“Need any help?” James stands a few feet away while I unload everything on the gray concrete.
“All good.” I force a half-smile.
I notice several files the size of a legal pad in James’ hand. He tucks them under his arm when he catches me eyeing them. They’re not completely hidden, but I don’t think he plans on sharing their contents with me.
“The elevator is against the back wall.” James heads away from the car and me. Instead of walking beside me, he has me tagging behind him. He gets off on being the lead and controlling the situation. I hold back a smile when I think about him discovering Harlow has left his sorry ass. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
Ahead, I spot a pair of shiny elevator doors and see a warped version of my reflection in the buffed silver. James arrives ahead of me and pushes the up button. As I walk to meet him, the silver door parts and we enter into a cherry wood lined lift with glossy marble floors. Every inch of this place reminds me of Manhattan so far.
“Once we get upstairs, I’ll give you a tour of the penthouse.” James underscores the last word as he inserts a white key card and pushes the button labeled PH. “I think you’ll find the place more to your taste compared to my home in the country.”
“I’m sure.” I won’t though, because someone is missing. “So, do you spend much time here?”
James has kept his life closed off, hidden away like the damn folders he’s clutching under his arm. Even my grandmother didn’t know he was acting obsessive again. Who would expect a renowned physician to need more help than his patients?
I’m trying to pry any details out of him—ones that seem innocuous, though I hope I can find a path to lead them to Harlow. I still can’t wrap my head around their relationship; or more, his side of it. She was at the lowest point in her life with no one to help her. Lost and afraid, she was the perfect victim for him to abuse. I can’t frame it any other way. James appeared in her hour of need like a white knight, but how did he know? And why would he care about a woman nearly half his age?
“I used to live here full-time. You’ll see why soon. It’s like a piece of the Big Apple in Rochester.” He gives me facts, but nothing more. What made him leave? Was there a dark motive behind his move to the country estate? Getting information out of him is harder than catching a cab in Manhattan on a rainy day. I will go with his flow and hope he slips me a morsel or two. No need to get him suspecting I’m not on his side. He will find that out soon enough.
I stand beside him in the elevator and notice our joint reflection on the metal doors. Our shoulders hit at the same height. Our builds look remarkably similar. Even our feet are opened in the same position and angle. From the neck down, a person might think we are twins. But our hearts our different, and I pray mine reflects love and kindness. I never gave much thought to my heart’s condition until I made this trip.
The elevator’s ascent slows and stops. The doors open and I wait for James to exit. I pull my luggage down the lush carpeted hallway, the walls lined with the same dark wood from the elevator. Something about the décor and its mix of patterns reminds me of his home—classic and clean lines with expensive finishes.
We don’t pass any other doors while walking to the end of the hallway. I glance over my shoulder and spot only one other door at the opposite end. Two apartments on the entire floor. James’ place must be huge, which makes me even more surprised he moved. He could walk to work in under five minutes versus the twenty-minute drive.
James presses a few buttons on a metal panel and the over-eight-foot-tall door clicks open.
“Welcome,” James says while pushing the door wider and holding it for me to enter. I ease my belongings over the threshold and shake my head.
“Wow.” In shock, the word escapes my mouth before I can stop it. The last thing I want is James thinking I’m in awe. I am more surprised. The place looks so New York City, I half expect to see the top of the Empire State Building or 30 Rock out the window instead of The Clinics’ tower. The apartment reminds me of a friend’s apartment in SoHo close to the East Village with its large loft with brick exposed walls and fine art work placed in strategic locations to keep the eye moving.
“I have to agree.” A smug grin slides across James’ face. Pompous ass. “Just set your things down here.”
I push the luggage near an entrance table out of the way. With my hands empty, I turn and scan the living area. Couches and chairs with straight lines mix with tables of distressed wood. Add the brick backdrop and it defines modern contemporary.
“So, really, after living in New York City for years and then here, why move to cow pastures?” I prod him one more time.
“I’ve only lived there six months. Another doctor built it but moved after living there a year. I got it for a steal.” Again, facts, but no true reasons.