18. Rose
ROSE
Walking into my loft in a highly secured building in the Upper East Side is one of the best feelings I’ve had in the past few days.
Besides not having to worry about a random break-in, an uncomfortable bed, or lukewarm water in the shower, this happens to be one of the only places that has ever felt remotely like home.
It’s more than just the fancy furniture or decorations I’ve purchased over the years to try to fill the physical space to make it mine.
It’s the one place where I know I’m safe, and no one has access to my loft except me.
The warm vanilla and tobacco scent from the candle I burned the night before I drove up to Dante’s lingers in the air, and it strangely reminds me of how Dante smelled.
It’s ironic how this has always been my favorite scent for as long as I can remember, and now after two days in that man’s presence, I’m associating it with him and nothing else.
What doesn’t change, however, is the sense of safety and calm it brings me.
For as hot and cold as Dante is with me, I’ve never felt unsafe in his presence.
Whether it’s the strange draw to Dante I feel or my need for comfort, I find myself drifting into the living space and lighting every warm vanilla and tobacco candle I own.
I want to be surrounded by that aroma. Satisfied by the scent wafting into the air, the only other thing I have on my mind is taking the hottest bubble bath of my life in my custom claw-foot soaking tub.
Fully relaxed after my long bath and the calming candle scent permeating the entire loft, I flop down on my couch in a baggy T-shirt and spandex biker shorts and open my laptop to actually get some work done.
Luckily, I had prepped many of my vendors on this project ahead of time, so placing the orders would be fairly routine, considering the minimal changes Dante had made to the overall design aesthetic.
Before I know it, three hours have passed, and I’m almost done with the online orders when my stomach lets out an audible rumble.
Have I had anything to eat today? Or have I only had the coffee from that gas station on the drive back?
I still need to stop into several shops in person to discuss a few custom pieces I think would be perfect for Dante’s home, but I have time to grab a quick bite to eat and still make it work.
On second thought, who am I kidding? I’m just going to order food from my favorite Indian restaurant around the corner for delivery and start getting dressed so I can quickly eat and get moving.
After calling in my order of butter chicken and garlic cheese naan, I survey my closet for an outfit that will fit my new personal brand.
I haven’t had a chance to fully remake my wardrobe, but I grab a brown leather pencil skirt and pair it with the same black Nirvana T-shirt I was wearing when I quit Franklin & Sons.
I tie a knot in the front of the shirt and add several delicate gold necklaces to add a bit of elegance to the look.
I decide to leave my hair down in my natural loose waves and put on minimal makeup—just some tinted moisturizer, black mascara, and a nude lip oil.
Slipping on my black Converse platform sneakers, I hear the sound of the door buzzer, likely with my food delivery.
Heading over to my front door, I press the Talk button on the intercom system and say, “Come on up.” I press the button to unlock the building door and let the delivery driver in with my food.
A few minutes later, I hear a knock on my front door.
That’s weird. They normally just leave the bag of food on my doorstep or with my doorman.
“You can just leave it on the doormat,” I shout at the door.
Another knock. Ugh, bro, just leave the food.
I walk over and open the door without checking the peephole and am greeted with a stormy expression on the delivery driver’s face.
He is tall—about six feet, I would guess—with brown hair in a short buzz cut, coarse stubble on his face, and dark brown eyes that look almost black in this lighting.
“Oh, um, hi. You must be new. The other delivery guy normally just leaves my food by the door for me to grab.” I smile in an attempt to placate him and diminish the intensity in his gaze.
“I’m just filling in. Would you like me to bring it inside for you?” He’s not even really looking at me, more so looking around me and peering into my place, eyes scanning the area.
“Um, no, I can just take it. Thank you though.”
After a few tense moments, he hands over my bag of food, then turns and strides toward the bank of elevators.
“See you next time,” the driver adds over his shoulder. I hope I never see this guy again.
As he turns away from me, I catch sight of a large tattoo on the side of his neck.
I only notice it because it’s a beautiful rose design with a coiled black snake winding through the petals.
If he were anyone else, I would’ve asked about it because although I don’t love my name, I actually do like roses, especially in tattoo form.
But I’d rather not spend any more time under his intense scrutiny.
I wonder where Joe is today. He normally delivers my food.
Regardless, I need to eat quickly and get moving so I have time to catch as many of my vendors as possible before the day ends.