Chapter 16: A Fish Out of Water

“Um, Ms. Reynolds,” Melody’s voice piped up from behind me.

Startled, I spun around to see the young woman perched in my chair. She flashed me a smile and gestured towards the computer.

“Could you possibly assist me? Mr. Wolf asked me to arrange his meetings for tomorrow and Thursday, but keep Friday open.

“I’ve managed to reschedule the ones he had on Friday, but I can’t seem to add them to the company calendar.”

I returned her smile and made my way over to the desk.

“Sure thing.”

I demonstrated how to input the events into the calendar that was synced between our computers. It took less than a minute, and after watching me do it once, she had it down.

“Thank you.” She beamed. Her gaze drifted over to Brennan’s office. He was engrossed in a phone call, a serious expression on his face. “You two make a cute couple.”

Her comment took me by surprise. More than surprise. How had she come to that conclusion from such a brief interaction?

“Oh, we’re not together,” I clarified.

“Sorry! I just assumed, because the chemistry between you two…it’s so obvious.” Melody’s cheeks flushed. She dropped her gaze to the desk and let out a sigh. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

“It’s okay, we’ve just been working together for a while. That’s all.”

~Yeah, right.~ I was starting to buy into my own lies.

I left the office and headed to my apartment. It was empty and spotless, save for my suitcase and spare keys, which were placed by the entrance along with a business card and a box of chocolates. The business card read, “We’re moved that you chose us!”

I gathered my things and locked the door behind me. I dropped off my keys with the super on my way out and then drove to Tribeca.

My car, an early 2000s Toyota Corolla, looked out of place. I felt like an imposter, because I was. I pulled into the parking garage, grabbed a ticket, and parked in the second of Brennan’s spots.

I’d been to Brennan’s apartment building a few times, usually to drop off a file at the front desk. I’d never been up to his apartment, never seen the inside.

If the Wolf Industries office was any indication, I was expecting a similar minimalist aesthetic in black and white.

I walked into the lobby. The same receptionist I’d seen numerous times was there. She was a bit older with graying hair and gentle blue eyes.

She seemed to recognize me as I approached, and she turned away briefly before looking back at me.

“Ms. Reynolds,” she murmured, standing up. She extended a black key card to me. “Mr. Wolf asked that we have this ready for you.”

I accepted the key card and clutched it tightly in my hand. Her gaze softened; she could probably sense my anxiety and she tilted her head.

“He’s in the penthouse suite,” she informed me. “Would you like me to accompany you up?”

I nodded. “Please.”

She came around from behind the desk and extended her hand for me to shake.

“I’m Anna. I’m not sure how long you’ll be staying, but I thought it would be better if you knew my name instead of just seeing me as the person behind the desk.”

I nodded. “Call me Grace and, uh, I’m only here until after the weekend. I moved out of my apartment and Brennan offered his guest room until I leave New York.”

We walked to the elevators and Anna pressed the button.

“Oh, you’re not working for Mr. Wolf anymore?”

I shook my head. “We have different ideals, too much internal conflict.” Although that conflict was starting to seem less significant.

The elevator doors slid open a minute later and we stepped inside.

“Oh, he always speaks so highly of you,” she responded without missing a beat.

I frowned. He talked about me? With the receptionist at ~his~ building?

Anna and I had only had a handful of conversations over the three years I’d been working for Brennan, and they were always about work. Why had they talked about ~me?~

“He’s lonely,” she revealed. “When I’m on the night shift at the desk, sometimes he comes down and we chat over a hot drink.”

My heart ached at the thought of Brennan feeling lonely. I’d always assumed his aloof demeanor was a reflection of his true nature, that he preferred to keep to himself, but it was only surface deep.

I felt a pang of sadness, but I had to wonder, why did I ever come up in their conversations?

Suddenly, the elevator felt suffocating. I glanced up at the screen displaying the floor level. We were almost there.

“I’m glad he has someone to talk to,” I replied, sincerely meaning it.

