Page 35 of Flawed

"Who paid for it?" I ask.

He groans. "Ma'am, that's not my department. Every moment you stall makes me miss another minute with my four kids."

Guilt fills me. I cave and unlock the door. My stomach growls. I grab a pack of crackers and go to the window, watching three men unload covered furniture from the truck. I grasp the wall, steadying myself, and shove crackers into my mouth, barely tasting them.

Several minutes later, there's a knock on my door.

I peek through the peephole, verify it's the delivery guys, and open the door. I try again, "I didn't order anything."

A man who I assume is Bill has a clipboard, beer gut, and sweat dripping down his face. He scowls, shakes his head, and questions, "Do we need to go over this again?"

I open my mouth and then shut it.

He holds the clipboard out in front of me. He points to a line with an X, demanding, "Sign here."

I glance at my living room then ask him, "I don't have room for it."

"We have instructions to discard your furniture," he replies.

Still unsure what's going on and what to do, I fret, "What if I don't like the new stuff?"

He gazes over my shoulder at my furniture and gives me an exasperated look. "Pretty sure that will be impossible."

I could be annoyed by his obvious observation about my shabby pieces, but I'm suddenly too hungry and emotionally drained to fight anymore.

He taps the pen on the paper and arches his eyebrows.

I sigh then take the pen and sign. I step back and open my door. I go to the kitchen, grab a banana and bottle of water, sit at the table, and watch.

Within minutes, a plush sectional couch is carried in. It's the shape of an L and has the softest black leather I've ever felt. The movers return with an oversized matching ottoman and chair.

When my furniture is in the hallway, I go to the door and say, "Thank you. How do I figure out who this is from?" It's a stupid question to ask. I already know Luca's the only person who could have sent this to me. Still, I want to be sure, and maybe the furniture store will have his information on file.

"Diana takes most of the orders, but she won't tell you anything. She's as tight-lipped as they come. But don't lock us out. We haven't brought the rest up," Bill informs me and moves toward the elevator.

More?

I return to the window and watch them unload more furniture. I'm suddenly overwhelmed, and so many questions pummel me.

They return with a gorgeous pewter and ornate black wall unit. It has shelves, drawers, and a large space for a TV.

A red-headed man named Matt and a dark-haired man named Lou bring in two coffee tables that match the wall unit.

Bill sets a big-screen TV on the wall unit and orders Matt, "Set it up."

Matt gets to work and then shows me how the remote works, but I can barely focus because Bill and Lou bring a black wooden kitchen table and leather dining room chairs into the apartment.

"Please tell me that's it," I state, not understanding why Luca would write me a goodbye letter and then refurnish my apartment. My boss Massimo takes good care of me. He often sends me extravagant thank-you gifts or gives me big bonuses, but this is out of my comfort zone.

"Don't sound so grateful," Bill mumbles, hauling two of my old chairs out the door. He comes back in, helps Lou finish the removal, then pulls his clipboard out of his back pocket, and flips the page. He steps in front of me. "Everything up to your standards?"

I gaze around my apartment. It feels like I stepped into someone else's place. I utter, "Yes."

"Great. Sign here." He shoves the pen and clipboard at me.

"Boss, we forgot these," Matt calls out, then steps into my apartment with two large bags. The other man follows him, carrying a few boxes.

"What are those?" I ask.

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