Chapter Eight
Josephine
I’d just finished shoving the last bite of a donut in my mouth when my phone buzzed in my hand. I wiped the chocolate icing from my mouth and discarded the donut box in the trash. I took extra care to get rid of all the evidence of the sweet doughy deliciousness because that’s how denial works. No proof, no calories. Ha!
After I wiped my hands, I swiped my finger across the screen and answered the call.
“Hello?” Yeah, my mouth was still pretty full. Attractive, I know.
“Josephine?”
The deep voice sent a slight shiver down my spine. I swallowed slowly.
“Julian?” I asked, pulling the phone away from my cheek to check the number. I didn’t recognize the area code.
“Yes. Sorry to call you so early. I just wanted to let you know that we won’t be meeting at my hotel like we originally planned.”
“Oh.”
I sounded sad. Why did I sound sad? Had I been looking forward to seeing the inside of Julian’s hotel room? Had I wanted some alone time with him?
“Is that all right?” he asked, sounding worried.
“Oh! Yeah. Of course. Where are we meeting instead?”
“My realtor has lined up a few properties for us to take a look at. I’ll text you the first address after we hang up.”
“Okay, cool. I love looking at real estate.”
He laughed. “Really?”
“Yep.”
“I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”
I laughed. “I’m borderline addicted to HGTV. It’s not healthy.”
“Ah, I see. Well, we’ll be going into some unfinished job sites, so make sure you wear closed-toe shoes.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll dress the part,” I quipped.
“Are you getting ready as we talk? I’m already on my way to the first address.”
Oh crap. “Let me go so I can map it.”
“All right. Good luck.”
I dropped my phone and scrambled to finish getting ready. Last night Julian had emailed me a few details about my first day on the job. I’d planned on meeting him at his hotel—where we’d be working until we found a space to rent in Manhattan—but if we were going to be running around town all day, I needed to change my shoes. My feet would be screaming by the second listing.
I slid into some black leather flats and peeked at the mirror before dashing out the door. A stray chocolate sprinkle was lurking in the corner of my mouth from the donut I had allegedly eaten a minute before. I wiped it away and reassessed my makeup. Not bad. Not bad at all.
It was warming up nicely in New York City, but there was still a morning chill lingering in the air, so I walked to the first listing instead of taking the subway.
Julian was standing near the entrance of the building, chatting with a short, balding man in a three-piece suit. The man had on a blue paisley tie that coordinated with his pocket square and a Bluetooth thing sticking out of his right ear. Ah, he was definitely the realtor.
“Josephine,” Julian said with a smile as I approached.
I scanned over his outfit quickly, pushing away the swell of lust that accompanied the sight of him. Black slacks—not cute. White button-down—not cute. Fitted black jacket—ew. Who thinks defined arms and a broad chest are attractive? No one.
He reached forward and gripped my arm just above my elbow as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. JESUS CHRIST. He smelled divine, like he’d spent the morning in the woods building me a log cabin. I hated him.
When he pulled back after our kiss, he kept his hand on my arm and introduced me to Sergio, our realtor. Taking it as a cue, Sergio leaned in to kiss my other cheek. I flinched, and my nose knocked his earpiece to the ground.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, let me get that!” I sang, trying to allay the awkwardness.
I bent to grab it before either of them could get it, then handed it to Sergio with an apologetic smile.
“Let me just grab the key from the lockbox and then we’ll head inside,” Sergio explained.
I nodded and wet my lips, trying hard to work up the nerve to glance at Julian. I’d felt so confident during our phone call, but in person my courage dwindled away as if it’d never been there at all.
“No overalls? I’m a little disappointed,” Julian quipped as he turned toward me.
I laughed and glanced down at my outfit. He read that blog post!
“I figured overalls were more of a second-day-on-the-job kind of look,” I said with a smile.
Julian laughed. “What’s a third-day-on-the-job look then?”
