“Oh, now you want some love from me, huh? After abandoning me for Purina last night? What a jerk you are, Clive,” I muttered, stretching out my foot and rubbing him with my heel.
He flopped onto the ground and posed for me. He knew I couldn’t resist when he posed. I laughed a little and kneeled next to him. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You love me now because I’m the one that keeps you in vittles.” I sighed, scratching his belly.
I headed back into the kitchen, Clive at my heels, and poured some food into a bowl. Now that he had what he needed, I was quickly forgotten. As I headed for the shower, I heard movement in the hallway. Like the Peeping Caroline I was quickly becoming, I pressed my eye to the peephole to see what was happening with Simon and Purina.
He stood just inside his doorway—far enough inside that I couldn’t see his face. Purina stood in the hall, and I could see his hand running through her long hair. I could practically hear her purring through the goddamned door.
“Mmm, Simon, last night was…mmmm,” she purred, leaning into his hand, which was now pressed against her cheek.
“I agree. A fine way to describe the evening and this morning,” he said quietly as they both chuckled.
Nice. Another twofer.
“Call me when you’re back in town?” she asked as he swept her hair back from her face. Her freshly done face. I miss that face.
“Oh, you can count on that,” he answered, and then pulled her back into the doorway for what I can only assume was a kiss that killed. Her foot came up like she was posing. I started to roll my eyes, but that hurt. The right one was pressed so firmly against the peephole, you see.
“Do svidaniya,” she whispered in that exotic accent. It sounded much nicer now that she wasn’t caterwauling like a kitten in heat.
“See ya,” he laughed, and with that, she gracefully walked away.
I strained to see him before he went back inside, but nope. Missed him again. I had to admit, after the spanking and the meowing, I was dying to see what he looked like. There was some serious sexual prowess going on next door. I just didn’t see why it had to affect my sleep habits. I pried myself away from the door and made for the shower. Under the water, I pondered what in the world might be required to make a woman meow.
As seven thirty rolled around, I hopped a cable car and reviewed the day ahead of me. I was meeting a new client, finishing up some details on a project I’d just completed, and having lunch with my boss. I smiled when I thought about Jillian.
Jillian Sinclair headed her own design firm, where I’d had the good fortune to intern during my last year at Berkley. In her late thirties, but looking in her late twenties, she’d made a name for herself in the design community early in her career. She challenged convention, was one of the first to sweep “shabby chic” off the map, and had been an early trendsetter in bringing back the quiet neutrals and geometric prints of the “modern” look that was all the rage now. She hired me after my internship was over, and she’d provided the best experience a young designer could ask for. She was challenging, discerning, had a killer instinct and an even more killer eye for detail. But the best part about working for her? She was fun.
As I jumped off the cable car, I caught sight of my “office.” Jillian Designs was in Russian Hill, a beautiful part of town: fairy tale mansions, quiet streets, and a fantastic view from the taller peaks. Some of the larger old homes had been converted to commercial space, and our building was one of the nicest.
I breathed a sigh when I entered my office. Jillian wanted each designer to make their space their own. It was a way to show potential clients what they could expect, and I’d put a lot of thought into my work space. Deep gray walls were accented by plush, salmon pink curtains. My desk was dark ebony with a chair draped in soft gold and champagne silks. The room was quietly distinguished—with a touch of whimsy coming from my collection of Campbell’s Soup ads from the thirties and forties. I’d found a bunch of them at a tag sale, all clipped from old issues of Life magazine. I had them mounted and framed, and I still chuckled every time I looked at them.
I spent a few minutes throwing out the flowers from last week and arranging a new display. Every Monday I stopped in a local shop to choose flowers for the week. The blooms changed, but the colors tended to fall within the same palette. I was particularly fond of deep oranges and pinks, peaches and warm golds. Today I had chosen hybrid tea roses of a beautiful coral color, the tips tinged raspberry.
I stifled a yawn and sat down at my desk, preparing for the day. I caught sight of Jillian as she breezed past my door and waved at her. She came back and stuck her head in. Always pulled together, she was tall, lean, and lovely. Today, clad in black top to bottom but for the fuchsia peep-toe pumps she was rocking, she was chic.
“Hey, girl! How’s the apartment?” she asked, sitting in the chair across from my desk.
“Fantastic. Thank you again so much! I can never repay you for this. You are the best,” I gushed.
Jillian had sublet her apartment to me, which she’d had since she moved into the city years ago. Now she was refinishing a house in Sausalito. Rents being what they were in the city, it was a no brainer. The rent control made the price obscenely low. I prepared to gush further when she stopped me with a wave of her hand.
“Shush, it’s nothing. I know I should get rid of it, but it was my first grown-up place in the city, and for the rent it would just break my heart to let it go! Besides, I like the idea of it being lived in again. It’s such a great neighborhood.”
She smiled, and I stifled another yawn. Her sharp eyes caught it.
“Caroline, it’s Monday morning. How can you be yawning already?” she chided.
I laughed. “When’s the last time you slept there, Jillian?” I looked at her over the rim of my coffee cup. It was my third already. I’d be cruising soon.
“Oh boy, it’s been a while. Maybe a year ago? Benjamin was out of town, and I still had a bed over there. Sometimes when I was working late I’d stay in the city overnight. Why do you ask?”
Benjamin was her fiancé. Self-made millionaire, venture capitalist, and knockout gorgeous. My friends and I had a killer crush.
“Did you hear anything from next door?” I asked.
“No, no. I don’t think so. Like what?”
“Hmm, just noises. Late-night noises.”
