The Secret Billionaire-

-KATIE TAYLOR-

Is this real? I must be dreaming. I pinch the skin on my inner forearm just to be sure.

"You have the bathroom right through here. Two large bedrooms and one with its own bathroom in here. The walls are soundproof, by the way..." Brian, my new building super and winner of friendliest person I have ever met award, murmurs to me, his eyebrows wiggling in a way that makes it hard not to laugh.

"There is a full kitchen and living room, and this island counter is fantastic for dinner parties." He continues, and I try to remain serious, looking like I am used to this type of environment. Though I'm sure my awe is evident all over my face.

"Do you live on-site?" I ask, proud of myself for showing an interest. I usually keep to myself. It is safer that way. But I made a pact that when I moved, I would start fresh. A new Katie would be reborn. No one knows me here. I can be whoever I want to be.

"Ahh, I wish, babe," he says, flopping on the sofa like this is his apartment. Is it unprofessional? I dare say yes, but I kind of like him already, so I sit on the armchair and take his tour as it comes.

"So, you know Doctor Wakeford?" My shoulders stiffen at the question. I'm not in the habit of sharing my life with outsiders. But I take a breath and step into thenewme.

"Yes. We worked together," I tell him honestly, my smile soft. That wasn't so hard. Opening up a little at a time will hopefully make it easier. I touch my cell that sits in my pocket, eager to send a text to Dr. Wakeford, letting her know I have arrived and that her apartment is amazing.

My chest feels heavy, knowing that she did all this for me. A letter of recommendation. An apartment to live in for a year. All because she could see the ER in our busy Philadelphia hospital was not where I could shine my brightest. She wanted to give me a lift to try something she thought I would excel at.Who does that?She has literally been my guardian angel, and I don't think I will ever be able to repay her. Not only for the apartment and career development opportunity, but for getting me out of Philly. She, of all people, knows what it is like when you are running from something. And unbeknownst to her, she has helped me run a little farther.

"Nice to have friends in high places. Keep her on your good side. All my friends are raving bitches half the time, but I love them nonetheless. Isn't this view ah-mazing?" He jumps up from where he sits, continuing his tour as I try, once again, to keep from gaping at my surroundings. This is, without a doubt, the nicest place I have ever been in. Not just lived in, but actuallystepped into. Fancy is not my life, and this apartment isFancywith a capitalF. To be honest, if my former boss, Dr. Wakeford, had told me this was how luxurious her apartment was, I wouldn't have taken her up on the offer of letting me stay here. I am too scared to even sit on the sofa.

"It's a beautiful apartment. How long have you worked here?" I ask, standing and walking to the window, positioning myself next to him. My eyes flick down, noticing the window locks and my shoulders automatically lower a little.

"Oh, a few years now. I love this building. I get to use the facilities, and the owner is great. Most of the tenants are nice.Although..." he says, leaning closer to me, his voice lowering. "The old guy in 2B can be a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes. You didn't hear that from me." He gives me a knowing smile, and I nod in understanding. I like that he seems to trust me.

"So, you moved here from Philly?" he asks as he spins around and heads toward the kitchen. The stiffness in my neck comes back, and I roll my shoulders to ease the ever-present tension.

I took the bus from Philly this morning, and although the trip was fine, finding my way from the bus depot downtown to this luxurious apartment on the waterside at Harbor East proved more challenging. Getting turned around multiple times and having to ask a stranger for directions did absolutely nothing to ease my anxiety. I clear my throat, feeling out of step again as I prepare to share more about myself.

"Yep. I needed a change of scenery... I wanted something new," I tell him the truth.Well, most of it.

"I know all about that, honey. Bad breakup? Crazy boss? I lived in New York for years after a damaged heart had me sprinting here with my tail between my legs. So, I know all about fresh starts. You have come to the right place. Baltimore just feels good... Plus, I'm here, and I already know we are going to be best friends in no time." He looks back out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the amazing view, missing my brows hitting my hairline.

"We are?" I have never had a best friend before. Not in the way most girls do. I never could.

"Absolutely. I can already tell. Your pink hair and tattoos are really my vibe. You give off this don't-fuck-with-me energy, but you are a softie underneath it all." My chest warms at that assessment, just as his cell phone chimes. "Hmmm, I need to run, the old guy in 2B has an issue.What did I tell you..." He taps my shoulder playfully, rolling his eyes. His tone and expression have a laugh bubbling up my throat.

"Well, I like your vibe as well," I say, trying not to sound too awkward. How the hell does anyone make friends when you are an adult? I even had trouble as a kid, so my skills in this area are sadly lacking.

"Good. We need to do a movie night soon. This TV in here is huge. Here are the keys. As you know, there is no payment required. There is a welcome basket from the building owner on the kitchen counter for you as well." Pausing for a second, his lips purse, like he might be forgetting something. "Oh! And here's my card. Program my cell number into your phone so we can text later." He hands over his business card, stopping his quick last glance around the space to look back at me.

"Keys, program your number into my cell, and welcome basket. Got it," I say quickly, trying to tamp down the nervous energy strumming through my body. I feel like I have won the lottery. A new friend and a new apartment on day one. This is not like me at all.

"Do you have any other bags downstairs? We have this really old doorman working today, and my nails aren't really the kind that can lift heavy suitcases, if you know what I mean?" Brian asks, flashing his very well-manicured fingers in my direction. I have never had a manicure, but now I really, really want one.

"No. That's it," I say with a smile, my eyes flicking to my bag near the front door. The only dirty thing in this entire apartment, further highlighting the differences between me and my new living standard.Is it sad that it alone carries my entire life at this point?

"Seriously, when I left New York, I literally had the clothes on my back and that was it. Don't worry, babe. I see a shopping trip in our future." Giving me a wink, the tension yet again leaves my shoulders as my body starts to fill with more confidence. I might as well start acting like I deserve this level of luxury. I am going to be living here for the next twelve months.

"Okay then, I will let you get settled. I am downstairs most days at the concierge desk, so don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything, and... welcome to Baltimore!" he says, throwing his arms out wide like a game show host, showcasing the amazing view just outside the large wall of windows. His smile stretches a little wider before he gives me a nod and then walks out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

I blow out a breath and check the lock on the door, ensuring it works and it is securely locked. Then I tentatively sit on the edge of the sofa, taking it all in. A fully furnished, city high-rise apartment that screams high end, with every amenity I could possibly need and then some. In my entire twenty-four years on this earth, I have never seen such opulence.

With everything I need and more, it is a simple move in and move out kind of place. Somewhat similar to my life. But you can tell it is unlived in. While aesthetically stunning, it has that smell about it. It is a mix of cleaning products and emptiness. A smell I know too well.

My eyes rest on an art print on the wall. It is of the heart. An old-school doctor's drawing of sorts. Maybe something you would ordinarily see in a vintage textbook for an anatomy class. It is stunning. It highlights all the different parts of the organ, all of which I know by name. I have always been fascinated with the heart. The muscle that does so much work, gives so much life and love, yet it's so easy to break.

Baltimore Hospital is known as one of the best for cardiology and is now my new place of employment starting Monday. I may not be able to mend a broken heart like a heart surgeon can, but as one of the best ward nurses around, I am highly skilled and ready for a challenge.

I stand and walk over to the large stainless-steel refrigerator, pulling open the double doors. The lights are bright, the interior stark white, each shelf empty. My stomach grumbles at just the thought of food, the chocolate bar I had on the bus doing nothing to appease my hunger. I need to find a nearby grocery store, preferably a cheap one.