Page 34 of VOGUEish

“If I were to plan on seducing you, it would be at my place,” Isabella said in a noncommittal tone, reminding him of the conversation at hand—moonlit walks and seduction.

It was Nonna’s fault he had sappy thoughts on his brain. “Why don’t we save the stroll for after we take the subway to Brooklyn, and you show me this place you believe will be perfect for Runway’s clandestine calendar?”

When Nonna had insisted he take Isabella to dinner first, he and Isabella had both argued it should count as their date. Now, he’d have to admit, he wasn’t upset Nonna had refused their request.

“Deal,” she said.

Ninety minutes and an eye-opening experience later, Chandler and Isabella stood in what appeared to be the old warehouse district of Gowanus. He had not missed anything avoiding the subway all these years.

He placed a hand in the small of her back and surveyed the area. Only part of the nearby lights worked. That was never a good sign. “How long did you say you’ve lived in this part of Brooklyn?”

“Ever since I graduated from college. It was Chloe’s grandmother’s graduation gift to her.”

The lilt of laughter and music caught his attention, and he raised an eyebrow. “That sounds promising.”

“It’s coming from over on 4th Avenue. Any time there’s an event at the Barclays Center, extra people spill into our trendy bars and funky music venues.”

“Is your place close to that area?”

She gave him a funny look. “This is where I live.” She tilted her head to the eyesore in front of them.

“Oh.” The decrepit building they’d stopped in front of sat on a corner lot. The address plank hung by one screw. “An authentic fixer-upper,” he mused, biting back a more accurate description.

Isabella grinned. “The inside is much better than the outside. Sort of like me in high school.” She motioned up and down the street. “As you can see, there is nothing sinister or scary about Gowanus. Except for that neighbor.” She pointed across the street at a window that had a sign in it.

Chandler squinted to read it. Check back tomorrow. I’m in hiding. Horror swept through him. “What the hell?”

Isabella wrinkled her nose, a habit he was beginning to adore. “I’ve yet to meet him, but my gut tells me he’s not derriere-to-the-air normal.”

“No shit,” he muttered.

She shrugged. “Then again, the same could be said about me, so who am I to judge?”

Was she for real? “You’re a better person than I am. I’m standing here, judging away. Does he always have a message written on his window?”

“Every day like clockwork.”

Chandler made a mental note to have the guy investigated. He told himself it was because Nonna wouldn’t want her new digital editor living across the street from a dangerous person. Not wanting to dig too deep into the real reason, he changed the subject. “Where’s the place you think we should rent?”

“It’s his.” She pointed back toward sign-guy’s place. “You know what, before I show you my place” —she dropped her keys back in her purse—“let’s go knock on his door, introduce ourselves, and see what he says.”

“Now?” That idea ranked right up there with a character’s decision to visit the basement in a horror movie.

“Yes, now.” She gave him a cheeky smile.

“You want to knock on the door of a guy—who may or may not be derriere-to-the-air normal—after dark?” What did that even mean?

She rolled her eyes. “Stop fretting like an old hen. If he wanted to hurt me, he’d have done it by now.” As if it were the most normal thing in the world, she grabbed his hand and pulled him across the street. Sign-guy’s front door was sealed off with crime tape.

“You’re suggesting you and your coworkers meet at a crime scene?”

“It’s nothing. It’s been there forever.” Isabella tugged him around to the back entrance of the warehouse.

“This just keeps getting better and better,” he grumbled.

They stopped in front of a garage door entrance. “Fingers crossed.” She held up her hand showing him her crossed fingers as she pushed the bell with her other hand.

“What do you want?” a voice said via a crackly intercom.

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