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The comments started the day I made the mistake of telling him where I lived. When he found out I actually do live in one of those rich neighborhoods, he refused to shut up about it. It was a seriously big turnoff, that inferiority complex. I always fought the urge to just yell at him. I always think to myself, I’m richer than you! Deal with it.
There’s a stack of Post-it notes on the countertop in his kitchen. I walk over there and grab one, fishing a pen out of my purse. I decide to scribble a couple of words on it, words for him to read once he wakes up. My message is short and straight to the point.
Thanks for last night, Kill. But I’m done. This thing between us is over. I’m also blocking your number, so don’t even think about calling me.
A little abrupt and cruel, but at least he’ll understand. Besides, I’m sure someone will be here soon enough to reclaim the pair of heels I nearly tripped over when I walked out of his bedroom.
Once I’ve stuck the note on his fridge where he can’t miss it, I head out of the apartment. My car is parked on the curb outside. The Lexus sticks out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. I sigh softly as I kick away some dirt on the sidewalk.
What are you doing here, Aurora?
It’s a question I’ve asked myself several times over the past couple of months. And not just when I’m in Killian’s neighborhood. I’ve wondered at home, at work, when I’m on a run. The past few months, I’ve settled into an easy rhythm that bores me. Everything seems so simple, even work. I used to be pretty passionate about my job.
Now, it’s just one of those things I do because I have to. I arrive at my company’s building half an hour later. Before stepping out of the car, I take care to brush out my hair and put on some light makeup. I’m sure my employees will notice that I’m in the same clothes as yesterday. But I don’t particularly care. As soon as I step through the double doors, there’s a cup of coffee being thrust in my face. I accept it with a murmured thanks.
“Have you sent in the proposal to the contractor for the Bowie job?” I ask my assistant, a petite blonde woman with blue highlights in her hair. “We can’t afford any more delays.”
Her heels clack against the tiles as she follows me into my office. My other employees who are seated in their cubicles offer me short nods and soft good mornings.
“Yes, I got it in earlier, Ms. Kent,” Lia assures me. “They mentioned that since the plumbing in the house was fixed, they should be able to speed up the process.”
I take off my coat and hang it on the rack beside my desk before settling down behind my desk.
“All right. What’s on my schedule for today?”
She begins listing off the various meetings, client consultations, and on-site locations I have to get to. All in one day. My company, Luxe Elite Designs, is an interior design company located right in the middle of a busy neighborhood in the city. There are art galleries, trendy restaurants lining the streets, skyscrapers, and five-star hotels all sharing space with my office. The location has tremendously boosted business. When I first started this company, I wasn’t expecting it to blow up this much. But three years later, I have my own building and a dozen employees.
My clientele is filled with the top one percent in Chicago. Wealthy men and women who pay thousands of dollars for me to pick the interior design of their houses. It’s everything I wanted and more. I put my all into building this and making it a success.
And now that it is a success, I can’t help but wonder, what now?
“Okay, Lia. You can go now, thanks. Once the first client arrives, send him in.”
She nods before walking out of the office. I get to work on putting together a rough draft of a budget one of my clients requested to determine the total cost of redesigning his hotel lobby.
I’m typing away when there’s a knock at my door. I call for whoever it is to enter and get to my feet to welcome the client. A man strides in with a grin on his face, his presence immediately commanding attention. His gray suit fits him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders. He has a strong, curved jawline and a charming smile. The only thing diminishing his aura right now are the ridiculous black cat sunglasses on his face.
I arch an eyebrow in amusement. His grin widens as he takes them off.
“Hey, I thought for sure you’d smile at that,” he says, moving to take a seat in front of my desk without invitation.
Okay then.
My eyes move over to Lia, who’s still standing at the door. I offer her a short nod telling her she can go, before looking back at the man. He’s still smiling at me in a familiar kind of way. Which is odd, considering I have never met him before. Then again, some of my clients can be a little eccentric.
I slowly lower myself into my seat and offer him my best smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Alberto?” I say it like a question, reading his name off the screen in front of me.
I grab a pen and a notebook in order to write down some specific that he might want or mention.
He nods. “Adrian Alberto, at your service, ma’am.”
Something about his tone rubs me the wrong way. I stare at him inquisitively, feeling slightly suspicious.
“That’s not really your last name is it?”
He grins widely, leaning forward and clasping his hands together.
