I look down the hallway to my left. The door to 15B is partially open. That must be it, then. I walk down the hall, my feet sinking into the deep luxurious carpet. When I push open the door, it doesn’t make a sound.
“Hello?”
I walk inside and then stop in awe. It’s so beautiful. I never even knew that apartments like this existed in Norfolk. The ceilings are much higher than normal. I estimate that they must be at least fifteen feet high. The room I’m standing in has two large, deeply stuffed couches angled to face the windows. To my left is a beautiful gourmet kitchen with tall, cherry cabinets and gleaming stainless steel appliances. There’s a hallway to the side that must lead to the bedrooms.
I’m going to be working here? As I look around in wonder, I have to ask why the owner even hired me. The place looks pristine already.
There must be some mistake. Maybe the owner just wanted to meet here so we could talk about the contract before he shows me the apartments in the building that actually need cleaning. But even still, I’m sure the other apartments in the building must be lovely, too.
“Hello? Sir?”
It hits me then that I don’t even know the owner’s name. Mr. Stevens has been my contact throughout this entire process and although there was a company name on the contract, I didn’t even think to ask the name of the representative the company would be sending over.
“Do you like the view?”
The deep voice comes from the shadows of the hallway. Even though I just called out for someone, it startles me. And all at once, it reminds me that there’s no one else here. When I agreed to this meeting, it was under the assumption that Mr. Stevens would be present as well. But now I’m alone with some man that I’ve never met.
A man with a voice that’s both haunting and terrifying.
“I do. This is a beautiful place,” I answer, hoping that he’ll come out from the hallway so I can see what he looks like.
I really hope he’s not creepy or some kind of jerk, the way Tara thought. But even if he is, I’ll have to deal with it because we can’t afford to lose this contract.
“I bought it just this year. I enjoy surrounding myself with beautiful things.”
His words are strangely inappropriate yet I’m enthralled. I should be angling closer to the door so I can get the hell out of here if he does anything weird. But I can’t move. There’s something about his voice. The way he speaks. It’s familiar and heartbreaking all at once.
“You pulled your hair back. Hair like yours should never be restrained.”
Even before he steps forward, my traitorous heart skips a beat. How could I ever forget that voice, the voice that promised me that I’d never be alone, that he’d always be there? That we’d be a team. The voice that told me I was everything before I was foolish enough to throw it all away.
“Finn?” My voice comes out as a whisper and I hate myself for the weakness.
“Rissa.”
My eyes almost roll into the back of my head hearing him say it. No one has ever been able to make words into a caress the way he does, rolling the letters over his tongue like he wants to make love to every inch of me starting with my name. Against my will, memories of the pleasure I once knew at the mercy of that tongue roll through me. The things he used to do … Heat blossoms and unfurls inside me, spreading through my limbs until I have to grab the back of the couch behind me to keep from collapsing into a heap on the floor.
“What are you doing here?”
He steps out from the shadows of the hallway and into the light and I gasp. Without a thought or care, I spring forward my arms outstretched.
“Finn? What happened to you? Are you all right?”
He’s walking with a slight limp, relying heavily on the ornately carved cane in his right hand. In my shock, I don’t notice the distaste on his face at least not until he takes a step back.
“I’m fine.” His curt reply leaves no room for misinterpretation. Whatever happened to him isn’t something he’ll be sharing with me. The rejection stings but then again, considering our history, why should I have expected anything else?
“Where’s Mr. Stevens? Do you work with him or something?”
Finn walks forward, passing me without comment. Then he settles himself on the couch and rests the cane against the arm next to him. “Mr. Stevens works for me. He’s one of my lawyers. I had him handle procuring a cleaning service on my behalf because I simply don’t have the time or desire to do it myself.”
His words are so impossible that I just stand staring at the back of his head for a minute. His hair is slightly darker than it was when we were in high school, more brown than blond. But he still has the wayward piece in the back that grows in a different direction than all the rest. The sight brings it all home and makes it real. This is Finn.
And he owns this building.
“You’re the client?” He doesn’t acknowledge me but I know instinctively it’s true. I walk around and take a seat on the couch facing him.
"He came back, Rissa.”
"Who?" I'm still so shocked that he's here that I'm having trouble following the thread of the conversation.
"My father. He's back. And he's wealthy. So now I am, too."
This is huge. Growing up, we had so many conversations about our fathers. I've never met mine and Finn's took off when he was small. I know how big of a deal this is for him. But he seems strangely nonchalant about it, like it doesn't even matter. And I don't know him well enough anymore to gauge his mood.