Walker will be thrilled to know I’m picking his sister’s design. I should call him and tell him, but I think it would be more professional to let Eva know first.
I never make these offers myself. Dorothy will be the one to reach out to her once I draw up an offer.
I open up my laptop and decide to email our internal project manager to let her know that we are making an offer.
Chapter Four
Eva
Istill can’t believe I’m here. This is it. I’m living in New York City and starting my own design company. The reality of it feels heavy but exciting.
Walker was supposed to be here to help me move in, but something came up with work. As a lawyer in New York City, he has last-minute dilemmas that need his immediate attention. I don’t hold it over his head, though it would be nice to get some help.
My car is filled to the brim with boxes and bags, stuffed to the max. The movers stacked the rest of my boxes in the middle of the family room.
This apartment is insane. It is an open concept with amazing views of the city at every twist and turn. The walls are white, as are the countertops and cabinets. There are large stainless-steel appliances with sharp gold features. The hardwood floors are dark.
Walker is a pain in my ass. I told him I wanted to rent my own place. The moment I said the amount of what I could afford,he lost it on me. Apparently, I was a damsel in distress who wouldn’t survive in the city without a doorman and security.
I could have put my foot down, but that would have meant he would follow me around the city like a psycho. This is the lesser of two evils.
I take a deep breath as I prepare myself for the trips it will take up and down this apartment to get my car unloaded. At least Josh, the doorman, is allowing me to park it outside the building to unload it.
My hand reaches for the door to open it at the same time a knock sounds on the other side. I jump at the sudden noise, then twist the knob and open it.
A small gasp escapes my lungs.
“Roman,” I say softly. “What are you doing here?”
My heart is pounding against the walls of my chest like it’s trying to make an escape. There’s something about him. The way he looks at me. I felt it throughout my interview.
“Walker told me you needed help.”
He’s wearing black joggers and a fitted gray T-shirt. His muscles appear to be begging to tear their way out of his shirt. There are so many, and they are everywhere. The man must work out—a lot.
“You didn’t have to come all the way over here to help.”
“I think I can handle going down one flight of stairs,” he says in his familiar, cold tone.
He is so serious. I get the impression that he doesn’t let loose much. Then his words hit me.
“You’re the friend of Walker’s who lives upstairs?”
He nods his head with his hands in his pockets. “That’s me. This is my building.”
“I see,” I reply as my brain conjures up images of him only a floor above me, doing things I shouldn’t be picturing.
“Is that okay with you?”
I shake my head to get the images out.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he says in a harsh voice.
“No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I’m okay with that. In fact, thank you for allowing me to stay here.”
“I did it for Walker.”
“Right. Of course. Still … thank you,” I reply awkwardly.