“Jorts.”
He laughed, but furrowed his brows. “Jorts?”
My smile fell. “Oh c’mon. You don’t know what jorts are?”
He shook his head with a bemused expression.
“They’re cut-off jeans, made into shorts.” I made a cutting motion across my thigh. “Mostly worn by hipsters with handlebar mustaches.”
“I guess I’ll see them on Wednesday,” he laughed.
“Got it!” Sergio explained, motioning us forward and sweeping the door open with enough razzle-dazzle to give Vanna White a run for her money.
And so began our tour of really crappy New York real estate. Julian and I quickly learned the lay of the land. Any spot worth renting cost enough to purchase a small island in the Mediterranean, and if the property was priced reasonably, well, there was a reason. Rats, poor plumbing, no windows—the list went on and on. By the time we were walking through the sixth listing, we’d both all but given up hope of finding something quickly.
We were touring the final property of the day, an apartment that was listed on the market as a commercial office space, but it didn’t look any better than the previous listings. The entire apartment couldn’t have been more than 400 square feet total, and the floor plan was incredibly odd. Right when we walked in, we were led into a small room with three chairs lining the walls. An ornate black chandelier hung from the ceiling, but there was no artwork on the wall. It looked like a stark waiting room of sorts.
“Is the space vacant?” I asked the realtor.
“No. Their lease is up in two weeks and the landlord wants to get a new tenant in right away.”
I nodded and continued into the space, skeptical of what we’d find. There was a once-functioning kitchen to the left, and off to the side there were two small doors that branched off the main hallway.
“How could someone classify this as a commercial space?” Julian asked, following after me. He seemed just as disappointed as I was.
I stepped toward the first door and turned the knob so I could peer inside. The room was small and dark, no larger than a walk-in closet. Yikes.
“We could each take a closet and pretend they’re actual offices,” I joked.
Julian came to stand behind me so that he could see into the space. I stepped forward to turn on the light, but it was out of my reach. Even still, I could tell that the walls were covered in a dark crimson wallpaper with a damask print. First the black chandelier, now red wallpaper? Had I just stepped into Dracula’s lair?
“No, clearly this will be the employee break room,” he added dryly. “I think the lack of windows is a real plus.”
I smiled and took another step inside the closet, curious about what the tenant used the space for. Surely it wasn’t someone’s office, right? As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I saw that directly across from me there were built in bars running horizontally across the walls. They looked like they’d be used as clothing racks, but they were at odd heights, a foot too tall for most people to reach. Then I saw that in the center of the space, near the back wall, there was a pole that ran from the ceiling to floor. It almost looked like a fireman’s pole, but that didn’t make sense…
And then it hit me.
Holy shit.
I scanned the space and realized all my fears had come true. Sitting on the floor near the base of the stripper pole were a couple of unused condoms and a stray pair of handcuffs, leather and all.
“Julian.”
“Is that a stripper pole?” he asked, taking a step closer. Poor, naive man.
“I think we’re standing inside a sex dungeon,” I said.
He barked out a laugh and took another step inside.
“How would you know what that looks like?” he asked as he stepped up behind me and pressed his hand to my lower back, trying to get a better look at the space.
I blushed, though he couldn’t see it. “I’ve read about these things.”
I turned to see his brow quirked with interest as his hazel eyes met mine in the darkness.
“For purely scientific reasons, of course,” I said, holding up my hands.
“Oh, I’m sure,” he nodded with sarcastic reassurance. “Why do you think we’re in a sex dungeon? Because of that pole?”
I pointed toward the pile of forgotten items on the ground. He stepped closer in the darkness to get a better look and then I heard an audible squelch, followed by Julian momentarily losing his footing. I squeezed my eyes closed to keep my composure though I knew I was seconds away from full-on hysterics.
“What the?” he asked.
He lifted his foot and glanced down.
“Julian, I’m pretty sure you just stepped on anal beads.”