Danielle Steel - The Apartment

“I decided to see what the fuss is all about, with your friend’s restaurant,” he said to Morgan. “I just had dinner here with a friend. The buzz is well deserved. The food is great.” Morgan smiled. Max would be thrilled when he heard. And George set the bar high. She knew he went to all the best restaurants in town. He turned his attention to Claire again then, with a warm smile that was surprisingly intimate. He was mesmerized by her, and she was in jeans and a simple white sweater, with just enough cleavage showing. The sweater was Céline, and she had spent a fortune on it, and it showed. Her nails were perfectly manicured, and her long blond hair hung loose down her back. She appeared even younger than she was, at twenty-eight, and was beautiful. Morgan could see that he was taken with her, which didn’t surprise her. He had a weakness for pretty women, particularly young ones. He was one of the most sought-after bachelors in town. And at a glance, she could see that there was a good-looking older man waiting for him at the door. But he seemed to be in no rush to join him.

“It was wonderful to meet you,” he said to Claire, lingering for an instant, before he left them reluctantly.

“He’s not at all what I expected,” Claire commented after he was gone. She had seen easily how taken he was with her, or pretended to be, and it had unnerved her slightly. “I thought he was older. He looks like a playboy.”

“He’s turning forty in December. And he’s actually very serious about his work. But he likes beautiful women, kind of as an accessory, I suspect. I’ve never known him to get serious about anyone. He doesn’t talk about his private life at work, but he’s on Page Six a lot, and he dates some very well-known women, mostly actresses and models. I think Valentina went out with him once a while ago.”

“I vaguely remember that she hated him. I don’t know why.”

“He’s not bad enough or old enough for her.” Morgan laughed. Valentina went through men like Kleenex. She used them once and threw them away. “I don’t think he’s flashy enough for her. He’s around town with famous women, but he’s pretty discreet. He never talks. And he looked fascinated by you.” Morgan thought that Claire was attractive, but not as showy as he usually liked. She was a real person, and it showed. He was probably just playing with her, and being flirtatious, although he had never done that with Morgan at work, which she respected about him. He never fooled around in the office.

They went on talking about Claire’s job problems then, and Morgan’s final advice was for Claire to start hunting around discreetly, put out feelers, and let some of the higher-end shoe companies know that she was open to a change. The plan wasn’t without risk, but there would be no improvement without it, and Claire said she felt ready to take the chance. She couldn’t go on the way things were. She felt like she was killing her career just for a paycheck, and not a huge one at that. She had wanted Morgan’s support and encouragement, and she had gotten that. Morgan never disappointed her, and she had great respect for her advice. And when the check came, Claire treated her, to thank her for her help. They had both forgotten about George by then—it seemed like an unimportant encounter, although Morgan was touched that he had tried Max’s restaurant and liked it. And Max kissed both women when they left. And he said he’d stop by later to spend the night with Morgan.

They walked slowly back to the apartment, and Claire felt better than she had in months. She had a plan, and knew it was the right one. She made a list that night of the companies she wanted to approach. The future was looking brighter.

And Max showed up to spend the night as he had said. He and Morgan made love in the morning, because they’d both been too tired the night before, and Morgan was a few minutes late for work, but she had no meetings that morning. All she had was research and desk work until the afternoon. She was poring over several files on her computer, when George walked into her office, and she smiled up at him.

“Thanks for trying Max’s restaurant last night. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I love it. I’ll be back. It’s great for a casual meal.” He had a legendarily beautiful penthouse in the Trump Tower uptown, but she knew he ate downtown often, and had friends in Tribeca and Soho, and he loved trying new restaurants. He loved to impress the women he went out with, with new finds. And his reputation as a generous date and man-about-town was well deserved. “I liked your friend,” he said simply. And for a moment, she thought he meant Max, but the look in his eye said something different. “She’s a very pretty girl.” That instantly corrected Morgan’s first impression. “Do you know her well?” He was curious about her. She looked like a model.

“Claire?” Morgan asked, still startled by the question. “We’ve been roommates for five years.”

“What does she do for a living?” He had never asked Morgan about any woman before, and she was surprised.

“She’s a shoe designer. We were talking about it last night. She’s very talented, but stuck in a boring job.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun. Is she single?” Morgan knew that the question encompassed if she had a boyfriend.

“Yes. She works very hard, though, and doesn’t go out much. She’s very intense about her career.”

“So am I,” he said with a broad grin. “I still make time for dinner. Who does she work for?” He was being very direct.

“Arthur Adams,” Morgan said in a small voice. She didn’t know if Claire was up to dating a man like George, or if she’d even want to. She felt uncomfortable answering his questions, but Claire could take care of herself, and a moment later he left her office.

Three dozen white roses arrived on Claire’s desk that afternoon, in a tall vase, with a card that said, “It was wonderful to meet you. George.” She was floored. No man had ever sent her flowers like that before. They were exquisite, and very lavish, from the best florist in town.

“Who died?” Walter said tersely when he walked into Claire’s office later that afternoon to discuss some price points. She had suggested an increase in their prices, and he didn’t agree, as usual.

