“This is the master suite. Take a moment to look inside the generous walk-in closet. The en suite bath features a steam shower, Jacuzzi tub, and marble floors. And as you can see, this room has the best view in the entire place.”
I took my time, looking at everything in a last-ditch effort to appear serious. He followed close behind me, which put my body on alert. I was highly sensitized to his sexuality, and I didn’t like it. This man was not nice. He was not Reed—or at least not the Reed I’d fantasized about. My Reed was supposed to give me renewed hope. This one was slowly sucking the life out of me.
Once we circled back into the main space of the bedroom, he looked at me. “Questions? Comments?”
I needed to just end this. Say something.
“I’m thinking . . . um . . . that this might be too much space for me.”
He sat down on the bed and crossed his arms, the ever-present folder still in his hand. “Too much space . . .”
“Yes. I’m thinking it might be a lot for just me. I . . . work a lot. And . . . won’t have time to enjoy it.”
He glared at me—like, full-on glared. “Oh, that’s right. The dog-surfing instruction.”
Dog what?
“Excuse me?”
He tapped the folder with his index finger. “Your occupation. You filled out the application and submitted all of your information. That job sounds very involved—dog surfing. How does one come to teach that?”
Oh shit.
What have I gotten myself into?
At this point, lying was simply easier than explaining the truth.
I started speaking out of my ass. “As you said . . . it’s very . . . involved. It takes . . . a lot of schooling. A lot of practice.”
“How does it work exactly?”
How does dog surfing work? Beats the hell out of me.
“You stand at the back of the board and . . . the dog stands on the front . . . and, um . . . he . . .” I lost my train of thought.
“Surfs.” The word came out in a laugh.
“Yes.”
Reed stood up from the bed and approached me. “So it pays well?”
Swallowing, I shook my head. “It doesn’t, no.”
His questions came faster.
“You have old money, then?”
“No.”
“If your occupation doesn’t allow you to afford a place like this, how do you plan on paying for it?”
“I have other ways . . .”
His stare became icy. “Really? Because your credit report says you don’t have ways. In fact, it pretty much says you don’t have a pot to piss in, Charlotte.” My name rolled off his tongue like an obscenity.
He took a piece of paper out of the folder and held it in front of my eyes.
“Where did you get that?” I hissed, snatching it from him. “You looked me up?”
His tone turned angrier. “Do you really think I’m going to show someone a twelve-million-dollar apartment without a background check? You can’t be that naive.”
Humiliation overwhelmed me. “But you can’t do a background check on me without my permission.”
His eyes narrowed. “You gave me permission when you clicked the box to submit your viewing application. What a surprise, that fact seems to escape you.”
I loosened my defenses in concession. “So you knew from the very beginning?”
“Of course I knew,” he spat. “Let’s look at some of the other things you can’t seem to remember entering on your application.”
Oh no.
Reed opened the folder. “Occupation: dog-surfing instructor. Hobbies and interests: dogs and surfing. Previous employment: night manager at Deez Nuts.” He tossed the folder aside—more like whipped it across the room. The contents went flying.
“Why are you here, Ms. Darling?”
I literally peed in my pants a little. “I just wanted to see . . .”
“See . . .” He gritted his bright-white teeth as he spoke.
“Yes. I came to see . . .” You. “And I wasn’t expecting you to be so mean.”
His laugh was angry. “Mean? You have no regard for the value of a person’s time, walk in here with a completely fake profile, and you’re calling me mean? I think you need to look in the mirror, Ms. Darling. Surprisingly enough, it seems that is your real name. Why you lied about everything else and gave your real name is beyond me, not to mention idiotic. So, no. If I were mean, I’d be calling security right now.”
Security?
I snapped.
How dare he go there? I’d only come to see him. To make sure he was okay, that they were okay. And while I couldn’t admit that, his turning this nasty really flipped a switch in me.
“Okay. You want to know the truth? I was curious. Curious about this place . . . curious about what seemed to be the complete opposite of the life I’ve been dealt lately. I wanted a change. I’ve been down in the dumps for weeks, so I got a little drunk one night. Looked online and found this listing—found you. I wanted to come see, not for malicious reasons, not to waste your time. I just wanted a little bit of hope that things might turn around someday. Maybe I wanted to pretend things aren’t as miserable as they really are. I don’t even remember entering that ridiculous information, okay? All I know is that I got a call confirming this appointment, and I took it, thinking maybe it was fate—that I should come and experience something out of the ordinary.”