I feel faintly ridiculous standing in his elevator with a garment bag over one arm and my shoes in my other hand.
This is a practical arrangement. I am here because dinner requires us to arrive together, and arriving together requires being in the same place first, and this is the most logical place. That is all this is.
The elevator opens on his floor, and he is already at the door.
Not opening it as I approached, already at it, like he knew the exact second I would arrive. I have stopped asking how he does that. I just filed it with everything else I am collecting.
"You didn't have to wait at the door," I say.
"I wasn't waiting," he says. "I was passing."
I look at him. He steps aside and lets me in.
---
The penthouse is exactly what I expected and nothing like what I expected si