“They’re from a friend,” she answered vaguely, looking embarrassed by the enormous bouquet.

“He must be crazy about you,” Walter said through pursed lips. “You should get things like that at home.” She nodded, and didn’t know what to say, but once he left her office, she stared at them, wondering why George had sent them. She knew the names of the women he went out with. She was nowhere in their league, and it felt strange to be the object of his attentions. She almost called Morgan to tell her about it, but decided not to. It didn’t mean anything. He was just a rich, successful guy playing a game, and she had no intention of playing it with him. But the flowers were beautiful. She sent him a short, polite e-mail to thank him, and went home at the end of the day. She had convinced herself by then that she would never hear from him again. And she didn’t really want to. George Lewis’s world was light-years away from hers. And she intended to keep it that way. She never said a word about the roses to Morgan.

—

The day after he sent the roses, George sent Claire a beautiful coffee table book about the history of shoes. It was a thoughtful gift, and she was touched, but uneasy too. He was obviously trying to woo her, although he hadn’t called and asked her out, but she was afraid he would. She had no idea how to deal with someone like him. He was so totally out of her league. She was hoping he’d lose interest in her before he called her or sent any more gifts. And she still hadn’t said anything to Morgan about him, nor had she mentioned him to the others. He was rapidly becoming a dark secret.

Claire had sent out several e-mails that week, with her résumé, to her favorite shoe companies. Two of them had written back to tell her they had no positions open, and three more hadn’t responded. She hoped they would, but at least she was trying. Walter was annoying her more than ever, and being constantly critical, and in her face.

George was the bright spot in her life at the moment, although his attention made her nervous. He was just a player flirting with her, she was sure, and she reminded herself to keep her eye on the ball, which was her job. But the roses and the book kept distracting her. He was a hard man to ignore.

As it turned out, Sasha was on call at the hospital all Saturday afternoon. They called her in at one o’clock, and she did three deliveries back to back, dashing from one to the other, but all of them were simple and went smoothly. And she finished just before seven. She and Alex were supposed to have dinner at seven-thirty, and she had no time to go home and change.

She called Alex from the hospital, and was going to offer to postpone the date if he wanted to, since even if she went out to dinner, she might get called back again, although he had known she would be on call that night and said he didn’t mind and would take his chances.

“You get your wish,” she said to him when he answered. “I’m in scrubs and Crocs. I’ve been in L and D all day, and I just finished three deliveries. And it’s kind of late to go home and dress. What do you want to do? Do it another time?”

“Have you eaten?” he asked her simply.

“Not since breakfast, and two PowerBars between deliveries.”

“Perfect. I’m starving. I’ll pick you up at the ER in ten minutes. Are you done for now?”

“Yes, until they call me back in the middle of dinner.” She was smiling, he was so reasonable and easy to talk to. Men always made a big deal of it when she had to cancel or change plans. But he lived the same life she did, and the women he dated hadn’t liked it either.

“Fine. I’ll wear my scrubs if it makes you feel better. We can play doctor.” And then they both started laughing. “Sorry, that didn’t come out the way I meant it. Or maybe it did,” he teased her. “Do you like sushi?”

“I love it.”

“There’s a great place down the street. The food is good, the service is fast. If you get called in, you’ll at least have eaten. See you in five minutes.”

He was waiting for her outside the emergency room, in jeans and a clean, neatly pressed starched blue shirt and loafers, which looked like formal wear to her. She was wearing her hospital garb, and he told her she looked lovely, and meant it. And they walked down the street in the warm September evening. It was nice to get out of the hospital and felt like a vacation day to her, just being with him, talking about things other than work. And he was right, the food at the restaurant he’d chosen was delicious, and they served it quickly. They sat relaxing afterward, talking about skiing and sailing and their favorite books. They liked some of the same authors, and confessed with some embarrassment that both of them had been good students.

“So what’s your idea of the perfect date?” he asked her, still wanting to know more about her.

“We just had it. Good talk, good food, no pressure, someone nice to talk to, who isn’t having a fit that I was late, and might have to go back to work in five minutes, and doesn’t care what I wore to dinner. I like getting dressed up sometimes, but most of the time I’m too late to dress, and I’m too tired to care when I come home from work. And I fall asleep at the dinner table because I never got to bed the night before.” He had met all her criteria for the perfect date.

“I’m a little disappointed,” he said, looking slightly woebegone. “You never mentioned sex. That’s not part of your dating plan?” he asked hopefully, and she burst out laughing.

“I forgot,” she said honestly. “Do people still do that? Who has time for sex with jobs like ours?”

“I hear some people still do it,” he assured her mock seriously. “It’s an antiquated notion, I’ll admit, but I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy, and I like the old traditions, though not on the first date. Maybe second or third? Or nineteenth?” He looked at her hopefully, and she was smiling. She really liked him, and she could tell that he liked her, exactly the way she was, not in clothes she borrowed from her sister, and Claire’s ridiculous high heels. She had never been so comfortable on a first date.

“Yeah, sex on date nineteen sounds about right,” she teased him. “By then you might be married and could give it up completely.” Her parents hadn’t slept together in years before their divorce and had separate bedrooms.