Come Undone (The Cityscape 1)

“He’s retired now, but he was a CEO.”

“Of?” I asked even, though I knew the answer.

“GQS.”

Why did I ask? How do you respond to that? “That’s . . . that’s a good job.” He looked at me and we started laughing.

“It was,” he agreed. “They just moved back to Illinois a few years ago.”

“How did you like London?” I spat out before he could ask about my parents.

“It’s beautiful. One hell of a place to study architecture. Have you been?”

“With my parents as a child.”

“What do your parents do?”

“My dad is a consultant in Dallas, and my mother is a novelist.”

“Is your mother a novelist in Dallas?”

I shook my head and tried to avoid his intensifying stare.

“Divorced?” he asked. I nodded. “When?”

“Right before high school.”

“That must have been hard.”

I cleared my throat, wiped my mouth with a napkin and shrugged.

“How did you end up here?” he asked.

“I chose Notre Dame because of my father, and because it was the best school I was accepted to. Gretch was going to University of Chicago so I liked that we wouldn’t be far. After graduation, Lucy and I moved here to live with Gretchen.”

“Did you always want to live here?”

“Actually, no. I thought I would end up in New York City.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows at me. “You’re so close. Why not move?”

“It’s complicated,” I said, shaking my head.

“How so?”

“Boring stuff. What else ya got?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where - ”

Spain, I thought, not needing to hear the end of the sentence.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. You?”

“Yes you do,” he countered, narrowing his eyes at me.

Can’t a girl have any secrets? Why does he ask so many questions? I continued chewing leisurely, studying the way he studied me. “I don’t have time to think about that. Besides, Bill doesn’t like taking vacations.”

“That’s a shame. I guess I wouldn’t like fantasizing about surfing perfect breaks or gorging on oysters if I knew it wasn’t going to happen.”

I stopped mid-chew. Damn. I can totally envision him sporting a surfboard, sucking down an oyster . . . . I clenched my jaw.

“Anyway, wherever it is you have hiding in your head, you’ll get there. You seem like a girl who knows what she wants.”

“I’m hardly a girl,” I bristled, surprised by the assessment. Although these days I felt close to a self-indulgent child, walking the tightrope between fantasy and reality. But I couldn’t tell him that.

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Well, Mr. Dylan, I fancy that’s not a very polite question.”

“I see. Is politeness something you look for in a gentleman?”

“Is that not a defining characteristic of the gentleman?”

“Touché. Is politeness something you look for in a man?”

I stopped myself from gulping. “Hey now. Leave the personal questions to me. And I’m twenty-seven, anyway.”

“Well. You are a baby.”

“Why, how old are you?”

“Thirty-four.” I had thought as much. “I’m ancient,” he added.

“Not even.” I waved my hand and took a sip of water. I shut my mouth but my curiosity was piqued. Bill was just thirty, yet David seemed older and more distinguished. And until Bill, my only experience with an older man was when I’d lost my virginity to a junior in college when I was a freshman. Something told me this was different.

“That was one tasty burger. I’m so full,” I said, making a face.

“Really? I could eat another one.” I laughed when I realized he wasn’t joking. “I’ve got this,” he said, pulling out his wallet.

“Oh, no,” I insisted. “I might even be able to expense it,” I chirped. “Beman would be thrilled to - ”

“I’ve got it.” His tone was stern.

“No, really - ”

“Olivia,” he said with that same authority that had caught my attention before. I shrank in my seat.

“Is this because I paid for our drinks at Jerome’s?”

“You didn’t. Sherry didn’t charge us. Something about me looking upset and that I could use a break.”

I gaped at him. “Did you . . . ?”

“What?” he asked innocently.

I blinked furiously, trying to decide if I should laugh or scream.

“You think I went home with her because she comped my bill?” His laugh filled the restaurant. “Relax,” he said. “I’m not as bad as you think. She did get a decent tip though, thanks to you. Don’t pull that again.” I nodded mindlessly, feeling like I had no choice but to obey. I watched him settle the bill, surprised at how natural his company had been. Despite his jesting, I felt comfortable, as though we’d been longtime friends. It was just one more thing to feel confuse

d about.

~

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s take the Riverwalk. You can see the hotel from there - it’s part of the charm.” I followed as he led the way and soon we were winding our way along the water. There was so much more I yearned to ask him, to know about him, but we walked in easy silence, and it was equally as pleasurable.

The sun was high. Fluffy, dense clouds spotted the sky. The Chicago River gleamed with the reflection of the sun, as if it were covered in gold sequins. There was a slight chill in the air and it felt nice; everything seemed like it was just as it should be.

“That’s it,” he said. I tilted my head back and took in the imposing building. I had seen it before because it was impossible not to notice. It started with a slate grey base and seamlessly faded into steely grey mirrored glass. The building defied logic by curving outward along one side, dipping in and then bowing out again slightly, almost like the letter ‘B’. “What do you think?”

“It’s something else, David.”

“Is that good?”

I turned my body so I was facing him, shielding my eyes as I glanced up at his face. I searched for a hint of humor but saw none. “Do you really need me to tell you?”

“Yes.”

I turned my head back, squinting against the sun. “It’s unexpected. I love how it’s all glass so it reflects the blue of the sky and the water, but . . . there’s this sort of silver sheen to it, right? Against the stone slabs – what color is that, graphite? It’s almost . . . fluid?” When I realized I was rambling, I became self-conscious. “This isn’t exactly my area of expertise,” I finished, blushing.

“No, you’re right,” he said, shaking his head quickly. “I’m sorry. I just love watching you talk.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and started toward the entrance while I stared after him. “Coming?”

I jumped to attention, taking long strides to catch up. Large palm trees sprung from the ground, greeting us as they lined the walkway. “Palm trees?” I raised my eyebrows.

“This will all be grass,” he said, motioning toward the empty lots by the entrance. “And,” he continued, lighting up, “this will all be open. The lobby is entirely glass with sliding doors that will stay open during the warmer months.”

I walked over and touched the stone, surprised at how rough it felt, despite its smooth appearance. I remembered the contrasting feel of the cool marble of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Clean grey edges and long rectangular windows structured the front of the hotel. I had visions of waves crashing and foaming against black sand beaches.