Chapter 11 #2
“In the flesh.” I smile, glancing around the cavernous lobby. It's all marble edges and smooth white furniture, with a manned security desk along the far wall.
“I’m Suzanna, Mr. Guerra’s housekeeper. Let’s get you settled in.” She leads me across the foyer, her sandals slapping softly on the expansive Italian slab.
The elevator is plush, beige-walled, and houses a fresh vase of white flowers in the corner.
As the doors hiss shut elegantly, I’m reminded of the manicured edges of Dr. Pierce's office. Pussy Galore gives an angry little hiss from his carrier as if he’s sensing it too.
The tour of the three-story penthouse is brief.
Five bedroom suites on the second floor, including the master.
On the third floor is a study and a home gym, as well as a cinema room with a ten-foot-wide screen and a popcorn machine in the corner.
But the sun terrace? Wow. The shiny brass railings on the roof encase a private pool wrapped with bleached timber decking—which Suzanna tells me is heated at night—with loungers, a bar area, and two cabanas.
It’s breathtaking, and that’s even before you consider the view.
The height of New York summer is upon us, with crystal blue sky and heat waves swirling from the tips of the surrounding buildings.
The labyrinthine maze of teeming streets is so far below that you can’t even hear the traffic.
It gives way to an endless curve of the Hudson River that parts the landscape and bleeds into Central Park.
On the way back down, she stops at one of the second story doors and opens it to reveal a lavishly decorated room, filled with cool coastal blues and brushed silver.
There is a four-poster bed in the center, with throw pillows piled near to the damn ceiling.
“Mr. Guerra said this is to be your room for the time you are staying with him,” Suzanna explains, and I momentarily wonder how much she knows of this arrangement. It must seem odd to be setting up your boss’s fiancée in her own room, instead of his.
“Thanks.” Thick carpet swallows the soles of my Converse as I cross the room and place the cat carrier on the bed.
“Let me know if you need anything. There’s a call button built into the central system that rings through to my quarters.” She taps a small screen set into the wall beside the door, showing me how to access music, light settings—even the damn curtains are remotely controlled.
“You live here?”
“The floor under the penthouse has been split into two apartments. Mr. Guerra likes me and Maria, Diego’s nanny, to be available if needed.”
I click my tongue, wondering how much money you must have to burn to buy out four floors of a building in the richest area of New York.
Too much, is the only answer I can come up with.
Suzanna wishes me a good day and leaves me to get settled.
I plant my ass on the bed and stare at the clear blue sky out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, wondering how I ended up here as moving men periodically deposit boxes inside the doorway.
PG scurries beneath the bed at warp speed when I unlatch his carrier, grumbling at the back of his throat.
I’m on my hands and knees trying to coax him out when a delicate voice reaches my ears.
“Are there monsters?” I start and crack my head on the bottom of the bed frame, swallowing back a jumble of curse words.
Diego stands in the doorway, his eyes wide.
Somehow, I hadn’t really considered that as well as Zeke, I would be living with his son too.
“Just one, but he doesn’t bite.” I smile, beckoning him over with my hand. His brows knit together, and he worries his gappy teeth over his bottom lip in a way that makes him look adorable. “It’s okay, I’ll show you.”
He relents, crossing to where I kneel and taking my outstretched hand. “Kneel here,” I say, patting the plush carpet in front of me.
“I’m scared,” he whispers, eyeing the shadow beneath the bed like it might leap out and bite him.
“I’ll let you in on a secret.” I keep my voice even, but then lean over to whisper the next part. “This monster is only mean if you don’t feed him cheese, and I gave him some this morning.”
Diego’s lips part and then he flashes me a gummy smile. “Okay,” he whispers back conspiratorially. He maneuvers himself into place and we both lean back over to peer into the gloom. PG hisses and Diego’s little body shrinks back into mine.
“He’s just a little scared himself, buddy,” I promise, extending my hand under the bed.
The tips of my fingers just brush the end of what feels like a bony tail.
“Come on, you daft—” A streak of black shoots out, careening past us and jumping up onto the bedside table.
Diego squeals, leaping onto me where I kneel and burying his face into my neck.
I laugh, my hands frozen in place for the briefest of seconds before I wrap my arms around him. “Diego, look.”
At my urging, he peeks out from beneath my hair and his spine straightens. “That’s not a monster! That’s a cat!” He giggles, turning wide eyes back to me.
“Fooled ya.” The grin I give him is genuine.