“I want to press the highest level of charges, and I want them pressed by the end of today,” I said.
“The cops told you to come down to the station to make a report.” He stared at the crime scene. “This isn’t exactly high on their priority list right now.”
“So, robberies don’t count when the victim isrich?”
“You said she didn’t take anything…” He moved out of the way as a housekeeper sprayed the glass. “This wasn’t a robbery.”
“She broke into my fucking condo and stole a shower.”
“You mentioned she had a key.” He shrugged. “I can make sure she’s reported to her real estate agency and ban her from all our properties, if you like.”
“Yes,” I said. “And also find a way for me to press those charges.”
“Fine. I’ll stop by the precinct and handle it.” He looked at his watch. “How many minutes until the real client arrives?”
“Forty.”
“I’ll disappear and see you back at the office.”
“Thank you, Anthony.”
“Anytime.” He walked away, and I walked through the unit, adjusting small things here and there.
I straightened a chair near the window and immediately noticed the faint imprint of her fingertips against the glass.
Somehow, that irritated me even more.
She’d walked through my favorite condo like she belonged here. Like forty million dollars’ worth of property was some public damn gym membership.
My jaw tightened as I headed back toward the bathroom.
The steam had finally faded from the mirrors, but the scent of her cinnamon shampoo still lingered in the air. The memory of her nipples hardening as I stared at her came next.
Jesus Christ…
I ran a hand against the marble counters and forced myself to focus on the actual reason I was here today.
Selling this unit.
Not fantasizing about the naked criminal who’d been illegally showering in it.
Right on cue, the private elevator chimed from the other side of the condo.
“Oh. My. WOW…” Mr. Fleming stepped into the open living room, his eyes wide.
For some strange reason, he was dressed in sweatpants and dirty tennis shoes. He looked more like someone who’d gotten lost on his way to a laundromat than a man prepared to buy a forty-million-dollar condo.
I didn’t dress the part either when I first started, though…
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Fleming.” I extended my hand. “Glad you’re considering a life in New York.”
“I’ll say.” He smiled. “I love the personal touch of you showing me around.”
“Shall we?” I gestured for him to follow me, and he obliged.
I walked him through every room—pointing out every piece of custom artwork and every luxury feature I’d installed.
I spotted a pair of pink lace panties peeking from under the guest closet and rolled my eyes.