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“Right away, sir.”
Evan offered his hand to help me out, and I took it, looking both ways for paparazzi. I breathed easier when I didn’t see any.
“That’ll be all for tonight,” Evan told Albert, who’d opened the trunk and pulled out my suitcase.
The doorman, Troy, arrived with a helper and a cart. The helper, who Evan also called by name, Sylvester, managed to get the bags situated so they wouldn’t fall off.
It certainly was nice to have minions around. Just before we made it inside the building to safety, a camera vulture attacked. A series of flashes went off in my face. “Nice shiner,” he said, snapping another shot.
Evan pulled me through the door. “I guess that answers your question,” he said after it closed behind us.
Inside the lobby, with the door guarded by Troy, Evan released his death grip on my elbow. With my luck, he’d added another bruise, but it wouldn’t show under my sleeve.
First my apartment was trashed, probably on purpose by that asshole Zhukov, then I was accosted by Pinky, and now the fucking paparazzi. No way could this day could get worse.
A woman in a smart black suit behind a workstation spoke up as we approached. “Good evening, Mr. McAllister.”
Evan nodded as he marched on. “Evening, Becka. This is Ms. Allie. She’ll be staying with me and should be granted full privileges.”
“Certainly,” Becka said with warm smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Allie. Please call down if you need anything at all.”
Evan was almost to the elevators, his long legs eating up the distance like a man on a mission.
“Thanks, and nice to meet you too,” I called back as I rushed to keep up with my new…roommate?
I’d just made it inside the elevator he’d chosen when he slid a card into a slot and pushed a button. I didn’t see which one. I’d have to get the apartment number later so I could find my way back when I went I out for my run.
As the doors began to close, I noticed that Evan hadn’t held the door for Sylvester, who was slowly pushing our luggage cart across the marble. I’d have to take notes of these unwritten rich-guy rules.
Or not.
I pushed and held theopen doorbutton.
“I can take the next one,” Sylvester said.
I shook my head as I held the button down. “It’ll be cozy, but we’ve got room.”
As Sylvester maneuvered the cart and himself inside, I ended up pressed against Evan. Evan cocked a brow but didn’t berate me for inviting the help along, likely against Upper West Side elevator etiquette.
The door closed, and to keep my mind off how good leaning against Evan felt, I counted floors as we ascended. This was more contact than we’d had before. Until now we’d just held hands and shared simple kisses for the cameras. I closed fingernails over his thigh.
He gave a slight grunt without averting his gaze from the elevator door. I looked at this reflection and added a grin. Yep. Pushing Evan’s buttons was entertaining.
Too soon, the doors parted, Sylvester pulled the luggage cart out, and I followed. The heat I’d felt against Evan evaporated like smoke in the wind. Evan led the way to his door, one of only two on this floor.
Holy shit.It read P1, as in penthouse. I knew Evan was rich, but he owned a fucking penthouse bordering the park? It was easier to buy a ticket to the moon than one of these.
Evan swiped his keycard, and the door opened to the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen in New York. The ceiling was at least fifteen feet high, and a full wall of windows looked out over the lush greenery of Central Park. At my apartment, my tiny window looked at the brick of our neighboring building.
A cough from Sylvester reminded me I was blocking the way in, and I moved aside.
“Second room on the right.” Evan pointed down a hallway.
I wandered to the windows, passing a dining table off to one side—large enough for a party of twelve. With every step closer to the glass, the view of the park became more impressive.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Evan said, sidling up next to me, his arm almost brushing mine.
“Calling this pretty is like calling the ocean a puddle. It’s beyond spectacular.”
