Novel & Cerita Apartment 4b

If she had paid much attention to his profile she would have noticed that gender as he/him and not a her/she. "I am not like those girls and this doesn't change anything. I can't share my apartment with you." she said firmly rising to her feet. "You'll have to look for some place else, sorry for wasting your time and that's final." she walked out of the cafe with her bag slung over her shoulder. She opened the app as she walked on the street, tapping on the for rent button. She heaved out a sigh, turning her head backwards to glance at the sky, the clouds were getting darker and heavier. Great it was going to rain and she was without a roommate.

Trees on the street. Stopped at a building. Four floors. Brick. Looked decent. "Third floor," Marcus said. "3B. Got everything in there. Food. TV. Internet. All covered." "Dad this is too much," Dominic said. "No it's not," Marcus said. "Should've done it two years back. Before things went bad. Making up for it now." Went inside. Up stairs. Dominic kept looking around. Like he couldn't process being outside. Free. Apartment 3B. Marcus gave him the key. Dominic opened the door.

It was very sexy and showed off my curves but was more appropriate for some of the fancy places I anticipated Leo would take me. I packed a bag when I got home and eagerly waited for 3pm. Soon enough, that car arrived; a black Mercedes with a suited man driving. He was polite and friendly but didn't say much on the journey. It took a few hours to get to the city again; I couldn't believe I was going back so soon. We pulled up to some modern apartment blocks about 6pm, they were in a stunning location overlooking the river. "Apartment 4B in Water's Edge, it's the blue building," said the driver as he helped me out of the car and passed me some keys.

Owen's building appears thirty minutes later. Brick. Modest. A building made for teachers and nurses and people who work real jobs for real money. Not where I expected a federal agent to live. Even a suspended one. I park across the street. Watch the entrance. I cross the street before I can reconsider. His apartment is 3B. Third floor. No elevator. I take the stairs two at a time. The hallway smells like cooking and old carpet. Someone's playing music too loud. A baby cries somewhere behind closed doors.

I scrolled further. Found one on the fourth page. Third floor. One bedroom. A small kitchen that had a window above the sink. Good light from the photographs. The kind of apartment that did not announce itself but had something in it. Something that looked like a place where a person could actually live rather than perform living. I stared at it for a long time. My thumb hovered over the contact button. I did not press it. I closed the app. Then I opened it again and looked at the listing one more time and this time I pressed print and the small printer on the desk in the corner of the room hummed to life and produced a single page.

I moved forward, while squinting through the windshield. "Then let's stop waiting," I added. The stairwell smelled like stale beer and cigarette smoke. I climbed to the third floor, while Marcus followed behind me. It was Apartment 3B. The paint was peeling off the door and a single light bulb flickered above us. I knocked, but no one answered. I went ahead to knock harder. "I know you're in there," I called out. "Open the door." Silence stretched for several seconds, then I heard movement. It was slow footsteps, before I heard a chain sliding across and then the door cracked open, and a face appeared in the gap.

Clara said, her voice low as she stopped in front of a door with the number 4B painted on it in crooked white ink. She turned the rusty key in the lock, and the door creaked open to reveal a space that wasn't much bigger than a walk-in closet at my old estate. There was a single twin bed with a sagging mattress, a stained plastic table with two folding chairs, and a tiny sink in the corner that was dripping a steady, brown stream of water.

I grabbed my jacket. "Come on, let's go to the apartment." We soon arrived at the neighborhood. The door to the apartment I had carefully renovated was wide open. Bertha was directing several workers as they carried out the furniture I had bought. She said, "Be careful. Everything's expensive. They'll sell for a lot." When she saw me, she smiled smugly. "Well, well. If it isn't Ms. Shaw. Here you see your unit? Too bad for you. This place belongs to the Carters now."

It wasn't a court filing. It was a real estate listing for a luxury penthouse on 5th Avenue. An apartment with three bedrooms, a private elevator, and a price tag that made my head spin. I scrolled down. There were dozens of emails to a property manager. “Subject: Move-in date for Unit 4B. Everything needs to be ready by the 1st. My wife doesn't know yet, so keep the billing discrete.”