“I figure we’re entitled to a little fun. Plus, I hate moving.” Charlotte had moved thirteen times, more than once a year since she’d moved out of the house at eighteen. That was when her dad had announced that he couldn’t “deal” with her anymore—too much sneaking out of the house, and doing things that were unbecoming of a Locke, mostly staying out late and dancing. There was always a lot of dancing.
Charlotte’s brothers had done some of the same things, and although their carousing was never on a par with Charlotte’s, they were also never reprimanded for it. She despised the double standard and had been glad to go out on her own. She started her party-planning business the next day, and kept at it during her first two years of college, until she eventually flunked out of school and shifted gears out of boredom, the next phase being interior design. “And they’re doing a great job.” The bonus of hiring Hunks with Trucks was that as a pregnant single woman, these guys might be the only primo male physiques she’d see up close for the foreseeable future.
Fran consulted her watch. “They got here pretty late, though. Aren’t you supposed to be done using the freight elevator at two? It’s nearly two thirty.” She pushed up the sleeves of her pale pink long-sleeved T-shirt. Even helping Charlotte move, Fran was dressed impeccably, like a modern-day Jackie O in slim black capris, flats and pearl earrings.
Charlotte had gone for yoga pants, a camisole and a slouchy T-shirt over that. Her hair had gotten dry shampoo that morning and was pulled back in a ponytail, but she had gone to the trouble of putting on makeup. She was spending part of her day with Hunks with Trucks, after all. She wanted to look good. “I think there are only a few more things for them to bring up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chad said from behind her. “One or two more trips and we’ll be out of your hair. The guys are bringing the bigger pieces of furniture up now.”
Thor whimpered from his kennel, which had been put in the quietest corner of the living room. Charlotte rushed over to him and poked her fingers between the metal bars. Thor licked her mercilessly with his tiny pink tongue. He wagged his tail so violently that the crate shook. “Sorry, buddy. Just a little longer and I can spring you from jail. I can’t let you out when the door’s open. I know you and you’ll run away.” Charlotte turned to Fran. “Let’s start getting the plates and glasses unpacked. I have to have something to eat on.”
The two made their way to the kitchen, which was over-the-top considering Charlotte’s lack of culinary skills, but she loved it nonetheless. Classic white cabinets, white marble countertops, gleaming chrome fixtures and stainless steel appliances, including a six-burner range with a massive hood. She even had a center island, which was practically unheard of in Manhattan, but Sawyer’s architect had done an excellent job with maximizing space. Charlotte also had a huge soaking tub in her bathroom, another NYC anomaly, something she was definitely going to break in before the end of the night. The apartments were a new addition to the hotel, as these top floors had been only guest rooms in the hotel’s earlier incarnation. It had been Sawyer’s idea to bring a residential feel to the building, and Charlotte had to admire her brother’s devotion to both carefully restoring the building and not being afraid to try something new. Plus, it meant a business opportunity had fallen into her lap and she was immensely thankful for that.
“I have my first showing on Monday morning,” Charlotte said, cutting the packing tape on one of the boxes labeled Glassware. “An old party-planning client. She’s newly divorced and got a huge settlement. She wants to move into the city from New Jersey.”
“Sounds promising.” Fran began helping Charlotte unwrap the paper around the glasses. “Remind me. How many units do you have to sell?”
“Seven, now that I’ve bought one. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but it’ll be a big deal. There’s so much competition out there and you have to find the right buyer.”
“A person with deep pockets.”
“Who also likes the idea of living in a hotel. Sawyer was very specific. He wants resident buyers. He doesn’t want absentee owners, so it’s a little trickier than simply selling them to anyone with money.”
“Well, you could sell it as almost like being in a small building. With only four floors, the residential space is relatively small, and access is closed off from the hotel. That could appeal to buyers.”
“Of course, you’re sharing the elevators with hundreds of hotel guests.”
“You don’t have to remind anyone of that. You have a fantastic restaurant downstairs and there will be two bars to choose from once The Cellar is open. You don’t get that in most apartment buildings.”
“True.”
Chad and his big brown eyes appeared in the kitchen doorway. “It seems we have a problem. Another resident was scheduled to move in this afternoon. He’s demanding his time with the service elevator and wants to talk to you.”
The other resident could only be one person. Michael. To her knowledge, no other units had been sold. “Where is he?”
“He’s down the hall, arguing with my guys.”
Charlotte glanced at Fran. “I’ll be back.” Reminding herself to stay calm, Charlotte marched down the hall, Chad in her wake. She could hear men’s voices before she rounded the corner to the main stretch, where the elevator bank would be visible. Michael’s voice, a sound she had once loved, was the loudest.
When she turned, he was standing there, pointing into the elevator. “You guys have to turn the sofa on its side or it’s never going to come out.” He caught sight of her and simply shook his head. Again with his never-ending dismissiveness. No one was ever as competent as Michael.
She forced herself to smile sweetly. “Problem?”
“These guys have no clue what they’re doing. And they won’t let me touch your stupid sofa.”
Charlotte stepped closer to check out the scene in the elevator. Two of Chad’s guys were trying to turn the sofa, but it seemed pretty well wedged in there. “Chad? Can you take charge here? I’m guessing you’re enough muscle to make this happen so we can relinquish the elevator to Mr. Kelly.”
“You got it, Charlotte.” Chad went to work, instructing his men to make some changes in their plan of attack.
Michael simply folded his arms across his broad chest, pacing the width of the hall. He was dressed in jeans and a Boston Celtics T-shirt. She’d always loved it when he dressed down. It was even sexier than him in a suit, which was already out-of-this-world sexy. Perhaps because it made him more approachable, more like an everyday guy. “Nice moving company,” he said. “Hunks with Trucks? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous. I didn’t think that was possible.” He did seem a little green-eyed about the presence of her studly movers. It left her feeling like things were more even between them. She’d stepped out of his car the other day with the distinct sense that he had the upper hand.
“No, Charlie. I’m not jealous.”
Just like that, his words cut her down to size. She hadn’t heard him call her Charlie in months and it was like a flaming hot poker to the heart. Nobody called her that. It was a nickname he’d bestowed on her, and he rarely used it when they were around anyone else. It’d been reserved for the times when they were alone as a couple. It was such a potent reminder of the reasons she’d
