She didn’t bother to come out of her room when, an hour later, she heard Brad’s voice. He obviously meant what he’d said the night before. He didn’t want to be with her.
Good-byes never accomplished anything. Not one breakup had ever made her feel better about it, no matter how well she and the guy had behaved. So how should she feel about a breakup with someone she had not even had a real relationship with?
Cheated. She felt cheated.
***
“Hello, Georgiana. Sorry to wake you but you did promise.”
Georgie sat up in bed, cell phone in hand, and squinted at her clock. Six a.m. “Oh, hi, Frank. What did I promise?”
“To come and take a look at my apartment.”
“Now?” She rubbed the sleep from one eye.
“How about in an hour? I want you to record the views from the balcony in the morning. It’s glorious. Do you have something to write on? I’ll give you the address.”
Thirty minutes later, she was slipping out her door. The new agent was in the shower. She hadn’t told him she was leaving but he didn’t tell her not to. So, technically, she was not breaking protocol. And she hadn’t switched on her wire. She needed a little private time with a friend.
She was in a cab before she let out a breath. Brad wouldn’t have been that easy to get around. But Brad, and Zander, were out of her life for good.
It wasn’t until the taxi pulled up in front of the Watergate Complex that Georgie realized that this was the address Frank had given her. How funny. And weird. Apartments in this building ran into the millions. Did Frank have that kind of money? And, if so, why spend it on a place he wouldn’t live …
Georgie’s thoughts scurried away from the end of that thought. Whatever made Frank happy these days was okay with her. Dreams were a hard-won commodity in his life. He had been limping yesterday, the pain evident in his face when he thought no one was looking.
Frank was standing out front waiting for her.
Georgie took several shots of him as she approached. He struck a Vanna White pose, one hand on his hip as he twisted, arched his back, his arm lifted up and out as if presenting to her the building behind him.
Georgie laughed. “You can’t be serious?”
“Au contraire. I’ve never been more serious.” He waved a passkey at her.
“Have you been holding out on me? Are you a trust-fund baby or something?”
“Or something.” He motioned for her to go ahead of him. “Top floor, Georgiana. Unobstructed direct river view. Twenty-four-hour concierge. Doorman. Shopping. Restaurants. I’m telling you, the last days of my life will be legendary.”
She led the way into the lobby with a doubtful expression. The doorman smiled and the concierge did the same. No one asked to see ID or her credentials, something almost unheard of in today’s D.C. Once out of the elevator they stepped into a gently curving hallway.
“Right over here.” He pressed numbers into a keypad and then pushed open the doors on a fantasy condo right out of Architectural Digest. He led the tour himself, proudly showing off teakwood closets and marble tubs. Expensive, certainly, but the decor struck Georgie as wrong. The space was bright and spectacular, open and flowing. Yet the furnishings were traditional, overstuffed, and fussy with braid and gilt wood. Walking through the spacious rooms, the styles changed from French to modern to Baroque. It was nothing like the casual, cozy house Frank and his wife had shared on a cul-de-sac in Georgetown. To Georgie’s mind the worst offenders were the ornate crystal chandeliers and gilt trimming of the living room and dining room ceilings and fireplace, as well as the gold knobs and faucets in the white kitchen. It was as if a kid had put together all her favorite things without the aid of adult judgment.
When the tour was done Frank turned to her with a sly smile. “Your opinion?”
“It’s nice. But a bit ostentatious, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s butt ugly. Fake Federalist meets Louis XIV lite.” Frank winked, at least his lid flickered and he grimaced. “It’s a loan from friends who are in Europe for the summer. Some diplomatic appointment. I’m occupying it for the short term. I’m to water the flowers and walk the dog while they’re away.”
Georgie’s smile was less about the joke than the strange goofy tone of Frank’s voice. “There’s a dog?”
“A figure of speech. It would have been the perfect apartment to fulfill Mia’s lottery dream, don’t you think? And wait until you see the view.”
Georgie couldn’t agree more. Whatever the shortcomings of the decorator’s—or the owners’—taste, the view was to die for.
Frank unlocked the balcony door and then began patting his pockets. “Damn. Forgot my phone. Can I borrow yours? I have to check in with the office.”
“Sure.” Georgie handed hers over after unlocking it.
“Go ahead outside. I’ll be with you in a sec.” He turned back to the living room, punching numbers.