Echoing Condo

I step onto mable flooring and hear my heel clicks echo through the entrance. My eyes are having a hard time registering the splendor they're seeing and I'm weirdly focused on analyzing the echoing sound.

For my heels to echo there needs to be a big enough space. Space in Chicago is not cheap. Especially in the downtown neighbourhood this building is in. I know Cassio is rich, I've known it this whole time, but this is the first time I'm being confronted with the reality of what that means. Normally it just means a tailored suit, but that's just the tip of the iceberg.

I'll have to g****e his networth at some point. I'm sure Tony already has and could tell me.

I'm looking up at the height of the ceiling, which must be high for there to be an echo, so I don't notice that I'm still walking until I walk right into a wall.

"Ow," I say, taking a few steps back with my hand on my nose. A sure hand wraps around my bicep to steady me and I'm absolutely mortified to find that the wall was, in fact, Cassio.

His head is tilted to the side in confusion and he asks, "How much did you drink tonight? This arrangment will be a problem if you can't hold your liquor."

I roll my eyes at him and tug my arm away, "I had one glass of wine. I'm fine. I'm just freaking out over the echo in your apartment. How high are your ceilings?"

"That is such a weird question," he says.

"So? How many feet?"

"I don't know. Probably 20 feet," he guesses. Then he points up and says, "I had to make it high so that the chandelier could fit."

I look straight up and I can't believe I didn't notice the massive, beautiful crystal chandelier. My mouth falls open in wonder and I blurt out, "Who cleans that?"

I look back at him because I honestly want to know the answer. He shrugs and says, "I don't know, but can we get out of the entryway?"

I pull off my heels and follow behind him while continuing to talk, "I hope you pay whoever cleans that a lot. As an assistant, I can tell you that rich people have a lot of needs that they don't even know are being handled for them, or how hard they can be. I hope whoever is responsible for pulling out the ladder and washing each crystal indiviadually at that height is being compensated accordingly."

He pauses and looks at me assessingly and says, "I look into it."

I nod, satisfied with his answer.

"It's late, so for tonight I'll just show you to your room. Tomorrow morning my housekeeper will be here and she can give you a more thorough tour. You can let her know what food you will need for the week."

"Ok."

We enter an open space with a beautiful kitchen that opens to a formal living and dining room. But the best part is the view. I don't know what to focus on, there is too much beauty. The couch looks so comfy and makes me wish I didn't have to wake up early tomorrow so I could binge watch something. The kitchen makes me wish I liked cooking and the view makes me wish I could live here forever. I can wait to see the city when the sun rises.

Cassio must have caught me staring at the kitchen because he asks, "Do you like to cook? I have everything you need here."

"I hate cooking. Every once in a while, I'll see a video of a recipe when I'm scrolling and I'll feel like cooking. Without fail, by the time I'm halfway through making the meal I'm reminded that I hate it and I give up," I sigh whistfully, finished with my explanation.

I can hear the amusement in his voice when he asks, "And you do this often?"

I look at him and shrug, "Every six months or so. I'm decent at baking though."

"You're kind of weird, you know?" he asks as if he genuinely wants to make sure I'm aware.

"Sure, but your house echos and your socks are dry cleaned and pressed so you're weirder," I say, looking him dead in the eye.

He raises an eyebrow at me and I wonder if I've stepped too far. I've forgotten, for a moment, that he's my boss. Luckily, he doesn't seem to mind because he says, 'touche' then walks off to show me my room.

I follow and decide it's safest to keep my eyes on his back so I don't get distracted by his house and start yet another silly conversation. The plan is flawed because even with a shirt on it's not hard to see the definition of his back muscles as he walks. I can't help but follow the movement of muscle down his back to his ass that is perfectly outlined in pants tailored just for him.

I'm hypnotized and no matter how many times I tell myself to look away, I can't. Thank god he's at least facing away so he'll never know. That is, until he stops and I don't notice, running into him for a second time today.

This time he can't catch me when I stumble back because he's facing the wrong way. I end up on my ass with a shocked look on my face. The face of an idiot.

Cassio crouches down, then he leans forward and sniffs and says, "Are you sure you're not drunk?"

I roll my eyes and annoyed, say, "Yes, I know when I'm drunk. I can recite your schedule for the next four weeks backwards if you'd like, to prove it."

"That would take to long. I'll take your word for it," he says. Then a moment later, to my utter shock and embarassement, Cassio lifts me off the floor and proceeds to carry to my room. He must be able to sense I'm about to insist I can walk because he says, "It's been a long day. I've kept you in one piece this long, I don't want you to hurt yourself in the last stretch."

Oh, the embarassment.