In Pursuit

  In Pursuit

  Copyright © 2014 Olivia Luck

  Published by Olivia Luck

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: Olivia Luck 2014

  Publishing assisted by Black Firefly: http://www.blackfirefly.com/

  (Shedding light on your self-publishing journey)

  Editing: Lindsey

  Cover Design: Cover it! Designs

  Proofreading: Kyra

  Formatting by: http://www.blackfirefly.com/

  To JB, there would be no book without your love and support.

  I am my beloved and my beloved is mine.

  Is this really where I’m going to live? I eye the large building before me curiously, like it might disappear with a few more blinks.

  At seven this morning, movers arrived to pick up my few boxes. They sent them on a journey across the country to my new home on the tenth floor of the luxury condominium in Chicago’s elite River North neighborhood. A few hours after, my suitcases and I arrived in the Windy City, and took public transportation to our new residence. Now, I observe the building where I will live. According to my best friend, Sarah, the ritzy space was once the corporate headquarters to some company. Apparently, it was completely remodeled with all of the conveniences of a luxury apartment building.

  When I mentioned to Sarah that I secretly wanted to move away from the only home I’ve ever had, outside of Washington, DC, I never thought that she would have the perfect solution on hand. An old friend from her high school was looking for someone to share her gigantic two bedroom apartment. My concern that I couldn’t afford the posh living accommodations was quickly put to rest when I found out the girl owned it and wanted a roommate to split the assessment: a cool five hundred a month with some utilities included.

  I dig my phone out of my tote bag to double check the address. I know I’m in the right place, but I need to confirm it. I’m flipping through my emails when a shout and a squeal interrupt me.

  “Eddie, is that you?” I nearly drop my phone at the interruption. A leggy blonde is standing next to me with a large grin, displaying two, super straight rows of porcelain teeth. “I must seem like a crazy person, I’m sorry. It’s Claire. You are the cutest little thing!” Her smile is infectious, and it’s not long before I’m returning her beam.

  Of course, I already know this goddess is my new roommate, Claire Grant. I made Sarah show me all of her social media pages so I could get an understanding of her personality before I considered calling her to inquire about the apartment. The pictures didn’t do Claire justice, though. She is stunning and I feel like a dwarf standing next to her; a living, breathing Sleeping Beauty.

  It’s a Saturday in early July, so she’s not dressed for work; she's an attorney in a big, downtown firm that her family apparently formed many years ago. Claire’s sun-kissed legs are barely covered by frayed denim cutoffs, she’s wearing flat sandals, and is probably nine or ten inches taller than I am. Her perky breasts are contained by a tight knit tank top. Stick straight, platinum blonde hair falls far down her back, and pale gray eyes twinkle with mischief as she gives me a once over.

  I know I’m not ugly by any means. I’ve had some real and wannabe boyfriends, but under her perusal I feel uneasy. Quickly looking down, I assess my appearance. I’m wearing silky shorts that look like they were splattered with paint. Tiny flecks of blue, green, yellow, red, black and white decorate the shorts. I paired it with a gray t-shirt and flat sandals.

  Once satisfied, I realize I probably need to give her some sort of response, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “No, please ignore the shell shocked expression. I’m just overwhelmed. DC has a limit on building height, and I can’t imagine that this is where I’ll live.”

  What kind of thing was that to say?

  She laughs breezily and throws her arms around my shoulders in a tight hug. I return it with equal gusto and laugh happily as she twists us from side to side. “I’m so glad you’re here! Is this all of your stuff?”

  She releases me and after the interruption of a loud snuffle and swipe at her nose, glances down at the two suitcases, tote bag and oversized travel bag surrounding me.

  “All that I could get on the airplane. My boxes should be here by Wednesday at the latest. But I didn’t bring too much, I want to see what the shopping is like here in Chicago.”

  “Then I will definitely have to take you out. I know all the best stores. Obviously,” she gestures down to her outfit and rolls her expressive eyes. “I’m sorry I look like such a slob. Last night I was run ragged.”

  What does she mean by that? I think as I consider her. Though the outfit is casual, it’s easy enough to see that each piece is from a designer that I’ve been lusting after on some of the high end shopping websites. Her skin looks flawless and healthy; nothing but an all American supermodel roommate.

  “If this is what you look like after being run ragged, I’d love to see you after a full night’s rest.”

  “Aren’t you so sweet? Just like Sarah promised. She knows good people, so I’m not surprised.” Claire stoops down and grabs a handle of one of my rolling bags. “Let’s get you upstairs and show you your new place!”

  With a flick of her blonde tresses over her shoulder, she leads the way. I lift my other bags, and struggle through the revolving door in her wake. After I fight the suitcases around the impressive glass doors, I freeze. This has to be the most stunning lobby I’ve ever seen. Marble floors and overstuffed velour furnishings make the huge room feel sophisticated and contemporary.

