Chapter 3
Chloe stood by the loading dock as the U-Haul driver drove away. She piled her cardboard boxes onto a brass luggage cart. She pushed the heavy cart through the service doors, down a pristine hallway, and into the elevator.
She pressed the button for the 45th floor. The elevator shot upward so fast her ears popped.
The doors slid open. She pushed the cart down the quiet corridor until she reached a massive oak door with a digital keypad. She stared at the glowing numbers. She swallowed hard, her throat dry.
Instead of typing the code, she raised her hand and pressed the doorbell.
Heavy footsteps echoed from inside. The lock clicked, and the door swung open.
Harrison stood in the doorway. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a black Henley shirt with the top two buttons undone. The fabric stretched tight across his chest. A wave of masculine heat and the faint smell of cedar washed over her.
Chloe's eyes darted to the exposed skin at his collarbone. She immediately looked down at her shoes, her cheeks burning hot.
Harrison looked at the battered cardboard boxes on the cart. His brow furrowed. There was no disgust in his eyes, only a quiet confusion.
He stepped past her. He reached down and grabbed the heaviest box of books with one hand. His bicep flexed, lifting the carton as if it were filled with feathers.
"I can get that," Chloe said, stepping forward.
Her sneaker caught the edge of the brass cart. She lost her balance and pitched forward.
Harrison dropped the box. He spun around and caught her by the elbow. His grip was like a steel vice, halting her fall instantly.
The heat of his palm burned through the sleeve of her trench coat. Chloe gasped and yanked her arm back as if she had touched a hot stove.
Harrison let his hand fall to his side. His expression did not change. He turned around, picked up the box again, and carried it inside.
Chloe followed him into the apartment. Her jaw dropped. The living room was massive, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The furniture was minimalist, all dark leather and cold marble. It looked like a showroom. She immediately assumed he had drained his savings to rent this place to keep up appearances.
Harrison set the box down. He pointed down a long, well-lit hallway.
"The guest room is the second door on the right. That will be your room," he said.
Chloe let out a breath she did not know she was holding. Separate bedrooms. The knot of anxiety in her stomach loosened, though she found his rigid adherence to boundaries slightly bizarre.
She walked down the hall and pushed the door open. The room was spotless. The bed was massive, covered in crisp, high-thread-count sheets. It made her feel incredibly small.
Harrison walked up behind her. He held out a silver key and a black keycard.
"The building requires the card for the elevator. The key is a backup for the front door," he said. He adjusted his cuff. "I wake up at six. I prefer quiet in the mornings. Do not touch the documents in my study."
His voice was flat, delivering the rules like a corporate memo.
Chloe nodded rapidly. "I understand."
Harrison gave a single nod and walked away, heading toward the master suite.
Chloe closed the door to her room. She leaned her back against the solid wood and closed her eyes. The tension drained from her shoulders.
She opened her boxes and began unpacking. She carried her cheap, fast-fashion clothes into the walk-in closet. The space was the size of her old bedroom. When she finished hanging her garments, they took up less than a tenth of the rack. The empty space mocked her, amplifying the massive gap between their lives.
An hour later, her stomach growled. She left her room and walked into the living area. The apartment was dead silent.
She wandered into the kitchen. The appliances were built into the sleek black cabinetry. She stared at the induction stove, completely lost.
She opened the massive double-door refrigerator. It was stocked with organic vegetables, premium cuts of meat, and glass bottles of sparkling water.
The door to the master bedroom clicked open. Harrison walked out, holding a phone to his ear.
"Le rapport doit être sur mon bureau demain matin," he said, his voice low and his French accent flawless.
Chloe froze by the open fridge. French? A project manager speaking fluent business French?
Harrison saw her. He immediately pulled the phone away from his ear and tapped the screen, ending the call without a goodbye.
He walked toward the kitchen island. "Are you hungry? I can order food."
Chloe panicked. She needed to prove she was not just a freeloader in this expensive apartment. "No! I can cook. Let me make dinner tonight."
Harrison looked at her tense shoulders. He gave a brief nod. "Fine."
He turned and walked into his study, shutting the door behind him.
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