Read Choose Me (The Me Novellas) for Free Online Page B

striped bar lifted, allowing us access to the garage. He parked and, after grabbing my bags, crossed the garage, making our way toward a set of double doors. The lobby of the building looked like a hotel lobby, with sitting areas filled with overstuffed arm chairs and coffee tables, thick area rugs positioned over the polished floor.
    Lance led me to a bank of elevators. He punched the button for the tenth floor, the doors opened and we stepped inside. The elevator rocketed upward. I gripped the railing to steady myself.
    A quick left down the hall and he stopped at the second black door and inserted his key.
    “Home sweet home,” he announced, throwing the door open and ushering me inside.
    My eyes widened in surprise.
    A spacious apartment greeted us, decorated sleek and modern. Black leather couches, a round glass-top coffee table. A massive flat-screen TV mounted on one wall, a series of black and white photographs on another. A bank of windows offered a view of downtown DC, the Washington Monument visible behind the buildings across the street.
    Lance was doing well for himself. Really well.
    “This is amazing,” I said, swiveling so I could take in the whole space.
    “Pretty nice, right?” he said, grinning.
    “Did you win some big playwright prize I don’t know about?” I asked. I couldn’t begin to imagine how much a place like this would cost.
    He laughed. “Not even close.”
    He rolled my suitcase across the wood floor and into the bedroom. The only bedroom.
    “I’ll sleep on the couch,” I offered.
    Lance shook his head. “No way. You’re a guest. And guests get the master suite.”
    I peeked my head through the open doorway. A king-sized bed with a black leather headboard, a black and silver satin comforter stretched across it. A black dresser and matching nightstands, each sporting nickle-plated lamps. More black and white photographs grouped on the walls but these were candids. Pictures of Lance and his friends in DC, in New York, on the beach. Photos of Lance with his family—I remembered his parents—and with another man, dark-haired and slightly older.
    “I can’t,” I started to protest but he stopped me by holding up his hand.
    “I insist.” He set my bag on the bed. “The bottom drawer of the dresser is empty. And there are hangers in the closet you can use.”
    I looked at him. “Thank you.”
    His eyes crinkled as a smile stretched across his face. “You’re welcome. I’m glad to see you, Meg. It’s been too long.”
    It really had.
    “I’m going to make dinner reservations,” he said. “Why don’t you unpack? Shower if you need to.”
    “Are you sure? You don’t have to entertain me.”
    “Please.” He rolled his eyes. “I plan to entertain you and take care of you the whole time you’re here. End of discussion.”
    I sighed. “Fine. Only if you promise me something.”
    He waited.
    “Promise me you’ll tell me how you afford this. And promise you’ll help me figure out a way to not kill Yuri when I see him.”
    He laughed. “Done.”
     

NINE
     
     
    An hour later, Lance and I were on the streets of DC, heading toward Wisconsin Avenue. The night was warm and muggy, reminiscent of a summer afternoon in Minneapolis. The sidewalks teemed with people and traffic clogged the narrow streets. Everyone was on overdrive, hustling and bustling. Even people walking their dogs seemed to be in a hurry.
    “Where is everyone going?” I asked, watching as people flew by.
    “Dinner. Shopping. Home.”
    “Do they always move this fast?” I asked as a man and woman holding hands hurried by.
    Lance laughed. “Yes. DC is like Minneapolis on steroids.”
    We walked a few blocks until we got to a small Italian restaurant storefront tucked in the middle of a building. A large woman wearing a white apron stood in the front window, slowly cranking a pasta machine. I glanced up at the sign. Filomena’s.
    “How does Italian food sound?” Lance asked.
    It sounded and smelled