  I scurry after Claire, to where she drapes a confident arm across the doorman’s desk.

  “Bernie, this is my new roommate, Eddie Neff.”

  An older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and dark mocha skin gives me a warm smile. “Hello there, Miss Eddie. What an unusual name for such a beautiful young lady.”

  I feel my cheeks turning rosy and I look down at my hands before forcing myself to meet his gaze. There’s no judgment that I don’t belong here amongst the city’s elite residents, only a warm and welcoming facial expression. I return his grin.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Bernie.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Claire smirking. Do manners make you not cool? I’ll have to ask Sarah later.

  “Remember, Bernie, she’s a single girl living in a new city, so make sure to watch out for her.” Claire emphasizes the word single, dredging up unwanted memories of an ex.

  No. I will not give him another thought. Just the image of my ex-boyfriend in my mind causes a shiver to roll through my shoulders.

  He nods affirmatively. “Of course. I will look after her, just like I would you.”

  Claire gives him a satisfied smile and we continue on our way. We travel through the mail room to stand before the elevators. She presses the call button.

  “The doormen are all pretty good, but some ar
e a little pervy. Like, if you’re wearing a low cut top, one of the doormen, Wallace, will check out your tits. He is the hot one, you’ll figure it out right away. Don’t be fooled by his friendliness, he just wants to bang you in the utility closet.” The elevator announces its arrival and we move inside. Light, classical music filters through speakers in the ceiling. “The reason I’m telling you this is because one of the tenants apparently blew him under his desk. It’s not confirmed, and the management probably doesn’t know, otherwise they’d fire his ass.”

  I hope that my face looks unaffected, because inside I am shocked. Apparently, Claire feels comfortable speaking to me like I would Sarah, rambling gossip as gospel. I guess familiarity is a good thing, but this seems fast, not following the typical way I operate. Inwardly I sigh. Now I feel judgmental for thinking that her friendliness is a bad thing. Instead of focusing on my wariness, I give a short laugh in response to her comment, because I’m not sure what to say. Claire seems open and friendly, that’s what I need to keep in mind.

  Once we arrive on the tenth floor, we cruise through the hallway to the apartment. Claire pulls out keys from her leather purse and opens the door with a flourish.

  “Welcome home, roomie!”

  I’m floored, probably partially because of the lovely, walnut wood floors before me. Large, maybe ten feet, floor to ceiling windows show off the Chicago skyline past the entryway. The view looks like it came straight from a postcard that I saw in the airport.

  After we make it through the foyer, there is a good-sized galley kitchen that opens to the rest of the living space. To the right of the spotless kitchen is a closed doorway.

  “Technically, an office,” Claire says, pointing. “But it’s never been used other than as a storage closet for winter boots and parkas.”

  Multiple parkas? I’m going to need another coat.

  With a grimace, she adds, “I’m sorry to say that this place doesn’t have a balcony. Only two units on each floor have one, and the ones with them are just too small to be livable. So I picked indoor square footage over a small outdoor space. When I need the sun I just go on the roof deck, or my brother’s pad down the street. He’s got an enormous private deck. It’s unreal, and he doesn’t care when I come to use it. You’re invited too, of course.”

  I try to keep up with her commentary, but I am too infatuated with my new living space to concentrate on her words. The living room has a tweed gray couch and two brown leather chairs. Colorful modern art adorns the walls.

  Claire pauses before a hallway that likely leads toward our bedrooms. “We have satellite TV with all the channels, oh, and I almost forgot, a security system.”

  She steers me back to the front and gives a quick tutorial of the tool. Once she’s satisfied that I learned to use it, we continue. “We rarely even use this thing, but my brother is big on safety. He’ll probably drop by every now and then, so don’t be alarmed if you see a tall blond guy in the kitchen drinking coffee. I don’t cook, by the way, do you?”

  My head is spinning with her river of words, but I manage to catch her asking about the kitchen. Now this is something I definitely excel at. “My dad is a hopeless chef, so I’ve always been the cook. I love it.”

  “Perfect! Then you can cook for us. Only if you’re not busy, of course.” Claire gives me another grin – I’m starting to think her smile must be trademarked, it’s that perfect – and we continue on the tour. “My room is down there.” She points to a closed doorway at the end of the hallway, stopping us in front of a gallery wall of framed pictures.

  One image in particular grabs my attention; it’s Claire and two guys who look so similar in coloring that they must be related to her. One is a young man: he’s tall above the others, has longish blonde hair and a wicked, teasing smile. Woah, he’s hot. The other member of the trio looks about Claire’s age, and his appearance is so similar to hers that they could almost be twins. Glee radiates from them, their arms are around each other’s shoulders, and they are all beaming the same grin. The photo must be at least ten years old, because Claire looks like she’s in high school.

  I want to study it longer, drawn in by the handsome, smiling guy, but an impatient hand taps my shoulder, demanding my attention.

  “Welcome to your new life.” Claire nudges me toward a closed door.

