We pulled up to a snazzy apartment complex that zoomed up into the sky. His driver got out and opened the door for us. I got out and his driver offered his hand to help me. I looked up at the art deco design of the building, and loved it immediately. "Is this where you live?"

"When I'm not working out of town. Yes."

"Where are we?"

"The Flatiron District in Manhattan."

I moved towards the building in a dream. It was a classy building looking to be built in the 1930s or 40s. There was a doorman standing at the lobby entrance that opened the door for us. Peter guided me towards the elevator, as I couldn't help but gawk up at the crystal chandelier in the lobby. Marble decorations in the floor marked a path to the elevators.

"If you like the lobby, you'll love the view." He pressed the button on the elevator. The arrow above the elevator doors showed its progress down towards us. I felt like I was back in a black and white movie.

"I love your building Peter."

"This is only the entrance. Wait until you see the penthouse."

We got in the elevator, and the old-fashioned push buttons made me feel like I was in the past. Gold and black molding made the elevator feel luscious as we went up. He wrapped his arms around me, and I melted into his chest. He just held me until the doors opened.

I walked down the marble floored corridor with his arm wrapped around my waist. He pulled out his keys from his pocket and opened the double doors to his apartment.

"Wow" is all my brain could think. His apartment opened out into a luxury apartment, complete with vaulted ceilings with fans, marble floors leading to a carpeted seating area. Steps lead to a couch area ringed to face out to the view. OMG! He was right. I looked at the expanse of New York laid out before me, glittering and openly inviting. "This is amazing Peter."

I kept doing a slow spin in the living room area as he looked on. He folded his arms marveling at my surprise. "I'm glad you like it."

"This must have cost a fortune?"

"Real estate is a very lucrative business, Julie."

I eyed him. How much was he worth? "Are you a billionaire or something?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be any fun. Besides, life can't be measured in the billions you may have, but what you do with them."

He walked over to a phone machine on the kitchen counter. He hit a button, and messages started to play back.

"You have a message machine?"

He hit pause. "It keeps my personal life in New York separated from business. It keeps me focused." He pushed the button again. Voices of condolences spilled forth into the room. He kept a strong face, but I could see the pain growing as one person after another offered their support for losing his father. Then, a voice came on that changed his face.

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