Fight or Flight(75)

Eventually I found the lamp.

I did not find peace of mind.

Which was probably why I shot off a message to Caleb before I could get control of the compulsion. I asked him if we could meet. Thankfully, before I could regret sending the message, Caleb responded with an address on Northern Avenue. The text was terse and he only gave me thirty minutes to get there. A cab could get me there in about ten, fifteen minutes depending on traffic, but I still had to throw something on and call a cab.

Even though I was the one who had requested the meet, I bristled at his demanding bossiness and texted him back that I would be there in forty-five minutes.

He didn’t reply, so I assumed that was okay.

Throwing on the skinny jeans I liked so much along with a slouchy, off-the-shoulder sweater, I had just enough time to fix my makeup and hair before my cabdriver rang to let me know he was outside. I had stupid butterflies in my belly as I hurried out of the apartment.

It was clear to me that Caleb was pissed at the idea of me seeing other men, and I was definitely not amenable to him seeing other women. I didn’t know what that meant for us, or if either of us really wanted to analyze it too much. Quite willing to bury my head in the sand and just keep enjoying my time with the brooding Scot, I could only hope that whatever Caleb was feeling didn’t spook him out of any kind of relationship with me.

The address he’d given me was a luxury apartment complex by the water. It seemed to be made up entirely of glass, all the lights from neighboring buildings and traffic bouncing off it in the dark.

When I stepped inside, there was a woman at reception and a security guy standing near a bank of elevators. The main lobby was huge, with two separate sitting areas on either side of the reception desk.

“Good evening. Can I help you?” The receptionist smiled at me.

My step faltered, wondering if Caleb had called down to let them know I’d be visiting him. I had to assume this was his new place and wondered just how much this was cutting into that nice new salary of his. “Um … hi. Ava Breevort visiting Mr. Scott in apartment 16A.”

“Of course. Mr. Scott let us know you were on your way.” She turned and pointed to the elevators. “Go right on up. Floor sixteen.”

I nodded my thanks, smiled congenially at the security guy when he lifted his chin in greeting as I passed. The receptionist’s voice could be heard behind me saying, “Mr. Scott, it’s Angela at reception. Your guest is on her way up.”

Hmm. Swanky indeed.

The whole place smelled new and shiny, and if memory served me correctly, these apartments had only come on the market a little while ago. Stella had been interested in landing the account for the interior decoration, but they’d gone with a firm in New York. If the reception area was anything to go by, with its rich woods, touches of marble, and muted, modern pieces of furniture brought to life with pops of bright colors in the soft furnishings, our competition had done a good job. It was the kind of comfortable, modern aesthetic that had a commercial appeal.

Thinking about the interior of the apartment building took my mind off telling Caleb I wanted to be exclusive friends with benefits. For about thirty seconds.

The butterflies returned in force as the elevator drew to a smooth halt on the sixteenth floor. Ping went the doors, opening out onto a bright, expansive hallway with shiny white floor tiles and soft blue walls. My heels squeaked annoyingly on the floor as I strolled down the hall, and I was grateful to come to a halt in the middle of it at the sight of the dark blue door on my left. Two brass numbers and a letter told me I’d found Caleb’s apartment. That, and he’d left the door ajar for me.

I knocked and pushed it open, my eyes drinking in the space. To my left was the kitchen with an island. The cupboards were dark walnut with white-and-gray-marble countertops. The kitchen blended seamlessly against the walnut flooring that ran into the open-plan living space up ahead. From my position, frozen in the hall/ kitchen, I could see a large gray corner suite and coffee table. But what really grabbed my attention was the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the back wall. One of the windows was actually a door that led out onto a balcony that sat above the water. You could see Boston Harbor across the way.

Very nice.

To my right was a closed door, and up ahead to the left was another closed door.

There was no sign of Caleb.

“Hello?” I called. “Caleb?”

Two seconds later the door up ahead to the left opened and Caleb sauntered out. I was vaguely aware that he had emerged from a room with a bed in it, but only vaguely aware because he was walking toward me wearing nothing but a worn pair of jeans and a scowl.

“Did you fuck him?” he asked, his voice harsh as he came toward me. I took a wary step back, hitting the front door and inadvertently causing it to shut behind me.

The fact that he’d so easily intimidated me pissed me off. With a scowl, I pushed off the door and marched around him, giving him a wide berth. I felt his glare on my back as I strode into the living room. The sofa was facing a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall opposite the windows. On the wall adjacent was an open door that revealed another bedroom. The wall opposite that, the one next to what I was now assuming was the master bedroom, since Caleb had emerged from it, had fitted floating shelves. They mostly contained books. Another surprise.

Ignoring his seething anger, I looked out over the water, envious of the view, before coming to a stop at the bookshelves. The man was a reader. From what I could tell, he enjoyed crime novels, thrillers, classic and modern sci-fi.