Chapter 5 -Zee
1318 Words
The cab pulled up to the address and I checked my phone twice, convinced I’d written it down wrong.
It was a freaking penthouse.
The building had a doorman who nodded at me like I belonged there, which was generous of him given that I was dragging a duffel bag with a broken zipper across his pristine marble lobby. I rode the elevator up, smoothed my shirt, and rang the bell and there was no answer. In the fourth press I heard movement, and on the fifth, the door swung open.
She was blonde. Tall, she was wearing a silk robe that she hadn’t bothered to close, and she hadn’t bothered to wear anything underneath it either. She looked at me the so much disgust on her face .
“Hi, erm —” I started.
“What do you want?”
“I’m here for Phil.” I managed to say
Her eyes dropped to my luggage, then crawled back up to my face. If looks could physically combust a person, I would have been ash on the welcome mat.
“Who are you?”
“Who’s there?” Phil’s voice came from somewhere inside, low and unhurried.
The woman turned her head without breaking eye contact with me. “I don’t know. Some weird girl with luggage.”
My jaw tightened. “Excuse you?”
Footsteps. Then Phil filled the doorway behind her, and I watched the exact moment he registered me — his expression shifted from casual to mortified in the span of half a second.
“Oh God.” He stepped forward immediately, reaching past the woman for my bag. “I’m so sorry, Zee.” He turned back, voice dropping to something that left no room for argument. “Please get dressed and go. Leave your number, I’ll be in touch.”
“Are you serious?” She turned on him, the robe still hanging open. “You’re kicking me out for her?”
“I won’t ask again.”he gave her a sarcastic smile
Something in his tone made her mouth close. She looked at me one last time — pure venom on her face — then disappeared inside. Phil guided me through the door with a hand I barely felt at my back, and I walked in silence because I genuinely did not know what to say. The lady reappeared seven minutes later, dressed, sunglasses on, dignity reconstructed. She left without a word. The door clicked shut behind her.
Phil set my bag down and rubbed the back of his neck. “That was inexcusable. I forgot you were arriving today and I —” He stopped. “There’s no good way to finish that sentence.”
“There really isn’t,” I agreed.
He laughed, quietly, and so did I, and somehow that dissolved the worst of the tension. He picked my bag back up. “Come on. Let me show you your room.”
The guest room was larger than my entire apartment back home. The bed alone could have slept four people comfortably. There was a walk-in wardrobe, a private bathroom with heated floors — I discovered that by accident and stood there for a moment like an i***t — and a window that looked out over the city like the skyline had been arranged specifically for this view.
“There’s a spare key on the dresser,” Phil said from the doorway. “Towels in the wardrobe. The kitchen is fully stocked — use whatever you want, I mean that.” He paused. “And again, Zee. I’m sorry about earlier. That was not how I wanted to welcome you.”
“It’s fine,” I said, and I mostly meant it. “I just didn’t know you were —” I gestured vaguely.
“I’m not, usually.” He said it plainly, without defensiveness. “That was an exception. A bad one.” He knocked twice on the doorframe. “Get settled. I’ll order food in an hour.”
He pulled the door shut behind him, and I sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled slowly.
I unpacked methodically, filling the wardrobe in a way that felt presumptuous given how much space there was. Then I wandered.
I couldn’t help it. The penthouse demanded to be looked at. The living room had ceilings that went on forever, and the furniture — his furniture, I realised, pieces from his own company probably — was the kind that made you understand why people spent money on things like that. Not flashy, just perfect .
And my room has a f*****g balcony where I can see the city lights that was the best part about the house.
I called my dad from the window seat, feet tucked under me.
He picked up on the second ring. “You got there safe?”
“I got here safe. Phil’s place is — Dad, it’s massive.”
He laughed. “I told you.”
“You did not tell me penthouse.”
“I thought it would scare you off.” A pause. “How’s he seem?”
“Fine. Good.” I picked at a thread on my sleeve. “He seems good.”
“Your mother is saying hi honey ,” he said, and I felt my shoulders go up before he even finished the sentence. “She wanted to know if you’d gotten there .”
“She could have called me herself.” Then I hissed
“Zee —”he said quietly
“Dad.”
“She misses you,” he said finally.
“I know,” I said. “I’ll call her when I’m ready.”
We talked for a few more minutes about nothing — his garden, my brother’s new job, the weather, and then said goodnight. I stayed at the window after the call ended, watching taillights and it was absolutely beautiful and I was so ready for what this place has for me and I hope it’s good.
I showered, changed, and climbed into the enormous bed with the softest covers.
I was almost asleep when my phone lit up on the nightstand. An unknown number.
So tell me exactly what you’re wearing.A pervy wrong number? I wiped my nose and typed: Your mom’s wedding dress and her favorite thong.
No more than five seconds went by before
Mr. Wrong Number texted:Um, what?
I texted: Seriously, babe, I thought you’d think it’s hot.
Mr. Wrong Number: “Babe”? Wtf?
That actually made me snort out a tiny laugh, the thought of some dude getting cold-showered via text. It was super weird that babe was where he was getting tripped up, as opposed to the monstrosity of an oedipal-lingerie suggestion, but he’d also used the tired what are you wearing line, so who could really say about a guy like that?
I texted: Would you prefer something less mommish?
Mr. Wrong Number: Oh, no—it sounds totally hot. You cool with me rocking cargo shorts, socks with sandals, and your dad’s jockstrap?
That made me smile in the midst of my full-on life collapse and resultant crying binge.
Me: I’m so turned on right now. Please tell me you’ll whisper dad jokes in my ear while we bonk.
Mr. Wrong Number: Yeah, baby jokes and weather anecdotes come fully loaded. And bonk is the sexiest word in the English language, btw.
Me: Agreed.
Mr. Wrong Number: I texted the wrong number, didn’t I?
Me: Yeah, you did. But go get after it, bud. Land that bonk.
Mr. Wrong Number: This is the weirdest text exchange I’ve ever had.
Me: Same. Good luck and good night.
Mr. Wrong Number: Thanks for the support, and good
night to you, as well.
That was really weird and that should be the last time we’re texting right ?
WRONG !!!
- Writer
