“So, let me get this straight,” I say. “You don’t live in an apartment downtown.” An amused question forms in his eyes as I ask, but he shakes his head. “You don’t have some sort of waiter hanging out in the lobby ready to take your clothes to the dry cleaners.” His grins slightly as he again shakes his head. “They’re concierges. And no.” “Why did I think you would?” I say aloud, honestly a bit puzzled. “Because you think I’m elitist, from the sound of it,” he says, stifling a chuckle as he makes a turn. “No, because you came from the City,” I say, resolved. “In my mind, everyone who works in
...more
