No Sunshine When She's Gone by Kate Angell Page B

and my favorite cake donuts.”
    Jill nodded. This was a nice amenity.
    “Kylie Cates runs the kiosk,” Aidan told them. “Sandwiches and chips are added over the lunch hour for anyone in a hurry who needs to grab a bite.”
    Jill liked having snacks on the premises. The food bar would provide easy access when her stomach growled and there was nothing more than a packet of ketchup in the refrigerator.
    An elevator bank stood off to the left. A set of mailboxes lined the wall just beyond. Designed for conversation, two burgundy leather couches faced each other. A single chair sat separately for anyone preferring privacy.
    “Let me grab a key,” Aidan said, crossing to the manager’s office. He returned in seconds. “This way.” He ushered them to the nearest elevator. “Do you have an objection to a corner penthouse?”
    Carrie’s eyes rounded. “Sounds expensive. Maybe we should come down a few floors.”
    “It’s brand new, completely furnished, and the only apartment I have available at the moment,” Aidan said as they rode up in the elevator. “The view is great.”
    Carrie was all nervous energy and fidgety hands when she exited the elevator. Jill felt her friend’s anticipation. Carrie was as psyched over seeing the apartment as Jill had been stopping by the houseboat.
    Aidan slipped the key into the lock and then stepped back to let them enter. Carrie drew in a deep breath and walked in first.
    Jill was a bit more reserved. Aidan sensed her hesitation. He placed his hand on her shoulder, a gesture of comfort, yet it jarred them both. His hand was big and his fingers were so long, they stretched to cover the swell of her breast. His fingertips reached nearly to her nipple.
    Sparks flew across her chest, hot and sexual. Aidan felt them, too. He shook out his hand as if it were burned. Heat collared his neck. Jill’s own color was high. His startled expression mirrored hers.
    “Jillie,” Carrie called to her from the breakfast bar. She’d propped herself on a tall swivel stool, the heels of her loafers hooked onto the bottom rung. “All the appliances are new and shiny,” she was pleased to note.
    “They’ve never been used,” said Aidan. “You’d be the first.”
    “The first . . .” Carrie said so softly, Jill barely heard her. “When were we ever first at anything?” she asked.
    They had never been first. They’d been second or third on a good day, and last more often than not. Their clothes had been handed down when they were kids. They’d shared half a sandwich at lunch. Jill hadn’t tasted steak until she was sixteen. There had been few toys and fewer dolls. They’d invented imaginary friends. The invisible had seen them through the worst of times.
    Their adult lives had changed for the better when they’d joined the Rogues Organization. They’d been hired within a month of each other. They worked in the same office. Friendships came and went, but theirs endured.
    Jill watched Carrie now as she hopped off the stool and strolled into the living room. Her gaze was wide and her lips were parted. Her feet sank into the plush gray carpet. She appeared in a happy trance. She dropped down on a charcoal-gray leather chair. Her body sank deep. She lifted her feet onto a matching ottoman. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes. “Soft as butter.” She sighed.
    Jill could tell from Carrie’s expression that she was sold on the apartment. She was ready to move in today. They had little to relocate, only their suitcases and a few boxes. They could sleep here tonight.
    Aidan came to stand beside her, but this time he didn’t touch her. “My decorator furnished the apartment,” he told them. “Nothing is set in stone.”
    Carrie started and looked around further. “What’s not to like?” she asked. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
    “The one-hundred-inch projection screen television is like sitting in a movie theater,” Aidan pointed out. “The custom shelving was built for