Page 62 of Open for Negotiation

“Better go before you make enemies out of these people.” I smile and settle back in my seat.

Ten minutes later, we are climbing out of the car in front of a large, three-story Victorian style home.

“Oh my God. This is beautiful.” I stare up in awe. “Is this your place? The whole thing?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t own any property here, and this is an older home that’s been renovated into three different apartments. I know the owner. When I come here, I always rent out the top floor from her.” He reaches into the back seat and grabs our overnight bags.

“I can take mine.” I reach out for him to hand it to me.

“Absolutely not.”

“Listen here, Maxwell Duke. I’m an independent, modern woman and I absolutely do not need you to carry my bag for me. Stop being so chivalrous and let me do some things for myself.” I shake my hand at him for effect. “Give it, please.”

“You’re exasperating sometimes. Did you know that?” He laughs, passing my bag to me reluctantly.

“So I’ve been told many times, even by you, sir.”

We climb the front steps and he enters a code on a keypad secured on the wall by the door before pushing it open.

When we step inside, we’re greeted by a long hallway with beautiful wooden floors that leads toward a huge, narrow staircase.

“There isn’t an elevator, so we’ll be hoofing it up the stairs. You okay with that?” he asks me.

“Of course. That’s perfectly fine.”

The walls are white with perfectly carved crown molding. There’s only one door on this floor besides the exit and it’s decorated with a large, golden 1.

“We’re up on the third floor. Be careful, though, okay? These stairs, well everything out in the main area really, are original. They are pretty narrow and steep.”

“I’ll watch my step.”

I slide my hand up the smooth, polished handrail, taking each step with caution. I love the smell of this building. Historic structures have a certain essence about them. You can’t help but think about all the different people who walked these halls, climbed these stairs, slept in these rooms. There’s so much history, so much energy, coursing through the air. I’m thriving on it.

When we finally reach the top floor, we stop in front of the sole, black door at the top of the stairs.

“Home sweet home for the weekend,” Max says, typing in a different code into the keypad, letting us into our apartment for the next two days.

“Oh… wow.”

I stand just inside the doorway, taking it all in.

It’s not a large apartment by any means, but it’s so quaint and charming.

There’s a large dining room table in the center of the room as soon as you walk in, framed by an inlet with huge floor-to-ceiling windows and a stunning chandelier hanging above.

I take a step farther in and to the left is a small kitchen with a small gas stove, stainless steel refrigerator, and white-and-black tiled floors with very tall, beautiful gray cabinets with gold hardware.

“Max, this place is amazing.”

“It gets better.” He waves me toward him, beckoning me to follow him to the right and farther into the apartment.

The center room houses two, blue velvet sofas, facing one another with a coffee table in between and a television mounted to the wall on the left above a fireplace. There’s a bookcase along the right-hand wall, lined with books from every genre. I want to open them up and sniff the pages. There’s nothing like a physical book in your hands.

“This is the living area, and I know those couches don’t look comfortable, but they are, trust me.”

“They look amazing, and the color is perfect. It fits.”

We keep walking through and into the hallway, stopping by to peek in the bathroom, and I gasp at the steamer shower and rain showerhead.

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