The week between Jeffrey’s visits felt like a fever dream. I found myself walking through the apartment, touching the walls he’d leaned against, my skin still humming with the ghost of his touch.
I wasn't looking for a job. I wasn't calling the mechanic. I was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of a skirt that was far too short, wondering if it was short enough to make him skip the small talk.
When the three slow, deliberate raps finally hit the door, my breath hitched. I didn't hesitate this time.
I threw the door open. Jeffrey stood there in a charcoal suit, looking every bit the ruthless businessman. He didn't smile. He held a clipboard in one hand and a heavy set of master keys in the other.
"Melinda," he said, his voice like gravel over silk. "I’m here for the rou