“I’m probably not his first choice.” She chuckled. “But I’m glad too.”

When the doors opened, we both stepped out. Anna showed me how to use the key card to open Brennan’s apartment door. I dragged my suitcase through the entrance.

“I’m sorry that you’ll be leaving New York,” she said softly before retreating back into the elevator.

I watched as the elevator doors closed and then stepped further into the apartment. I closed the door behind me and dragged my suitcase as I turned. His apartment was not at all what I was expecting.

The floors were dark oak and the walls were white, adorned with rustic art. A beautifully stained wooden dining table with six chairs, though I doubted it ever seated that many, was situated near the kitchen.

It wasn’t monochrome. Brennan’s personality was splashed throughout the living area. It was warm and inviting.

I wandered through the apartment, down the hallway. I checked the rooms, figuring the guest room was the most bare, and left my suitcase by the door.

I watched TV for an hour or two before boredom started to set in. I glanced at the time on my phone. It was almost five. Brennan would be home in an hour or so. I turned off the TV and looked over at the kitchen.

Brennan had told me to make myself at home, so I got up, walked to the kitchen, and started rummaging through his fridge and pantry.

Brennan’s kitchen was pretty bare, which made me think he didn’t cook much. But to my surprise, I found everything I needed to whip up chicken fettuccine alfredo.

As I cooked, the apartment filled with the mouthwatering aroma of the food, making my stomach growl. I was just about done when the front door opened.

“Hey,” Brennan said, dropping his keys and wallet on the table. “You cooked?”

He moved into the kitchen, reaching past me to grab two glasses from the cupboard. I heard the pop of a wine bottle being uncorked.

“You didn’t have to cook,” he added.

I chuckled. “I know. I was bored. You hungry?”

“Starving. Skipped lunch,” he said, carrying the wine glasses to the table. He set them down, then came back to where I was dishing up the pasta.

“Need help?”

I shook my head. “Just sit.”

He grinned and returned to the table, watching me as he sat. Once I was done, I carried the bowls to the table and set one in front of him.

The first bite was always the best. It was something I’d learned from my mom when she taught me to cook. It felt even more special now.

“Holy shit!” Brennan blurted out, his mouth full of pasta. “This is amazing.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“You can cook for me any time,” he said, twirling another forkful of pasta. “Seriously.”

“Are you offering me a job as your personal chef?” I joked.

“Would you take it?” he asked, swallowing his food.

I shook my head. “I cook to relax. Or when I’m bored.” I smiled, pushing down the wave of emotion that threatened to surface.

“Mom taught me. She said if I knew how to cook, I could always make someone smile. Even if it was just me. It’s kind of therapeutic.”

“I wish I could have met your mom. She sounds amazing.”

I nodded. “She was.”

“Well, I’m surprised you found anything to cook with. I can’t cook. Last time I tried, I burned ramen.”

“I don’t believe that. You bought the chicken last night,” I pointed out.

“And I would have burned it if I’d tried to cook it.”

“Well, good thing you didn’t then.” I smiled.

After we finished eating, I started to clear the table, but Brennan stopped me. He took the dishes, poured me another glass of wine, and started cleaning up.

“My mom didn’t teach me to cook.” He grinned, dunking a plate into the soapy water. I stifled a laugh. He looked kind of funny in his button-up shirt and suit pants, washing dishes.

“But she did teach me that the best way to show appreciation for a good meal is to help clean up.”

“My mom would have liked your mom,” I said softly. “But, uh, you do have a dishwasher.”

Brennan glanced at the dishwasher nestled between the cupboards. He looked back at me and grinned.

“I know. I just wanted to put in some effort. Show off my cleaning skills?” He ended with a question, then laughed and flicked some water at me.

“You wash a good dish, Mr. Wolf.” I laughed.

“I know you’ve probably found the guest room, but I should probably give you a tour. So you can, uh, get to know the place,” Brennan said a few minutes later, stepping out of the kitchen. “For when my parents are here.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Lead the way.”