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He takes my hand and stretches out my index finger in his own, pressing the buttons for the code that will allow me to have access to his home.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m more sure than ever. I want to give you the tour that you didn’t get.”
The last and only two times I was in his penthouse, I saw the kitchen, bedroom, guest room, living room, and bathroom with a glimpse of the workout room. I know there is so much more to his place. I want to explore the library that he gave me a taste of as well as the incredible patio that overlooks the city.
“I’d like that.”
My stomach lurches as it usually does when I take the elevator in the Ballard. It sweeps upward until it dings, and the doors open to his apartment. Each time I see it, I’m amazed. He takes my purse out of my hand and puts it on the counter then takes me to the bedroom.
“Let’s change. I want to be comfortable. You have clothes in the guest room closet. I can make room so you can share some space in mine if you like.”
“Yes, I would like that.”
“I’ll do it later. Go change.”
I head to the guest bedroom, opening the drawers that I placed some of the clothing that Svetlana had selected for me. I’m not sure if I have anything but pretty work clothing, but I’m mistaken. I find some linen shorts, t-shirts, and polo shirts. I’m positive that these didn’t come with the initial batch I last got, which means that Jordan ordered more for me.
I chose a pair of caramel-colored linen shorts and a light green t-shirt. I leave my feet bare. Jordan is sitting at the barstool in the kitchen, looking at his phone intensely.
“Trouble?”
“No. Just answering a question on a negotiation.”
He slips the phone into the pair of khaki shorts he’s wearing. The ribbed blue tank top shows off his muscular back, chest, and arms. I want to kiss him all over.
“Now, the grand tour.”
We head up the industrial steel and cable stairway to the upper floor above the living room. He flicks on the lights, and all the built-in bookcases are illuminated—so many books. I look closely at one shelf and slide “For Whom The Bell Tolls,” by Hemingway, out. I flip the cover open and can see that it’s a first edition.
“That whole shelf is first editions,” Jordan says.
“I didn’t know you were interested in literature.”
“How could I not be since my stepfather owns a publishing company?”
“I guess that makes sense. How long have you been collecting?”
“Since I was able to afford it, about four years.”
I close the book and gingerly slide it back into the shelf I took it from. I keep looking at the expanse of books from floor to ceiling. Two comfortable oversized couches sit catty-corner for spending hours reading.
“Do you sit up here and read?”
“Rarely. I haven’t had time to read anything but contracts, paperwork, and computer screens.”
“Come, plenty more to see.”
He takes my hand and leads me down the stairs to the kitchen. A double door leads to a large washroom, and next to it is a huge pantry, fully stocked with food. Down the hallway where the bedrooms are were several closed doors, I was curious about. One opens to a large office with a huge teak desk that dominates the middle of the room.
“Why the middle?”
“So I can move around easier. Everything else is surrounding. I can even sit in my chair and push myself around without getting up.”
I can see what he means. Much easier than tripping over chairs and wires to get what you need. Next, he pops open three doors, a large bathroom, and two more bedrooms. We stop at another double door at the end of the hallway next to his bedroom.
“Before we go in, I want you to keep an open mind.”
