Page 38 of Just Not That Into Billionaires

“Yes.” He goes to grab my suitcases.

Breathlessly I gaze up at the flowing and harmonious lines of the steel and glass structure—the place looks as if it were swirled into existence with a spatula rather than built with cranes and concrete. I pointed it out to my parents when they visited from North Dakota. In a sea of harsh lines and severe angles, the Hadid building is beautiful and sculptural, and I love that a visionary female architect created it.

All this time Benny lived here? I find it...unexpected. Impressive.

“The Hadid building!” I say to Alverson.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Stearnes was extremely proactive in securing a penthouse here.” He motions toward the lobby door. “Right this way.”

A doorman is holding open the door. I follow Alverson in. I never imagined I’d get to set foot in here.

We ride up to the top floor. Alverson knocks once at the sleek polished wood door. A dog starts barking and Alverson opens it up and deposits my luggage just inside the foyer.

“A dog?” I say just as a fluffy brown and white dog bounds in.

“Down, Spencer,” Alverson says giving him a quick scratch behind the ears. “Don’t worry, he’s friendly.”

Spencer is a medium-sized dog who looks to be a whole mix of breeds.

“Benny has a dog?” I say. “I thought he was allergic.”

“It’s not his, or…well…” Albertson trails off here and switches gears to information about locks and building codes, and with that he leaves me standing there alone with Spencer, closing the door behind him.

Because of course Benny hasn’t come to the door to greet me. Is he even here?

And whose dog is this? Does it belong to a girlfriend? That’s the kind of thing a boyfriend does, taking the girlfriend’s dog when she’s traveling. Could that be why he told me so explicitly and insultingly to stay out of his room? But then why have me step in as wife? Why be Mr. Sexy with me?

I swallow, turning around, looking for signs of cohabitation, but who even cares? Let him be in a relationship. Let him be as jerky as he wants to be; I’m finally inside of the Hadid building.

“Come on, Spencer!” I say, heading into the main room, which is stunningly bright, not just because of the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the furnishings are bright and simple—all light woods and earth tones with the occasional pop of blue to match the blazingly bright blue sky. There’s a magnificent porch outside with seating like a posh restaurant.

Further exploration turns up a spa-like bathroom with amenities that I don’t even understand, but the jet tub will be amazing for my knee. The view is insane here, too.

Spencer is following me around. New friend alert! I rub his ears and we head into the kitchen where all things are stainless steel and wood and glass, and it’s mind-blowingly beautiful. The feel is that of serenity and simplicity, of harmonious flow; these things greatly appeal to me as a dancer.

Stepping out onto that stage alongside my fellow dancers and embodying the feelings of classical music, it’s better than flying. And I forget all the pain. It’s like transforming into emotion and energy and beauty.

So while I’d have chosen this building in a heartbeat, I’m surprised Benny would have chosen it—he always seemed all tech and hard angles and anti-social abruptness.

So unexpected!

Just for a second, I forget the bullshit he’s pulling, and I have a picture of us bonding over the beauty of this building. And he twirls me around and we’d go out on the porch and look over the High Line. And I’d reach up and touch his beautiful Benny lips, and then feverishly, he grasps my arms—abruptly and passionately like I always imagined back in the Vegas days—and we’d kiss.

I spy a bookcase. And I smile. Bingo!

I head over and excitedly scan the spines of the books for his collection of Star Trek novels, and specifically the bright orange spine of his favorite,Spock Must Die. My heart sinks when it’s not there. It’s a lot of photography books and tomes on coding and tech stuff.

No Star Trek novels. I shouldn’t feel sad about it. Why should I care?

Benny was readingSpock Must Diethat summer—I remember standing out waiting for one of my dates to pick me up, and Benny was at his favorite patio table reading this dog-eared copy. I asked him about it, and he told me there are two Spocks in it, and one had to go. I teased him about reading the book version of a TV show, and he said he read it every year. He was all serious and annoyed and flustered, a bit pink at the tops of his ears. He had asterisk-style stars next to passages that meant things to him.

I think I teased him about talking a little bit like Spock. I would sometimes do that, not because I found it laughable, but more because I found it cute, the way he’d use brainy words like “vexing,” the way he’d quantify things with weird specificity, like he was 93.5% sure the batteries on one of the adhesive lights were going to run out.

And then my date picked me up, and Benny had some judgy thing to say about the limo.

I get this rush of affection, thinking about the guy he was. People misunderstood him, but in the end, I was the biggest asshole of all to him.

“You made it,” Benny says, jolting me back to reality. He’s strolling in from the direction of the foyer, Spencer jumping at his side.

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