  She’s right on so many more levels than she knows – I came here for a dramatic shift in my personal and professional life.

  With a deep breath, I move forward.

  Here goes nothing.

  “Voila!” She thrusts open the door to my bedroom I follow behind my roommate with the mile long legs.

  “Wow,” I whisper in awe. It’s like whoever designed this bedroom knew my exact design esthetic. As an interior designer, while I am happy to create colorful homes with bright patterns, funky carpets and furniture, I prefer the cool and classic look. The queen size bed has soft, gray fabric upholstery highlighted with tufting. Crisp white lines with pale orange stripes brighten up the space.

  “This is too much,” I say softly.

  “Bathroom, closet.” Claire points at the doors and either ignores me or doesn’t hear what I’ve said. She plops my bag down, and I do the same with the items I’m carrying. I venture forward to scope out an organized walk in closet and a spacious bathroom.

  “Want some company while you unpack?” Before I can say yes, she takes it upon herself to flop down across the bed with a dramatic sigh. “I am too wrecked to do anything but relax. I was up all night.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at me, and I can’t contain the giggle that trickles out.

  “Doing what?” If she can be familiar, so can I. While we chat, I begin the lengthy process of releasing my material possessions from their zippered cage.

  “Whom, not what, Eddie. Just this guy, a fun time fuck.” I hear vibration, and look up from my task to see Claire’s thumbs flying across the screen of her smartphone as she texts. The room is silent for a few minutes as I put away my clothes, makeup and other pieces from my life before Chicago. I think that Claire must have fallen asleep until she asks, “Do you have a portfolio?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I pull the black, leather bound book out of my tote bag. I toss it to her gently and she rolls on her stomach, feet kicked up in the air.

  “So you decorate homes, mostly?”

  “Those are the best jobs for me to get,” I tell her. “But I also have a blog, and through that I pick up a lot of virtual clients. I help them design from afar.”

  “You’re good.” She puts an emphasis the word good, and I feel happiness spread through me. I could get used to this sort of positive reinforcement. “What’s the name of your blog?” She drops the book and picks up her phone again.

  “Oh, um, I call it Your Perfect Place.”

  Her fingers fly across the screen, then she flashes me a grin. “I’m going to follow you by email now.”

  “Cool. Thanks.” I’m a little uncomfortable with her reading through my posts while I stand before her. I keep my blog as anonymous as possible, and my private life mostly off limits.

  “So, that means you’ll need some new clients, I bet,” Claire says thoughtfully.

  “Probably, if I want to kept my basic needs met,” I say lightly even though it’s pretty much true. My expensive university loans won’t pay themselves. “Honestly, though, that’s one of the main reasons I’m here. I was sick of working for junior politicos and yuppies that wanted colonial chic. Looking for new professional challenges.”

  “Hm,” Claire mumbles to herself. “I’ve got it! My best friend Amanda needs someone to redo her guestrooms. I’m sending her your information right now. She basically does whatever I tell her, so you’ll get a new client by the beginning of the week.”

  I laugh and look over toward Claire. She gives me a wink over her shoulder.

  “I would love that. Thank you, Claire. You have already been so kind to me, I don’t know I can ever repay you.”

>   “Don’t even go there! Any friend of Sarah’s is a friend of mine. You know we went to camp together, right?”

  I nod my acknowledgment.

  “So then you know we go way back, and I trust her.”

  “Yeah.”

  She bounces on the bed, jumping up into a sitting position. “Anyway, Amanda is super social and will tell all of her über wealthy friends about you, and make herself look good. See? This benefits everyone.” With that she closes the topic and moves on to another one that has her eyes gleaming excitedly. “Tell me more about you.”

  “There’s not too much tell,” I murmur, feeling a rush of gratitude toward Claire. This type of connection is the boost my career needs.

  “Start with your family and go from there.”

  “It’s just me and my dad. My mom died when I was a baby.”

  I’d rather not go into the details of her death, because I barely knew them myself. Lauren Neff, my mom, died during my birth, although my dad has never shared extensive information with me. I had to steal tidbits from my grandparents, and they didn’t know much themselves. Seven months into the pregnancy, she went into an early labor. At the time, my grandparents were out of the state on a rare vacation. The tragedy occurred so quickly that they weren’t able to make it back in time. It’s easier to tell new friends this up front rather than wait for the uncomfortable question later down the road.

  Claire gasps and rushes off the bed, racing over to envelop me in her arms.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  I relish in the attention, but then pull back. Even though talking about my mom this way makes me sad, I can’t help but feel a grin tug at my lips. Claire has that impact on me.

  “You weren’t to know, don’t worry about it. Anyway,” I turn from her and walk into the deep closet to hang dresses. “I grew up in Virginia, and went to GW Arts Academy, where I met Sarah. This is my first time living on my own, although at times it felt that way growing up because my dad worked nights as a cop.”