Page 135 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

Pressing the button, I then turn back again. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

“You know I won’t.”

“Not even if he asks about me. Promise?”

He stands, joining me at the elevator. “Juni, you know I can’t lie. I’ll do almost anything else, but my mom—God rest her soul—made me promise to always be honest.”

I glance up to see what floor the elevator’s on and then turn back to him. “You know I wouldn’t normally ask this of you, but at least give me time and a little heads-up if he comes snooping around. Will you do that for me?” When he gets trapped in an internal debate, I add, “I know it’s asking a lot of you, but please? No lying. Just a heads-up for me if he finds out?”

“I can do that,” he replies without hesitation this time.

I wrap my arms around him. “Thank you, Gil. I appreciate it.”

The elevator dings, and the door slides open. When I step in, I face him again. “I just need time to think.”

“I understand.”

I nod and give a brief wave before the door closes again. As soon as I land on my floor, I run into my apartment. Dropping the keys on the side table, I ignore the clang of metal when it hits a glass tchotchke. I don’t pay any attention to the blinds still hanging wide open. Even the ticking of the grandfather clock in the back room doesn’t bother me.

I’m on a mission, and nothing is going to sidetrack me.

Grabbing my laptop, I sit in the chair by the window and cross my legs. I settle the machine on my lap and log in. There’s a slight shake to my hands as I type Andrew Christiansen into the search bar and press enter.

I quickly click images. I’m not here to learn about his past life. I just need to confirm he’s not who I think he is. A CEO will have photos put out—professionally.

The average Andrew—and I say that acknowledging there’s nothing average about this Andrew—won’t have as many. Of course, social media plays a big part—Uh!

My hand covers my mouth as I take in the screen full of images.

Andrew surfing.

Andrew shaking hands with George Clooney.

I right-click save that one to analyze later.

Andrew in an LA movers-and-shakers, under-thirty magazine spread.

Andrew . . .

Andrew . . .

Andrew named chief executive officer of Christiansen Wealth Management.

I sink back and stare out the window.

Andrew isn’t just a sexy new neighbor who I find mildly (humor me here)attractive and majorly frustrating to figure out. Andrew is Andrew Christiansen.

My new boss.

10

Juni

“I’ve been given no choice.”

The door opens wider. “I didn’t catch the ultimatum.”

“Oh, there’s no ultimatum. I’m just quitting my job before there is one.”

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