Park Avenue Player(11)

At the last second, right before turning onto the bridge to go home, I made a rash decision. The horns blaring as I cut across two lanes of traffic to evade the entrance ramp showed just how last minute my decision had been.

I was done working for Soren, at least in the capacity that I was currently employed. When I’d first started working for him, he had wanted me to do computer work, anyway. I was certain there were enough other things that needed to be done to keep me busy. But before I took that path, before I sat down and talked to Soren, I needed to give what I really wanted one last try.

Pulling an illegal U-turn, I headed back uptown—back toward Hollis LaCroix’s office. It was late; he might not be there anymore. But I also had a picture of his driver’s license in my cell phone, and I wasn’t above using it.





Chapter 6




* * *





Elodie




Groveling wasn’t my thing.

But groveling to a good-looking guy like Hollis really made me uncomfortable.

Though I wanted the damn job.

I really wanted the job. Especially after I’d met Hailey and realized we could actually relate to each other. So if crawling with my tail between my legs was what it took, then today I’d be a mouse instead of the cat.

Standing in front of the penthouse at the address I’d gotten from his license, I lifted my hand to knock, then lowered it.

God, why does he have to be so damn good looking? Tall, confident, bone structure that would make a sculptor weep—he reminded me of all the men I loved to hate. I didn’t want to find him attractive.

I stood tall and gave the door a good, firm knock. From the outside, I looked like the picture of confidence, but inside I squirmed and hoped he wasn’t home.

No such luck.

The door opened, and Hollis immediately frowned.

I attempted to start off on the right foot. “I should have apologized the other day. I came to rectify that. The accident was all my fault.”

Silence fell between us. Hollis’s face was unreadable as he stared at me. I knew having to get your car repaired was annoying, but it wasn’t like I’d killed a kitten or anything. Unfortunately, the silence only gave me another opportunity to soak up the good looks of the man standing before me. And it pissed me off that he wore casual clothing even better than the expensive suit he’d had on the other day.

“Can you really even hold the fact that I’m not a great parker against me? Aren’t certain classes of people protected by federal employment law or something?”

Hollis perked one brow. “Not sure bad drivers fit into the constitutionally protected classes like race, sex, and religious preference.”

I waved my hand. “Whatever. And for the record, I’m not a bad driver. I’m just a bad parker.”

Hollis squinted. I got the feeling he was gauging my sincerity, trying to decide what to make of my showing up. He wasn’t the typical guy I ran across; batting my eyelashes didn’t gain me entrance to wherever I desired to go. But I stood my ground while he assessed away, and I maintained eye contact. I’d screwed up, and I would own up to it.

Eventually he stepped aside. “Come on in.”

A few steps over the threshold, a loud voice called out from somewhere within the apartment. The sound made me jump.

“Anna’s home!” Squawk! “Anna’s home!” Squawk! “Anna’s home!”

Hollis dropped his head and looked down. “Ignore that. It’s my bird.”

“That was a bird?”

As if he understood what I’d asked and wanted to provide confirmation, the voice called out again. “Anna’s home!” Squawk! “Anna’s home!” Squawk! “Anna’s home!” Only this time the bird punctuated his statement with the sound of rapidly flapping wings, which validated that he was, indeed, a bird.

Hollis nodded his head toward the inner sanctum of his apartment. “Come inside. If he doesn’t get to see you, he’ll never shut the hell up.”

I followed Hollis through the marble foyer and into the sleek stainless steel kitchen. His apartment was incredible, with a sunken living room open to the kitchen and floor-to-ceiling, sweeping views of Central Park—though the view was partially obstructed by a large, white cage that stood next to those windows, housing the biggest, most exotic-looking bird I’d ever seen.

The thing was gorgeous. Slate-black body, dark gray beak, long black tail, a full mane of proud feathers forming a Mohawk on the top of his head, and crimson coloring on both his cheeks, which were devoid of any feathers. The thing had to be two feet tall.

I walked through the apartment and over to the cage. “Wow. I’ve never seen a bird like this. What kind is he?”

“The pain-in-the-ass kind.”

“What’s his name?”

“Huey.”

“Is he named after Huey Lewis, the singer?”

“No. But that’s not a bad guess. He’s named after Hugh Jackman.”

I chuckled. “Fan of Wolverine?”

Hollis walked over and stood beside me. “Not a chance. He belonged to my ex. He’s an Australian black palm cockatoo. She rescued injured and endangered birds and thought he should be named after someone from Australia.”

The bird squawked again, making me smile. “He’s beautiful. I’m sorry I’m not Anna.”