Finn clicked his pen, once, twice, three times. “We think so.” Click. “We understand the current commute to and from Port Authority isn’t ideal. So, for those willing to make the longish trip in exchange for living in a luxury apartment set in a more remote area, we’re partnering with the ShortLine bus.” Click. “The partnership includes a shuttle directly from the building to various access points in the city, with multiple trips every weekday morning and evening. And since the land runs parallel to a Metro-North line, my boss is in talks with the MTA about eventually building a rail station.” Click. Click.

I glared at his pen, willing Finn to get the message without requiring me to rip the writing instrument out of his hand.

He set the pen down. Message received.

They were big—his hands—but not grotesquely so, with long fingers. Were they rough or soft? Before I could leap across the desk to find out, I buried my own hands under my butt. Someone needs to get laid. “Will there be an additional cost for this shuttle?”

“Nope,” he said with a shake of his head. “It will be built into the annual maintenance fees or monthly rent, along with access to the pool on the roof and complimentary wine and cheese every weekday afternoon for all tenants.”

I blinked. It sounded amazing. There had to be a catch. “How much are the units going for?”

“A one-bedroom in a place like this would cost about three quarters of a million in Manhattan. Here, prices start at two hundred fifty thousand to buy and fifteen hundred a month to rent.” He paused for my reaction, looking pleased, like a kid who’d won his school district’s spelling bee.

“Do you live in the city?” I asked, confirming what I already knew. What had I been smoking when I thought he was a modest, straightforward, randomly hot-as-fuck small-town man? This guy before me? He reeked of “expert of all things, knows he’s sexy, gets a lot of tail, girls always swipe right” big-city dude.

“Yup. I’m subletting my place on the Upper West Side while I’m here.”

“I guess you’ve had the pizza and been to McSorley’s, then?” I freed my hands from under my tush and slid farther down my chair.

“I’ve even had bagels. Oh, and there’s a diner in my neighborhood that makes homemade cherry pie to die for, in case you’re still craving it when you get home. Apple too.” His face shone with amusement.