Love All The Way

22| King of the castle

The house viewing is scheduled for six. After a lengthy board meeting first thing with Laurelle, who explains to me in no certain terms that this is my chance, Charter and I make our way to the property to add some last-minute touches.

It's a six-bedroom property in Upper East Manhattan, the kind of place you'd expect to see in an episode of Gossip Girl or maybe in The Real Housewives of New York. Spread over seven levels and equipped with a roof deck, the property is an equal mix of complex engineering and timeless design – if you have 50 million.

Charter shows me the lowest level first, with a 100ft square open cellar filled with every kind of wine imaginable, from a 2017 Bruno Giacosa Barolo to an 1869 Chateau Lafite. According to Charter, she'd had most of them imported from France just yesterday and spent all last night unpacking them. I step inside, running my hand along the different wine labels.

Impressed, I say, "You ordered them alphabetically." Last night, while I'd been asleep having less-than-innocent dreams about Milo, Charter had been here ensuring our clients got the best first impressions. Either she takes this job too seriously, or I'm not taking it seriously enough; I can't decide which is worse.

"It's the finer details that make the clients choose us," she says as she wipes off imaginary dust from a bottle, "the finishing touches. When they walk into a house, they need to feel like they're already home."

"Of course," I say and follow suit as she sits on the floor to unpack the last few bottles. I study each label, unable to believe that clutched between my fingers is a wine worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. One bottle costs more than what I make in six months, which means the price of a drink is the same price I pay not to become homeless.

"With open viewings like these, we tend to take turns staging the properties," Charter says. "Miranda took the last one, which is why this project was mine – I guess you'll take the next one."

I nod as we finish up before getting to my feet. It's almost ten, which means in another five minutes, Milo will be making his trip to the coffee machine. I imagine him waiting, foot tapping against the marble floor as he readjusts his tie for the millionth time. It's Mickey Mouse today – I'd caught a glimpse through his vampire coat as we stood in the elevator – but seeing him wearing it hits differently after his impromptu invite to Disney World; it's a trip we'll never make.

Depressed, I follow Charter through the rest of the level, straightening out picture frames and rearranging flower bouquets. The interior is exactly what one might expect from a property like this: fresh, modern, and flooded with natural light from the overhead skylight. There are several rooms on this floor alone, each about three times bigger than the whole of my apartment, and I spend most of the morning with a permanent Piccachu expression.

Charter, however, remains indifferent. "When you see enough properties, the allure soon wears off."

Maybe she's right. Maybe once the novelty wears off, so does the magic, but if that's the case, it's all the more reason for me to appreciate it now. "So, any tips for the open viewing?"

"Yeah," she says, smiling, "don't screw up."

With that, we head into the elevator, constructed as a crescendo where each floor becomes more striking. I focus ahead, trying not to think about being in an elevator. If I do, I'll think of Milo. That's the last thing I need right now.

The doors slide open, no creaking or groaning like the ones from our office, and we step onto the fourth floor. The foyer boasts a grand entrance leading to an open-plan living room encompassed by floor-to-ceiling windows. The glass facade – bulletproof and shipped from Germany – is the property's main attraction, curving around the living room's edge for a wider view of Manhattan. I hurry to the window, a sucker for a view, and peer out onto the busy, snow-laden streets.