The Allure of Julian Lefray (The Allure #1)(45)

“I’m standing outside Ray’s Pizzeria.”

“Where?”

“Ray’s Pizzeria.”

“Uhh, that’s only a block over from me. Why are you there?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” I lied.

“Mhm. Try again.”

I tapped my knuckles against the brick, trying to think of another excuse.

“I really like their pizza. Ray is my godfather.”

She laughed.

“Sure. Sure. Why wouldn’t you have an Italian godfather that happens to live in Greenwich Village?”

I faked a gasp. “I know, small world, huh? Some might call it destiny.”

She laughed and I reveled in the sound of it. Light, easy, carefree. I wanted to hoard the ability to make her laugh for only myself. I was a greedy asshole when it came to Jo.

Silence hung on the phone between us as I waited for her to invite me to her place and she waited for me to push the arbitrary line she’d set up. I knew she didn’t want to date her boss. I knew I should have left her alone.

And yet, I didn’t.

“You’re relentless,” she said after a few moments. “I should have ordered that shock collar.”

I didn’t argue.

“Buy me a slice of pizza and meet me outside my apartment on Grove Street. I’ll let you up if you come bearing pepperonis.”

I turned to step into the shop, praying they didn’t take forever.

“What else do you want?” I asked.

“Whatever looks good. Now hang up so that I can clean up before you get here. I have, like, unmentionables in my living room and stuff. I know I come off as really put together at work, but I’m kind of a slob.”

Jo wasn’t kidding. She lived a block over from the pizza shop and when I approached her building with pizza in hand, I saw her perched right outside. She was on the last step of the stoop, wearing red and white polka dot pajama pants and a University of Texas sweatshirt. Her hair was a mess of curls piled high on her head and she was wearing black-framed glasses.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she joked as I approached.

“I feel so overdressed in a tux. You should have told me the theme for the night was ‘eccentric cat lady’.” I smiled and handed her the box of warm pizza.

She glanced down at her chest and then back up at me. “Are you kidding? This is my fancy sweatshirt. I only wear it when I’m around royalty and stuff.”

I laughed, taken aback by how refreshing she was. I’d already known that about her, but coming straight to her apartment after leaving the fundraiser gave it a stark clarity. The contrast between a woman like Priscilla and Jo was like night and day.

“Stop staring at me and let’s go inside,” she said with a weird smile.

Had I been staring?

“So this is home?” I asked, glancing behind her.

She lived in a stout, red brick building with iron bars across the first floor windows. It was one of the most worn down buildings on the street, but I knew the rent probably didn’t reflect that. Nothing in this area of the city was cheap. She pushed open the front door to reveal a dark foyer leading to a narrow staircase in the very center.

“Yup. It’s my home for now,” she answered with a shrug.

An older short man was checking his mail on the side of the foyer. A brown yamaka rested on the crown of his head and he moved at a glacial pace as he extracted letters from his small cubbyhole.

“Hey Isaac,” Josephine called as we made for the base of the stairs.

“Oh! Hello Josephine!” he exclaimed, turning to face us. “Who is this oysgeputst mentsch with the pitse?” he whispered noisily in her ear.

“Just a friend, Isaac. Goodnight!”

“Friend of yours?” I asked as we hit the second floor landing and started up the next round of stairs.

Jo turned over her shoulder and smiled. “He’s a rabbi and sometimes I help feed his goldfish if he’s running late. Did you know they have Kosher fish flakes?”

After three more flights of stairs, I peeled off my tuxedo jacket and followed Josephine to the end of the hallway. She stuck her key into the lock, twisted it around, and then turned back to stare at me.

I could just make out her green eyes through the glare on her glasses. She suddenly seemed unsure of herself.

“Once I let you in here, you’re not going to look at me the same anymore.”

I frowned. “What? Why?”

She smiled. “It’s just that my ratmates are really sensitive and I don’t want you to insult their home.”

I held my hand up in mock seriousness. “Why do you think I ordered extra cheese?”

She laughed and pushed the door open so I could catch my first glimpse inside. It was by anyone’s standards a modest studio apartment. In all, it couldn’t have been more than 450 square feet, including the tiny patio off the main living room.

“Okay, good, because the rats and I have an understanding. They live rent free as long as we watch Ratatouille every single night. They love the chase scene.”

“Jo, seriously it’s not that bad.”

It was bad. Worse than how I’d lived in college, but she’d done her best to add her charm to the place. One of the walls of the living room was covered with a bright tapestry. She’d shoved houseplants along the windows and multicolored striped rugs covered most of the old wood floors.