Page 84 of The Game

Only one or two during the day.

Can I come over?

For some reason, I want to escape this apartment and the idea that I’m being watched, and I want to see Adam’s Meatpacking place. Nothing comes back for another five minutes.

My apartment is tiny and rundown.

I don’t mind if you don’t.

Another extended pause, during which I second-guess myself and what I’m doing about sixteen times.

Come over then.

See you in thirty minutes.

I grab all the things I might want—treats for Pepper, a bottle of wine—shove them in a shoulder bag, and put Pepper in her coat. Then I call the car service, and ten minutes later my doorman buzzes up and I’m out the door and into the car breathing a sigh of relief. When did I stop feeling safe here?Arty Maroz.I make a face.And the paparazzi.

I text Adam when I’m close, and he’s right, his buildingisold and dilapidated. He appears in the lobby and holds the front door open as I step out of the car. He’s wearing jeans and an old soft flannel shirt, as well as some glasses I’ve never seen before.

I gesture at them as I walk into the small area by the elevator. “Very nice.”

“Oh!” he says, touching his face. “I forgot I had them on.”

“I’m surprised I haven’t seen you in them before, at Janus’s or …”

“They’ve got high-magnification lenses. Sometimes I wear them if I’ve been doing a lot of close work, I need them to be able to see electronic components.They’re tiny these days.” He takes them off and folds them into his hand.

As the rickety old elevator creaks up past several floors, he says, “You’ll have to excuse the state of this building”—he makes a face and gives me a rueful smile—“andmy apartment.”

I flap my hand at him. I understand he’s embarrassed, but I lived in some terrible places myself as I was fighting my way around the tennis circuit. I know how hard it is. And he’s trying to build a business. None of this stuff is easy.

We shudder to a halt and step out into a corridor with scuffed walls and a badly worn wooden floor. I follow Adam to a door at the far end which he unlocks to reveal a tiny foyer.

I toe off my shoes, he hangs my coat up in a hidden closet, and we head into the main room, which houses a small gray kitchen of four or five cupboards against one wall, a couch, and two armchairs perpendicular to two large windows that look out over the building behind. There’s a thick rug on the floor and fluffy blankets on each of the chairs. Two warm lamps cast a golden glow over the whole space. A staircase spirals down from a platform above.

“That’s my bedroom up there,” Adam says, gesturing upward and shifting from one foot to another. “The bathroom is here.” He indicates a door tucked in behind the winding staircase. It’s all immaculate.

I grin at him. “It’s lovely and cozy,” I say, and he laughs. “You’re very tidy.”

“Janus thinks I have OCD,” he says, shaking his head.

I put my bag on his kitchen counter and pull out the wine. “I thought I might have a glass.”

He bends sideways and says in a low rumble, “Who are you and what have you done with Anna Talanova?”

I shove his shoulder, fingers connecting into hard muscle, and I’m not sure I needed the reminder of his body or his ability to pin me down.

“Have you eaten?” he adds, and I shake my head and he raises his eyebrows. “No preprepared meal?”

I give him another small push. “Don’t give me the sarcasm. They’re not that bad.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Let’s order something. If I remember correctly, you have a bit of an obsession with Indian?”

“Oh, that sounds like thebestidea.”

Once we’ve chosen our dishes and ordered our food, Adam finds a bottle opener in a drawer and starts cutting the foil off the top of the wine. “What’s got you drinking alcohol tonight?”

“I had a call.”

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