Julian lived in a high-rise in Greenwich Village, not terribly far from Rafi’s condo in the Meatpacking District. The building was one of the gaudiest, most overblown architectural mistakes Rafi had ever seen, scrollwork and wrought iron and nonsense. He curled his lip in disgust, already wanting to go back to his condo with its clean, square lines and straight white furniture. He’d had visitors call his place cold, before, but Rafi disagreed. It was open, it was fresh and light, it was elegant in its simplicity.
Bo had loved it.
Rafi shook his head, hard, and stepped inside the pretentious building. He wasn’t here to judge Julian’s taste, and anyway, his own apartment within the building might be done very differently.
But when the doorman sent Rafi up, and he stepped out of the elevat
