Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,55

lived in denim and flannel would have much beyond a lumpy sofa and huge flat-screen TV.

But she’d forgotten that she was dealing with one of the world’s most in-demand contractors, not to mention a guy who wore a tux very nicely when he put his mind to it.

“It’s stunning,” Claire said, as Scott wheeled her suitcase through the front door. Bob was already running circles around the place, seeming adorably excited to have Claire in her space for once.

“Thanks,” he said, not bothering to deny that his apartment was a work of art.

“No, I mean . . .” She spun around, taking in the high ceilings, the entire wall of windows. “Wow. I guess I should have known what to expect when you punched the button for the penthouse.”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t like having neighbors. The penthouse means I don’t have to share walls, just a floor with someone else’s ceiling.”

“Your apartment takes up the whole floor?” she asked, going to the windows and taking in the unobstructed view of the Hudson.

“Yeah. The building’s one of Oliver’s.”

She spun around. “Really?”

“Yup. He designed it a couple of years ago. The management company mostly does high-rises, but they’d bought this building before the neighborhood was cool. It’s only eighteen floors, which, anywhere else on the island would have you staring in your neighbor’s windows, but this is far enough west that it works.”

“I’d say it more than works.” Claire turned away from the windows and headed to the enormous open kitchen. “If my kitchen turns out even half as fabulous as this, I’ll be one indebted lady.”

“It will be. Smaller. But it’s coming along.”

“It’s so bright in here,” she said, turning in a full circle. “You must think I’m nuts to be living in that little house with almost zero natural light and nosy neighbors on all sides.”

Scott shook his head. “Not really. I get the appeal of those old brownstones. You’ve just got to get ’em right, and we will.”

She nodded, as she ran a finger over the granite countertop, which was completely clear of any clutter, dirty dishes, or a stack of mail. “You’re tidy.”

“I am. Though I had my cleaning lady come by to make sure about those guest sheets I promised.”

“Right. Point me toward the right room. Where should I put my bag?”

Scott gestured down the hall. “Either door. Both have beds, though I recommend the one on the right. Better view, and the bathroom’s connected.”

She frowned. “Is that the master bedroom?”

“Nope, that’s that way.” He pointed to the left. “Though you’re welcome to it—”

“No,” she said quickly. She absolutely did not want to sleep in Scott’s bed without him in it. Not that she wanted to sleep in his bed with him in it. She just . . .

“Your place has three bedrooms?” she blurted out, trying to steer her thoughts elsewhere.

“Four. One’s an office,” he said, going to the fridge and pulling out a glass carafe of water that was surprisingly fancy for a guy living alone. Or maybe not. Maybe she should learn to stop being surprised where Scott was concerned.

Per his suggestion, Claire took the guest room to the right. It was decorated simply, but definitely decorated. At first glance, the white bedspread and basic platform bed looked sparse, the no-nonsense nightstands like they’d been ordered online, sight unseen. But having spent a lot of time looking at home details these past few months, Claire saw beyond that to the industrial-chic lamps on the nightstand, the plush gray area rug beneath the bed, the sketches of bridges on the wall hung just so to look unintentional and yet as though they belonged there.

She stuck her head out into the main room. “You hire a decorator?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s really good,” Claire said, joining him in the kitchen.

“He. Sean went to school with Oliver and me. Unlike me, he graduated. Unlike Oliver, he didn’t actually go into architecture. He and his partner, also Shawn but spelled differently, started their own interior design company last year.”

“I imagine they’re doing well. Your apartment could be in a catalog.”

“It was.”

“Really?” She perked up. “Which catalog? I subscribe to all of them.”

“No idea. They asked if they could do my place for free as a showpiece, and since I’m hardly ever here, I told them to go for it.”

“How much are they?” she asked, taking in every single detail, and finding fault with nothing. “Probably more than I could afford.”

“Thought you were more of a do-it-yourselfer on the decorating front?”

“Well, I thought