I step out and turn back around as he holds the door open. "Mildly," I say with an air of nonchalance. "I hope you stay awhile. It would be nice to get to know you better."
He raises his eyebrows at my sincerity and inclines his head. "I would like that very much. I will stay as long you like." He grins at me, lets go of the elevator and the doors close. I turn on my heel and head into my apartment to shower and change.
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
P ulling on my coat and doing up the buttons and belt, I leave the apartment with Scott for the New York Office, located a short walk away. I slip my phone into my pocket, while Scott takes my briefcase from me.
"Are you okay?" he asks hesitantly.
I glare at him, unfairly. "Just fine," I say.
He nods, not believing me for a second.
We stop for coffee at the cart on the corner, and I order a black coffee.
"I'll have the same. And she's buying," a serious monotone comes from behind me. For a split second I freeze, before I nonchalantly turn around and say, "You have some serious stalker issues."
His grey eyes twinkle momentarily but close off again as he stares at me flatly. "I could say the same for you. This is my city. Last time I saw you, you were headed for Los Angeles."
"Your city? Last I checked it was a free country," I reply. We take our beverages and step away from the cart. I glance at Scott, tilting my head. He nods and focuses his gaze on Cade.
Cade gives me a scathing look and says, "But clearly not your country."
I glare back at him. How dare he? I have been in America twice as long as he has been alive. Not being able to say that though, I try for the subtler, "That's some assumption coming from someone who doesn't even know my name."
"Well?" he says.
"Well, what?" I snap.
"What is your name?"
"My name, Mr. Cade, is Liv," I say haughtily, with every ounce of British I can muster into my accent.
"Just Cade," he says.
"Like just Cher?" I mock, catching him off guard. He smiles briefly. "As much as I would love to stand on this corner and chat all day, I have work to get to," I say.
"I'll walk with you,” he responds. “Which way are you going?"
Catching me by surprise now, I point and start walking, leaving Scott to follow in our wake.
"So, what are you doing in New York?" he asks casually.
"Working."
"So you said," he says dryly. "What do you work at?"
"Real Estate. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"I have investments all over the place, but my actual job is in property. You?"
"Me?"
"What do you work at?" I ask impatiently.
"I’m in the business of finding things," he says mysteriously