Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,52

it.

“You’ll see.” His hand tightens on mine as he swings open his door and steps out of the car. I follow because, well, I don’t really have any other choice. My feet have barely cleared the car when Chase starts walking, towing me behind him at a quick clip toward a bank of elevators on the far side of the garage.

“I don’t think I like you,” I mutter darkly to his shoulder blades.

He glances back at me, a full-on grin on his face, and as soon as I catch sight of that straight row of pearly whites — so often concealed behind his stony mask of composure — I feel a little of my indignation slide away.

What can I say? He gives good grin, even when he’s dragging me around like a caveman.

We’ve almost reached the elevators when I look back over my shoulder at the town car, my only chance of escape dwindling faster than my will to fight for it. Evan hasn’t moved, leaning against the hood like he’s never been more relaxed in his life. He winks at me and grins reassuringly when he catches my eyes.

I’m glad one of us is at ease with all of this, because I’m certainly not.

I don’t even have time to smile back, because the elevator’s sliding open with a low chime and suddenly, I’m out of the parking lot and inside yet another floating metal box with a bossy billionaire I’d like to kick swiftly in the shins, at the moment, fed up with his brutish tendencies.

Chase pulls a keychain from his pocket, slides a small access key into the button marked 30 — the penthouse — and up we go, neither of us saying a word as we ascend. We glide to a stop, the doors peel open, and I feel my eyes widen as they sweep the low-lit space.

Chase’s apartment.

Chapter Seventeen

Butterflies

It’s huge, probably almost 10,000 square feet, taking up the entire 30th floor of the skyscraper.

Floor length windows cover every out-facing wall of the loft, which stretches from where we’re standing more than fifty feet across in every direction. There’s more behind us, I’m sure of it, but I can barely process what’s in front of me, so I purposefully don’t turn around as we step from the elevator.

To my surprise, it has none of the coldness of Brett’s whitewashed, modern apartment. Instead, Chase’s space is full of color — the shining hardwood floors are deep mahogany, almost auburn in the dim light, offsetting the warm, cream-toned slivers of wall that peek out between the dominating glass window panels. His furniture isn’t sharp or angular; it’s sumptuous. One look at his sofa and I know it’ll feel like I’m sitting on a cloud.

The loft is sparsely furnished — unsurprising; you’d need a helluva lot of stuff to make this much room seem cluttered — but that’s part of its appeal. I step further inside, my hand dropping away from Chase’s, and let my eyes sweep as I pivot in a slow circle on my heels, finally taking in the 360-degree view.

Behind us, in the space beside the elevator, is a wide, open archway leading into what looks like a ginormous bedroom. Even from here, in the semi-dark, I can make out the shadow of a huge headboard, illuminated by the rainy afternoon light which pours in from Chase’s adjacent private rooftop balcony. I want to focus on the ocean views, on the fact that he’s got a freaking patio 30 floors above the earth, but my rounded eyes seem to be stuck on the bed, sliding from black sheets to black pillows…

Gemma!

Time to move on.

Fighting a blush, my gaze skitters quickly back to the main room before I can dwell too much on the activities that happen inside Chase’s bedroom. On the left, set into the floor, there’s a sunken set of couches that could seat a ridiculous number of people, surrounding a stunning, square coffee table that, if I’m not mistaken, actually has a low-burning gas fireplace embedded in the center.

I roll my eyes, and when they return from their trip up inside my sockets, they land on a dark, custom-colored pool table tucked into one corner, then skirt over an imposing oak dining table that makes the one in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper look like plastic kiddie seating. I totally ignore the sheer number of bookshelves lining the far wall, even though I’m itching to explore them, because, well, as everyone knows, if the way