16

Rita

"Welcome home," he says as he ushers me into his apartment.

It's at the top of an expensive, fancy building in downtown Dallas. I didn't think people actually lived in places like this, but apparently, I was wrong.

Scar's space is obscenely nice. Grays, whites, blacks, muted colors. Leather couch, enormous windows, modern kitchen with gleaming appliances and one of those obscene hidden refrigerators that cost like fifty grand. "Not very..." I trail off, tapping my lower lip. "Not very personal."

"Personal?" He cocks his head. "You're right. I travel half the year."

"I know, but still." I poke my head into the enormous master bedroom. "No pictures. Barely anything on the walls. It looks like you hired someone to make it look good and just—stopped there."

"Because that's exactly what I did." He steers me toward the home gym. It's suitably decked out with weight machines and a couple treadmills. Plus a little steam room toward the back.

"Okay, I'll admit it, I like this," I say, run