“No, not when I was there. I don’t know who lives there now, but I think someone moved in last year, maybe? The year before? Never met him. Why? What did you hear?”
He flopped onto the ground and posed for me. He knew I couldn’t resist when he posed. I laughed a little and kneeled next to him. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You love me now because I’m the one that keeps you in vittles.” I sighed, scratching his belly.
I headed back into the kitchen, Clive at my heels, and poured some food into a bowl. Now that he had what he needed, I was quickly forgotten. As I headed for the shower, I heard movement in the hallway. Like the Peeping Caroline I was quickly becoming, I pressed my eye to the peephole to see what was happening with Simon and Purina.
He stood just inside his doorway—far enough inside that I couldn’t see his face. Purina stood in the hall, and I could see his hand running through her long hair. I could practically hear her purring through the goddamned door.
“Mmm, Simon, last night was…mmmm,” she purred, leaning into his hand, which was now pressed against her cheek.
“I agree. A fine way to describe the evening and this morning,” he said quietly as they both chuckled.
Nice. Another twofer.
“Call me when you’re back in town?” she asked as he swept her hair back from her face. Her freshly done face. I miss that face.
“Oh, you can count on that,” he answered, and then pulled her back into the doorway for what I can only assume was a kiss that killed. Her foot came up like she was posing. I started to roll my eyes, but that hurt. The right one was pressed so firmly against the peephole, you see.
“Do svidaniya,” she whispered in that exotic accent. It sounded much nicer now that she wasn’t caterwauling like a kitten in heat.
“See ya,” he laughed, and with that, she gracefully walked away.
I strained to see him before he went back inside, but nope. Missed him again. I had to admit, after the spanking and the meowing, I was dying to see what he looked like. There was some serious sexual prowess going on next door. I just didn’t see why it had to affect my sleep habits. I pried myself away from the door and made for the shower. Under the water, I pondered what in the world might be required to make a woman meow.
As seven thirty rolled around, I hopped a cable car and reviewed the day ahead of me. I was meeting a new client, finishing up some details on a project I’d just completed, and having lunch with my boss. I smiled when I thought about Jillian.
Jillian Sinclair headed her own design firm, where I’d had the good fortune to intern during my last year at Berkley. In her late thirties, but looking in her late twenties, she’d made a name for herself in the design community early in her career. She challenged convention, was one of the first to sweep “shabby chic” off the map, and had been an early trendsetter in bringing back the quiet neutrals and geometric prints of the “modern” look that was all the rage now. She hired me after my internship was over, and she’d provided the best experience a young designer could ask for. She was challenging, discerning, had a killer instinct and an even more killer eye for detail. But the best part about working for her? She was fun.
As I jumped off the cable car, I caught sight of my “office.” Jillian Designs was in Russian Hill, a beautiful part of town: fairy tale mansions, quiet streets, and a fantastic view from the taller peaks. Some of the larger old homes had been converted to commercial space, and our building was one of the nicest.
I breathed a sigh when I entered my office. Jillian wanted each designer to make their space their own. It was a way to show potential clients what they could expect, and I’d put a lot of thought into my work space. Deep gray walls were accented by plush, salmon pink curtains. My desk was dark ebony with a chair draped in soft gold and champagne silks. The room was quietly distinguished—with a touch of whimsy coming from my collection of Campbell’s Soup ads from the thirties and forties. I’d found a bunch of them at a tag sale, all clipped from old issues of Life magazine. I had them mounted and framed, and I still chuckled every time I looked at them.
I spent a few minutes throwing out the flowers from last week and arranging a new display. Every Monday I stopped in a local shop to choose flowers for the week. The blooms changed, but the colors tended to fall within the same palette. I was particularly fond of deep oranges and pinks, peaches and warm golds. Today I had chosen hybrid tea roses of a beautiful coral color, the tips tinged raspberry.
I stifled a yawn and sat down at my desk, preparing for the day. I caught sight of Jillian as she breezed past my door and waved at her. She came back and stuck her head in. Always pulled together, she was tall, lean, and lovely. Today, clad in black top to bottom but for the fuchsia peep-toe pumps she was rocking, she was chic.
“Hey, girl! How’s the apartment?” she asked, sitting in the chair across from my desk.
“Fantastic. Thank you again so much! I can never repay you for this. You are the best,” I gushed.
Jillian had sublet her apartment to me, which she’d had since she moved into the city years ago. Now she was refinishing a house in Sausalito. Rents being what they were in the city, it was a no brainer. The rent control made the price obscenely low. I prepared to gush further when she stopped me with a wave of her hand.
“Shush, it’s nothing. I know I should get rid of it, but it was my first grown-up place in the city, and for the rent it would just break my heart to let it go! Besides, I like the idea of it being lived in again. It’s such a great neighborhood.”
She smiled, and I stifled another yawn. Her sharp eyes caught it.
“Caroline, it’s Monday morning. How can you be yawning already?” she chided.
I laughed. “When’s the last time you slept there, Jillian?” I looked at her over the rim of my coffee cup. It was my third already. I’d be cruising soon.
“Oh boy, it’s been a while. Maybe a year ago? Benjamin was out of town, and I still had a bed over there. Sometimes when I was working late I’d stay in the city overnight. Why do you ask?”
Benjamin was her fiancé. Self-made millionaire, venture capitalist, and knockout gorgeous. My friends and I had a killer crush.
“Did you hear anything from next door?” I asked.
“No, no. I don’t think so. Like what?”
“Hmm, just noises. Late-night noises.”
“No, not when I was there. I don’t know who lives there now, but I think someone moved in last year, maybe? The year before? Never met him. Why? What did you hear?”
