Page 9 of Damaged

“Yeah.”

I’ve put it together. The car. The suit. The money to buy that modern piece of crap in the gallery. My heart pulses with shame.

“You’re my neighbor…”

James stops the Mercedes in front of the elevator doors to let me out.

“Yeah,” he says in the exact same plain tone as before.

I slowly paw for the door handle like I’m drunk. I’m looking for words. Do I apologize? No. That would be a weak move. I was telling the truth. Still, I can’t help it. He was nice enough to give me a ride in the snow and didn’t flip out when I called his expensive art garbage. “I’m sorry, James. Thank you. Thank you for the ride.”

“My pleasure.”

I open the door and stand in the parking garage. It smells of exhaust and wet concrete. I try to focus on that and not my embarrassment.

“I’ll try to keep my balls down for you,” James says.

“Thanks,” I say earnestly, like he just told me he’d play music quieter.

“It was nice meeting you, Sophia. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You too,” I say and shut the car door. Wait.See you tomorrow?What did he mean by that? But his wet tires are already swishing to his private parking area.

I don’t move to call the elevator. I stay still until the sound of James’s car is gone and it’s silent, but it’s never completely quiet in a parking garage. My ears can sense the vastness of the space. It feels as hollow as my insides.

I had a chance with a hot guy, and I more than blew it. But that’s for the best. I don’t need to be another notch on his bedpost. Even if it does sound like the sex would be good. I’d much rather keep my pride and not give this jerk the pleasure.

I punch the elevator button and hold my head high. I’m less bothered already. It’s more so his words that are nagging me. They’re almost ominous.

What the hell did he mean bysee you tomorrow?

James

So, the contractor lied. When I purchase a twenty-million-dollar apartment, I do expect things to be perfect. He said it was soundproof. Specifically, he said it was laid with ten-inch concrete floors that a Metallica concert couldn’t get through.

I remember it well. It wasn’t that long ago. I haven’t heard any other neighbors complain, so poor Sophia must have the misfortune of being directly below my bedroom.

Oops.

Blame the contractor, not me. He’ll be constructing public housing in Florida after this.

I’m still not sure about this property. I wanted a brand-new apartment in Manhattan away from the eyes of billionaire’s row, and this was no doubt the winner.

But the other tenants are nowhere near rich. Let alone world-bendingly rich like me. I kind of like the idea. I don’t have to be scowled at by bejeweled old ladies in chinchilla coats while riding up the elevator with a date on each arm.

In fact, young pretty girls live here, apparently.

But no, I think. I have rules. A big one beingdon’t shit where you eat.

I undo my tie and look out at the city through my bedroom windows. But my eyes angle down at the floor. I’m picturing Sophia just below me. She’s getting ready for bed. Showering. The hot water turning some of her skin the same blushed red as her embarrassed cheeks.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find her attractive.

In the privacy of the third-floor of the gallery, I was tempted to tear off her black cocktail dress and bend her over one of those benches. But tempting as that is, that’s a verybad idea. It’s best I don’t get too close to any employees of McMurphy and Beaumont during the next few months.

I hear the sliding glass door to my rooftop open, and I walk out into the kitchen.

A man in all black with a long rifle slung across his chest shakes the snow off his coat and onto the black entrance mat.

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