Closing Time

32.

I snickered to myself, eyes roaming the lobby to see Trace in the process of standing up. He smiled at me, walking over with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a gift bag with a wrapped wine bottle. "This is highly intimidating." He mumbled as he was within hearing range. "I never would have imagined that you live..." His eyes roamed the place. "Here."

"It's a friend's." I replied easily, getting on my toes to peck his lips. "Did you sign the register?"

"Yes. I did." He smiled as he pulled back from the kiss, pulling his hand out of his pocket to grab mine. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." I turned away from him, tugging him towards the receptionist. "I need to sign you in as well and verify your presence." A soft sigh of regret escaped me. "A message will be sent to the guy who owns it."

"Oh, is that a bad thing?"

The receptionist sat up as I approached her desk. She shook some of the sleep out of her eyes, placing a tablet on the counter for me to fill in the necessary details. "Not really but..." I started filling in my details with one hand. "I like to keep things private."

"Understandable." He replied, going quiet as I filled out the form.

"There you go." I finished up, picking up the stylus to sign it. The tablet dinged as it verified my signature and my resident status. The receptionist nodded, taking the tablet back and thanking me out of courtesy.

Trace and I turned to walk to the elevator in silence. I could see him admiring the place out of the corner of my eye. I liked staying here, but being under the constant scrutiny of that man was frustrating. I could no doubt expect a visit from him within a month or so of this. Asshole.

"Are you okay?" Trace's voice broke out of my thoughts.

I met his green eyes filled with concern, giving a short shake of my head. "Nothing. Just work stuff." I moved forward to tap the button to my floor as the doors closed. "How was your day?"

"Fine." He replied easily, pulling his hand out of my grasp to slide it around my waist. "I was at a cafe all day on a call. The client was fighting me on my Terms of Service. He didn't seem to understand why I couldn't give him a refund after three weeks of me confirming the order when it's clearly stated that I only give refunds within two weeks and that's only if the given project is less than 50 percent done." He shrugged exasperatedly. "I've almost finished his work and now he chooses to back out. If he refutes this with my payment website, I could lose a whole month of rent."

The lift dinged open. I pulled away from Trace to pull out my keycard. "That sounds awful. Don't you have other projects lined up?"

"I did. I had a much better paying job than his, but since I'd reserved the time slot for him, I couldn't take it." He groaned loudly as I typed in my passcode, hunching a bit out of habit over the keypad. "Seemed so nice too! And he's good for the money! Paid the entire thing upfront. The end date is five days from now and I was supposed to start putting in the final touches and check the code today."

I turned to look at Trace in confusion as I swiped my card. "'supposed to'?"

"Yeah. With this kind of behaviour, I think I might have to scrap the entire project." His brows were furrowed in clear irritation. "What's the point of completing something that the client has no interest in anymore?"

I shrugged, grabbing the handle and pushing the door open. "Finish the job a few days early and send the finished product and invoice over to him before he puts in a refund claim. He won't be able to refute it."

"I was planning... on doing that..." Trace trailed off as I turned on the lights in my apartment. I headed to the side, switching on some of the lamps in the living room for mood lighting.