He let out a “Ha!” at this, and I looked toward him, grinning.

“I’m not kidding,” I insisted. “I would date these floors.”

I walked to the wall of windows, and he followed a few paces behind. The view stretched deep into New Jersey and then down the river, toward where the Statue of Liberty stood, still and stoic.

“It’s weird—I can actually see my old apartment from this view.” He pointed south toward Tribeca.

“Why’d you move?” I asked, genuinely curious. You’d have to drag me kicking and screaming from living in an apartment on the water.

“My ex-wife got it in the divorce.”

Ex-wife. Well, this was interesting. Hayes Montgomery had a past. He’d been married. Imagining him twirling a bride on the dance floor, beaming in a tuxedo, settling into a home, shopping for plates and silverware—it twisted something in me that I couldn’t identify. Maybe jealousy, possibly sadness. Probably a little bit of both.

I turned to look at him, assuming he’d be facing away from me, but instead he met my gaze, intently, cheeks flushed. I just nodded. I didn’t judge anyone for relationships ending, and I wanted to make sure he knew it.

“And you owned that place?” I asked, turning back to admire the view.

“We did,” he said matter-of-factly. Another interesting tidbit. A past and money. I mean, I guess I knew that from the way he’d tossed a six-hundred-dollar jacket at me like it was a tissue, but still. It prickled, remembering that this guy was someone. He had a successful business, a cushy bank account; even having an ex-wife felt like an accomplishment. Like he had something to show for all the living he’d done.

It all made me feel uncomfortably small, with not much to show for myself.

He motioned for me to take a seat in one of the plastic folding chairs that had been set up around a larger table placed near the entrance, a makeshift reception area. I sat down gingerly and balanced myself on the edge of the chair just so, painfully aware of his eyes on me. Because they were beautiful eyes, and also because I needed to impress him and land this job. I pulled out my laptop, opening a document to take notes. I tried to discreetly wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans before turning my attention to him.

“Eleanor just texted me. Her doctor’s appointment ran late, but she’s on her way,” he said, glancing up from his phone.

“Do you want to wait for her to start?” I asked, my fingers perched on the keys, back straight. My grandmother had always made a point of correcting my posture, and now I did it to myself whenever I was nervous.

“I think we can just get into it.”

I nodded and sat up straighter.