to check out the scene in the elevator. Two of Chad’s guys were trying to turn the sofa, but it seemed pretty well wedged in there. “Chad? Can you take charge here? I’m guessing you’re enough muscle to make this happen so we can relinquish the elevator to Mr. Kelly.”
“You got it, Charlotte.” Chad went to work, instructing his men to make some changes in their plan of attack.
Michael simply folded his arms across his broad chest, pacing the width of the hall. He was dressed in jeans and a Boston Celtics T-shirt. She’d always loved it when he dressed down. It was even sexier than him in a suit, which was already out-of-this-world sexy. Perhaps because it made him more approachable, more like an everyday guy. “Nice moving company,” he said. “Hunks with Trucks? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous. I didn’t think that was possible.” He did seem a little green-eyed about the presence of her studly movers. It left her feeling like things were more even between them. She’d stepped out of his car the other day with the distinct sense that he had the upper hand.
“No, Charlie. I’m not jealous.”
Just like that, his words cut her down to size. She hadn’t heard him call her Charlie in months and it was like a flaming hot poker to the heart. Nobody called her that. It was a nickname he’d bestowed on her, and he rarely used it when they were around anyone else. It’d been reserved for the times when they were alone as a couple. It was such a potent reminder of the reasons she’d been convinced she not only loved him, but that he was also at least capable of falling in love with her. How wrong she’d been. “You could stand to get a sense of humor, Michael. They’ve been great to work with. Totally professional outfit, top to bottom.”
“I think I see the problem,” Chad said.
“Oh, good. He thinks he sees the problem.” Michael threw up his hands. “You might find them professional, but I have a team of six guys downstairs, waiting to use the elevator, the elevator that I had reserved for two o’clock. You’re using up my time.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea you were in such a rush.”
“I have a showing this evening. Here.”
“Tonight?” Damn him. He was always ahead.
“Yes, tonight. You know I don’t waste time.”
Yes, she knew all about that. And she hated the way it made her feel like a lesser person.
“I have work to do,” he continued. “I can’t be standing around here all day waiting for everything to get moved into my apartment.” He pointed down to the other end of the hall.
“You mean that apartment, but on the eighteenth floor, right? I was told you bought the corner unit up top. Please don’t tell me you’re going to be living on the fifteenth floor.”
Charlotte’s pulse began pounding in her ears. I haven’t even moved in, and I’m going to have to start thinking about moving out.
* * *
Michael was going to have to lie about the location of his apartment. There was no way around it. “I always meant to be on fifteen. It’ll be quieter. Those top units are too close to the shared terrace. There will be all sorts of parties up there. I don’t want to deal with that.” The truth was that he’d asked to have his unit moved to Charlotte’s floor. He’d told Sawyer it was because the upper units were primo and would be easier to sell. Hell, he’d told himself the same thing. But the minute he saw Charlotte again today, he suspected that she was the real reason. He was still so drawn to her, but it was an even more pronounced feeling now. Was it because she seemed to despise him so much? Was that what made it so hot? The conversation they were having was a prime example of their incompatibility.
“You’re going to be living down the hall. From me.” Her voice and expression carried what he could only describe as profound disappointment. Was he really that bad?
“I’m sorry if that’s a disdainful idea, but yes.”
“Hmm. Okay.” She twisted her lips into a kissable bundle. Charlotte made annoyance and anger sexy.
“Got it,” one of the movers said, and just like that, the end of the sofa popped out of the elevator.
“Oh, good. Now we can get off Mr. Kelly’s naughty list.” Charlotte touched Chad the mover’s arm with the tips of her slender fingers.
Michael wrestled with the reasons it bothered him so greatly, while trying to ignore Charlotte’s sarcastic comment. He had the elevator reserved and she was using his time. She needed to stop acting as though he was being petty.
The movers in the elevator carried the bright turquoise sofa wrapped in a cocoon of clear plastic out into the hall. “Can we give you a lift?” Chad asked Charlotte.
“I’m sorry?” she asked in a voice that rivaled a cartoon princess.
“A ride. Hop on the sofa and we’ll carry you down the hall.”
She giggled. “Really?”
“Yes, really. We promise we won’t drop you. It’s fun.”
Chad is fun. Good for him.
“Oh. Okay. Great.” Charlotte sat on the couch and the men hoisted her into the air. She grasped the sofa arm as surprise and delight crossed her face. They carried her away, Charlotte waving her fingers at him.
At this rate, Michael just wanted them gone. He couldn’t stand another minute of Charlotte and the muscle squad.
Time to get back to work. He made a quick call down to his movers, a perfectly normal company called Manhattan Moving, and retreated to his apartment to make a few phone calls while waiting for the first load to arrive upstairs. Without his home office ready, he was forced to set up in the kitchen, his laptop on the counter. His chocolate Lab, Abby, had already made herself at home, stretched out in a sunbeam gracing the living room floor. One of his hopes with now being closer to his office was that he’d have more time to take Abby to the park and out for runs. He had a dog walker, but it wasn’t the same. Abby wanted to spend time with him, and he wanted to spend time with Abby. The relationship between dog and master was a simple one, much easier and more symbiotic than most human relationships.
He touched base with three clients about a handful of different properties, including the client who was coming to see the Grand Legacy that evening. The movers were bringing in the first load when he got a call from his younger brother, Chris. They talked or texted almost every day.
“The Islanders won last night,” Chris said.
“Sometimes I wish you had a real job so you wouldn’t call me in the middle of the day.” Michael smiled and leaned back against the kitchen counter. Chris lived in Washington, DC, about twenty minutes from their parents in Maryland. He worked as a lobbyist. As Michael had learned over the last several years, it’s pretty easy to get someone to take a meeting with you when you’re a former Olympian.
“You owe me five bucks.” They were always betting on sports. No longer living in the same house or competing in swimming, it was one way to keep their sibling rivalry going.
“The winning goal was completely bogus. He kicked it into the net.”
“Nope. It went off his skate. They reviewed it. A win’s a win.”
“Fine. I’ll pay you when you come at Christmas.” Michael stepped aside as a mover brought several boxes into the kitchen. He pointed at the center island, indicating that was a good landing spot. “I mean, if you still want to come.”
“What else am I going to do? Go visit Mom and Dad? I don’t think so.”
Michael and Chris had been spending Christmas together, but separate from their parents, for six years now. Things had always been difficult with their father. The man had all the warmth of a dark night in Siberia. There was no parental affection, only an intolerance for anything