No Strings

Brianne takes her cup to the sink, rinses it out, and then comes back with her luggage.

“I hate that I’m leaving you when you just arrived. You sure you don’t want to come? The resort we’re staying at has a ski lodge. You can sit by the fire and drink hot cocoa.”

She and her brother, Lucas, scheduled a trip to Wintergreen to meet with a huge investor to discuss remodeling a ski resort. Since it was planned before I knew I would be moving here, they couldn’t reschedule—and there’s no reason for them to. I’m a big girl and can handle being in the city by myself. Besides, their dad is meeting me Monday morning to walk me through my responsibilities.

“No, I appreciate it, but I’m going to spend this time getting settled… working out.” Maybe, if I’m lucky, that guy will be down there working out again tomorrow.

Brianne laughs. “Yeah, okay. Just don’t overdo it. Wouldn’t want you laid up in bed before you start working.” She rolls her luggage to the front door. “There’s food in the fridge, or you can order from any of the takeout places listed on the board. Those are the good ones. On Friday, take a cab, not the subway. It’s quicker from where we’re located.” Her green eyes scan the area, trying to think of anything else, but before she can convince herself to cancel her trip, I walk over and hug her.

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“If you need anything, I’m only a phone call away. I have a meeting this morning, but my flight isn’t scheduled until after lunch.”

“Got it, but I’ll be okay.”

I spend the morning putting my clothes away and organizing everything in my new room and en suite bathroom. Since Brianne used it as a guest room, it was already furnished with beautiful white wood furniture that easily holds my clothes. And what doesn’t fit in the drawers, I hang up in the walk-in closet. I set out the few picture frames I have left that don’t include Neil or Lois and then line up my paperbacks on the bookshelf. I don’t have a whole lot, but they’re all my favorites.

By lunch, I’m going stir-crazy, so instead of making something to eat, I grab a jacket and venture out. The elevator dings, bringing me to the lobby, and I step out, taking in my surroundings. When I arrived yesterday, I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t pay attention to the area, so I have no clue where I am, but I do know this building is high-class. Between the gorgeous fountain, the marble floors, and the sleek front desk with someone behind it twenty-four hours a day, the lobby alone looks like it belongs in an architectural magazine. It’s no wonder Sharp is one of the most sought-after architectural and construction firms.

“Good morning, Miss Cartwright. Can I assist you with anything this morning?” My eyes go wide at the elderly, gray-haired gentleman who apparently knows my name. “I’m Fred, the concierge,” he says with a light chuckle. “I work Monday through Friday, seven a.m. to three thirty p.m. If you need anything during that time, I’m your man.”

I smile, remembering Brianne telling me about Fred, who is like an uncle to her. He came from the previous building they lived in and has worked here for several years.

“Nice to meet you. You can call me Savy. I’m just going to go for a walk to find some food.”

“Very well. Enjoy your hunt.” He winks, making me laugh.

As I’m exiting the building, tightening my hold on my jacket since it’s chilly outside, I run smack into another person. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

When our eyes connect, he glares before a sly smirk graces his lips as his eyes descend over my body. He has a cigarette between his fingers, yet he’s clearly too young to be smoking.

“Damn, you’re hot,” he says with crass only a teenager could pull off.

“One, you don’t tell a woman she’s hot. You tell her she’s beautiful. Two, smoking kills, and women don’t think it’s sexy. It makes you smell and taste like an ashtray, and nobody thinks that’s sexy.” I pluck the cancer stick from his fingers and toss it into the ashtray part of the garbage can. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I let out a huff and head down the street in search of somewhere to eat.

A few seconds later, I hear him yell out for me to wait. “Sorry,” he says, looking at me sheepishly, “for saying you’re hot. It worked on a show I was watching.”

“Apology accepted.” I stop in my place to give him my attention. “How old are you?”

“Uh…” He clears his throat. “Eighteen.”

“Try again,” I say with a laugh.

He sighs and runs his fingers through his shortish yet floppy brown hair. “Fourteen.”