“Let’s go.” Clay grumbles when he comes out of the bedroom, dressed in jeans, a long sleeve shirt with a vest over it and boots.

I nod and grab my stuff from the counter then turn to wave at his friend when he says goodbye. When we leave his place, he leads me to an elevator, and we take it down to the first floor. I expect us to be in a lobby of some kind, but instead, the doors open, and I find that we’re in a warehouse that is still under construction; piles of drywall, buckets of paint and other items are scattered around the large, open space while plastic sheeting blows in the wind coming through the open windows.

“What is this place?”

“It used to be a factory, eventually the first three floors will be apartments.” Clay wraps his hand around my upper arm, helping me step over discarded pieces of wood with nails sticking out of them.

“The building owner let you move in with it looking like this down here? I feel like this is a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“I’m not planning on suing myself,” he says, and I glance up at him, which means I’m not watching where I’m going and end up stumbling slightly. Thankfully, he still has a hold of me, so I don’t fall on my face like I could have.

“Thank you.” I sigh then squeak when he stops and lifts me off my feet in one quick motion. Wrapping my arms around his neck on instinct, I blink as our eyes meet up close, caught off-guard by his nearness and just how pretty his eyes are. Not only are they a very unusual blue green but the lashes surrounding them are dark and long. Clearing my throat, I place one hand against his chest. “I can walk.”

“I’d rather not have you sue me when you break your pretty neck,” he mutters, stepping around a stack of paint cans. “Those shoes are dangerous.”

“No, they aren’t.” I look down at my boots. “They look high but that’s just an illusion.”

“Whatever you say.”

He reaches a set of metal double doors that curve at the top, then places me on my feet so he can open them. When we step out onto the sidewalk, I realize that we are near the river and an old train yard downtown.

“This way.” He points me to the right where there a few cars parked along the sidewalk, then takes his key out of his pocket and the lights on a red jeep that has been decked out flash.

When he opens the passenger door for me, I get in and look around. The vehicle is new, even the plastic mats on the floor are still covered with the paper from the dealership. Another mystery.

When he’s behind the wheel, I rattle off my address, then we sit in silence as he drives us across town. I want to ask about a million questions, but I get the feeling that he wouldn’t answer them, so I keep my mouth closed. Getting to my building doesn’t take long because traffic is so light, and when we arrive, he finds a place to park, and I start to tell him thank you for the ride but before I can even open my mouth, he’s out the door and slamming it shut.