I had been up since 5 o'clock this morning looking at ads in the paper for job vacancies in Manhattan. Even though my father said he'd pull a couple of strings, I had refused and insisted on landing a job myself.
It shouldn't have been this hard. I was the class valedictorian at an Ivy League college for crying out loud. Yet, every interview I did for the past four weeks fell through. There was a knock on my door.
"Who is it?" I called as I flipped off the stove and covered the pot of homemade mac and cheese I was making for lunch, mentally reminding myself to get a peephole installed later during the week.
"Me." It was all he said, assuming I would know who 'me' is.
I hadn't seen my sex god of a landlord since the first day I moved in. His voice was still clear to me so I didn't hesitate to open the door. I was aware of the fact that I was wearing a sports bra and yoga tights, so I only opened it slightly.
"What?" I quipped, annoyance in my voice, even though I didn't mean for it to sound bitchy.
I took a beat to look at him, his blonde hair was wet, as if he just got out of the shower, making it look darker than it actually was. He was wearing a black jacket and black jeans with what looked like military boots. He certainly didn't work in an office.
"I realized you don't pick up your mail." he stuck out his hand full of mail, all seem to be addressed to me. The thought took me by surprise as I wasn't sure I'd ever received my own mail before. "So, I thought I'd bring it up for you."
"Thanks," my tone sounded better now as I let my guard down and took the mail from him. I sifted through the envelopes, registering the various companies. There were a couple of unknown institutions there but I did notice mail from my bank and cell service provider, and also a letter from my dad. My hopes flared as I silently hoped one of the unknown letters was a job offer.
I heard his shallow gasp before I realized that I had released the door and was now standing before Gordon in my bra and yoga tights.
I quickly hid behind the door again, the blood rushing to the entire surface of my body, turning my cheeks bright red.
"Thanks," I said again, raising my hand with the mail.
"You said that already." His eye were locked with mine, and I wasn't sure I wanted to look away. I know the books say that you should be able to feel the electricity between people with sexual chemistry.
There was none.
I felt no electricity. But damn, he was hot. And he knew it.
"Doesn't hurts to be courteous," I rolled my eyes, resolving to close the door in his face.
"You're right." He smirked. "It doesn't."
"Right." I began to shift on my heel, slowly closing the door.
"Can I come in?" He asked quietly, his tone no longer sounding as if he's full of himself.
But his question threw me. Why would he want to come in? I quickly glanced behind me into the open space of my living room and noticed it was meticulously clean, as usual.
Well, you sure are ready for visitors, I thought to myself. But why would he want to come in?
"Why?" I asked out loud before I could stop myself.
"I thought we were being courteous," his cockiness seeped back into his voice.
"I was. We're not. Thanks again, Gordon." And with that I closed the door on him and slumped my back on the frame.
YOU ARE READING
Brynn moves across the country to New York in hopes to find her own path of life and love. Instead, she happens to be inducted in her mother's past secret society. Not knowing who to trust and what is true, Brynn gets wrapped up in men, sex, lies, l...