“How many times do you have to sleep with him? Did you put that in the contract? It really should be specified.”
“I’m not sleeping with him! We just have to look like we’re married.”
I sigh as I watch a sleek, fancy car pull up to the entrance. The valet opens the door and a rich, old guy steps out. The doorman nods to him as he walks in while the valet whisks his car away.
“I can’t accept this,” I say under my breath.
“What?” Willow snaps. “Yes, you can.”
“It’s too much. What, I’m supposed to walk past that doorman in my scuffed-up running shoes and coffee-splattered clothes with my frayed backpack on my shoulders? I won’t fit in. I don’t belong in a place like this.”
“Hey,” Willow says, thrusting her finger into my face. “This is the kind of loser, bullshit attitude that got you stuck with Alex. You belong anywhere you want to. You deserve everything this world has to offer. You are as deserving as anyone else. Even more so. Got that?”
I shuffle from foot to foot, not really buying it. “I guess.”
“Look at me,” she says with her shoulders thrust back and her head held high.
“I’m going to be partner before I turn thirty.
I make more in a year than Mom and Dad did in a decade.
At work, I boss men around who have gray in their hair.
I saw Greg looking hot at the gym, marched up to him, and told him we were going to get married one day, and guess what, we did.
The world is yours for the taking, Faye.
This beautiful apartment is yours for the taking. Stop pushing everything away.”
I swallow hard as I look up at the building.
Willow hooks her arm around mine, her tone softening. “Let’s just go take a look. You have to see the rooftop pool.”
“It has a rooftop pool?”
“A big one.”
She pulls me to the building and I start moving.
“Where is the cottage this weekend anyway?” she asks.
“Muskoka.”
“Oh,” she says all wistfully. “I haven’t been there in forever.”
We used to go as kids, although it wasn’t all built up and luxurious with multi-million dollar cottages like it is today.
“Remember when Mom flipped the kayak?” she says, giggling.
“That scream,” I say, laughing. “And when Dad dropped the hot dog and it fell down the stairs all slow motion like a slinky.”
“And then Marley ran over and swallowed it in one bite.”
“Marrr-leey!” we both say at the same time in my mother’s high-pitched, nasally voice. We both crack up.
“I can get a dog!” I say with a gasp. I’ve wanted one for so long. Alex always refused. He said dogs were nothing but work, which they are, but coming home and having an adorable furry little guy looking up at you with pure love in his big brown eyes makes all that work worth it.
I give the doorman my name, and the manager of the building—a woman named Cynthia—who may just be a carbon copy of my sister arrives to show us around.
“I’ll be showing you the space,” she says, talking and looking so professional with her crisp pantsuit and flawless ponytail.
“It will be wonderful to have you living here. The previous tenant moved to Dubai and left some immaculate furniture. You’re free to keep whatever you like and we’ll remove what you don’t want. ”
“She hasn’t agreed to the terms yet,” Willow says, shaking Cynthia’s hand a little too aggressively for my tastes. “I’m her legal representation.”
Willow and Cynthia eye each other like two rival cats in a room full of dogs.
“Actually, Mr. Lavoie is the financier of the apartment, so he will be handling the terms.”
“We will be handling the terms,” Willow corrects. “Since my client is the primary tenant.”
They’re both smiling at each other, but there is nothing but tension behind those eyes as they have some kind of weird alpha-female showdown.
“I’m sure the terms are fine,” I say, cutting in before they pull out switchblades. “I’m really excited to see the apartment.”
Willow grills Cynthia about zoning laws and city inspections as we ride the gorgeous elevator up. The apartment is on the fifteenth floor.
I’m in awe of the wide hallways with the beautiful wallpaper and spotless hardwood floors.
Cynthia takes us to room 1506 and taps the keycard on the lock. She pushes the thick oak door open, and I stop dead.
“Whoa.”
This place is stunning.
Stunning.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the massive living room, framing the Toronto skyline like a giant 3D postcard.
At eight-thirty on a summer evening, the sun hangs low over the city, washing everything in warm golden light.
The CN Tower stands tall against the sky, the Rogers Centre sits beside it, and beyond the rows of glittering condo towers in the distance, Lake Ontario stretches all the way to the horizon.
I walk straight to the window like I’m being pulled by a string, and press my palms flat against the glass.
I’ve never lived anywhere with a view before. Not of anything remotely worth looking at.
And definitely nothing like this.
“What’s the UV situation on these windows,” Willow asks as she marches in with Cynthia on her heels. “Is there any protective coating on the glass?”
“There is,” Cynthia says, rambling on about the specifics as I get lost in the gorgeous view.
“What about the kitchen?” Willow says as they move on. “When was the last time the exhaust fan was serviced?”
It takes a lot of determination and force to peel my eyes off this breathtaking view, but I have to see the rest of this incredible apartment.
It’s much bigger than I was expecting. Much bigger. And the furniture the previous tenant left is spectacular. And these ceilings… Why would someone need ceilings so high? Although I’m not complaining. You could play volleyball in the living room.
The setting sun is making everything inside glow this beautiful golden color. The thick hardwood floors, the high-end furniture, the—oh my god—that kitchen!
I have never once in my life looked at a kitchen and felt emotional about it, but here we are.
It’s all white quartz and warm wood and gleaming appliances that look like they’ve never once been used to make a grilled cheese at two in the morning.
There’s an island—a giant island—with a waterfall edge, four stools lined up on one side, and three pendant lights hanging above it.
It’s the kind of island where you could sit with a glass of wine while a professional chef cooks for you.
Or sit alone with cereal and feel fancy about it. Both equally valid.
I run my hand along the cool, stone edge.
“Is the countertop sealed?” Willow asks Cynthia from somewhere behind me.
“Of course,” Cynthia says smoothly.
“I’ll need documentation of that.”
This kitchen is intimidating. It belongs in a magazine. It’s the kind of kitchen where you’d feel obligated to actually cook things. Real things. With ingredients.
I open a cabinet. It smells like fresh wood and possibility.
I close it again before I start tearing up.
The bedrooms are just as spectacular. There’s even a giant, king-sized bed in the master, so I can sleep here tonight if we sign the papers.
Everything is incredible. A walk-in closet, two bathrooms—both with showers that can fit multiple people. My hands are trembling when I finish the tour.
And that’s when Owen arrives.
Cynthia rushes over to greet him as Willow sidles up beside me, staring at him in shock.
“That’s the chemist? I was expecting a dorky lab nerd.”
I smile as I watch her stunned reaction.
Owen really is gorgeous. The kind of beauty you don’t see every day.
His hair is a little disheveled and his white collared shirt is all wrinkly with his sleeves rolled up his thick forearms, but it’s all working for him, giving him a relaxed at the end of a long workday kind of vibe.
“What does this guy need FirstSpark for?” Willow whispers, her eyes still not blinking. “He could walk around the block and get a wife before he reaches the stop sign. No wonder all these women are in love with him.”
Cynthia pulls out some paperwork as she talks to him nonstop. His eyes roam around the apartment and then settle on me. He exhales in relief when he sees me. It’s subtle, but I notice it.
My heart jumps as he walks over, Cynthia trailing him closely.