My phone vibrated.
I pulled the screen close and saw his text. He’s here. I lowered my hands and held them together at my waist. “Here we go.”
A black Escalade pulled up to the curb outside, the red taillights glaring against the windows.
Instead of rushing him, I waited inside, let him get out of the car and tip his crew before approaching the doors.
The back door opened and he stepped out, rising to his full height of over six feet. He was in black jeans and a black hoodie, his charcoal-colored t-shirt slightly visible at the neckline. He had short dark hair that was still styled despite his long flight across the country, and he wore a shadow along his jawline. His eyes were the color of black coffee, and they were hostile like a steaming espresso. He was lean, with narrow hips, a flat stomach, and muscular arms that stretched the sleeves of his sweater with distinctive definition. Biceps, triceps, it was all there. His black jeans were tight on his legs, showing his well-built thighs and tight ass.
He was not what I was expecting.
He had to be thirty…maybe a little older.
I didn’t usually Google my clients because I really didn’t care what they looked like, what their net worth was, how they made their living. The media never accurately portrayed them anyway, and I preferred to treat them as regular people.
Because they shit like the rest of us.
The driver unloaded his suitcases from the back. There were a couple big ones, so Matt went outside to assist.
Deacon grabbed his satchel from the back seat and hoisted it over his shoulder, looking at his phone at the same time, typing a quick message before he stepped to the double glass doors, as if he knew someone would open it for him without having to check.
Bill opened the door. “Good evening, Mr. Hamilton.”
All he did was give a nod, didn’t make eye contact. Then he walked inside, carrying himself with a good posture, his shoulders straight, his back in a single line, his feet not dragging. I was right in his way, so he looked at me, those hostile eyes not changing their expression.
“Welcome, Mr. Hamilton.” I extended my hand. “I hope you had a safe flight.”
He looked at me, but he didn’t seem happy to see me, interested in anything I had to say. He placed his hand in mine and gave me a firm shake, like I was an associate in the boardroom. Then he continued to walk. He didn’t say a word to me.
I moved beside him. “May I take your bag?”
He walked to the elevator, adjusting the strap of his bag like I might try to take it from him. “No.”
I hit the button on the elevator and waited for it to arrive.
He pulled out his phone again, scrolling through his emails like I wasn’t there.
I didn’t find him rude, necessarily, because we weren’t friends. I was the help, a servant, and he’d just had a long flight. Now he was in a new city, and all he wanted to do was take a shower and have a drink.
But the tension was rough.
Why was the elevator taking so long?
When he grew tired of waiting, he glanced at the button to make sure I’d hit it correctly, and then he released a quiet sigh. He was exactly what Jeremiah described, rough around the edges, hostile, bitter. It was obvious in the coldness of his eyes, the way he held himself, the way he wouldn’t even look at me right now.
“I think you’re going to love your new place. Diane did a wonderful job.”
When he was done with his phone, he slipped it back into his pocket.
And said nothing.
The doors finally opened.
Oh, thank the lord.
I extended my hand. “After you, Mr. Hamilton.”
He stepped inside, taking a position away from me, as if I smelled or something.
I stood on the other side and hit 32.
The elevator hummed as we rose to his floor.
Both hands were in his pockets, and he stared at the floor, occasionally rubbing the back of his neck like he was sore. He leaned against the wall, as if he wanted nothing to do with me.
I thought I was pretty attractive, so I was surprised he was so repulsed.
That woman really did a number on him, didn’t she?
The elevator slowed down and the doors opened.
I extended my hand again. “After you.”
He moved out and stood in the fork of the hallway, unsure where his own place was located.
I moved to the right. “You have such a beautiful view of the park. And in the evening, the lights of Manhattan are gorgeous.” I fished his keys out of my pocket and approached his residence, which had double doors like all the others. I got the key inside, unlocked it, and opened the door for him.