Chapter 33: A New Neighbor Moves In Across the Hall?

The CEO's office at Hartwell Empire Group occupied the entire top floor of one of Midtown Manhattan's most recognizable towers. Floor-to-ceiling glass on three sides. A view of the city that made the rest of the world look small.

Cameron Reid had been in it for three hours and was running out of material.

"I'm just saying" He spread his hands toward the man behind the desk, who had not looked up once in the past forty minutes. "At some point, you have to talk to her. Like, with words. Voluntarily. Without engineering an incident first." He reached for the water glass beside him and drained it. "Are you actually pursuing this woman or are you just cataloguing her reactions to unexpected situations?"

The pen moved across the page. Ethan said nothing.

Cameron leaned forward. "Has she rejected you? You can tell me. I won't laugh." A beat. "I might laugh a little. But I'll do it quietly."

The pen stopped.

Ethan looked up.

His eyes moved to Cameron with the particular quality of attention that had ended negotiations, silenced boardrooms, and on one memorable occasion made a senator reconsider his position mid-sentence.

"Do you have nothing better to do?" he said.

Cameron lit up. Progress.

"Not especially." He scooted his chair closer with the energy of a man who had been waiting for this opening all afternoon. "I'm here for two reasons, moral support and intelligence reporting, in that order." He held up a finger. "First: when are you seeing her next? Have you actually asked her out, or are you still operating in the 'create a situation and observe' methodology?" Another finger. "Second: last time you only got her there by having me lie about a hospital bill. That worked once. You need a different play. Do you want my help or not?"

"No."

Cameron was undeterred. "Why not? You can't pursue a woman by refusing to pursue her, Ethan. That's not stoic, that's just inefficient. Let me help. I have ideas. Several of them are actually good"

Ethan glanced at his watch.

Stood up.

Reached for his coat from the back of the chair in a single, fluid motion.

Cameron blinked. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

He was already moving toward the door.

Cameron sat in the empty office for a moment, replaying the timeline of the afternoon, and then arrived at a realization that made him sit up very straight.

Home. On a weekday. Before seven.

Ethan Hartwell did not go home early on weekdays.

Cameron grabbed his jacket and followed.

Vivian had come away from the Hartwell estate in considerably better spirits than she'd arrived at the birthday banquet with.

The second acupuncture session had gone smoothly. Rosie had been dramatically, theatrically overjoyed to see her, launching herself across the bedroom with zero regard for the pretense of not knowing who she was, saved only by the fact that Victoria had stepped out to arrange tea at precisely the right moment. The phone watch exchange had happened naturally, casually, right there in front of Victoria, who had smiled and said what a good idea it was for Rosie to have a way to contact her doctor directly.

Doctor. Vivian had held onto that word like a shield and used it accordingly.

She had declined Victoria's offer of a driver, flagged a cab on the street, and spent the thirty-minute ride home in a quiet, uncomplicated warmth that she'd almost forgotten she was allowed to feel.

The cab dropped her at the corner.

She walked the half-block to her building, keys already out, and slowed as she approached her floor.

The door of the apartment directly across the hall was wide open.

Through it came the sounds of an operation in full swing, furniture being maneuvered, voices calling instructions back and forth, the soft thud of things being set down and repositioned.

"Careful with the sofa, don't catch it on the doorframe"

"The bed goes against the far wall. Yes. Now shift it left. More. More."

"Where did the vase go? Not roses, how many times, no roses. Replace them all with baby's breath. All of them. Now."

"And the painting, the landscape, the one from the auction last Thursday, not the other one"

Vivian slowed to a stop in the hallway.

She tilted her head and looked through the open door with the cautious curiosity of someone watching something that wasn't quite adding up.

New neighbor. Clearly. In the middle of what appeared to be a very thorough, very expensive, very specific setup process.

This building was decent enough, clean, well-located, but it was not the kind of address that came with art from auction houses and furniture that required four people to carry. The specification about baby's breath in particular struck her as oddly precise for someone moving into a rental on the east side.

None of my business, she decided, and turned back to her own door.

She had the key halfway to the lock when a voice landed behind her.

"Vivian."

Her hand stopped.

Every muscle in her body performed a small, involuntary inventory.

She knew that voice.

She turned around with the careful, controlled movement of someone who has decided in advance not to react, and found herself looking directly into a pair of dark, unhurried, entirely self-possessed eyes.

Ethan Hartwell was standing in her hallway.

Outside the apartment that was currently being furnished with auctioned landscape paintings and baby's breath arrangements.

Vivian looked at him.

Looked at the open apartment door.

Looked back at him.

"Mr. Hartwell." She kept her voice very even. "What are you doing here?"