Page 50 of Dirty Boss

I glanced up at the corners of the lobby. “You got cameras on me, or something?”

He huffed. “Alba. Stay.”

My heart thundered. We hadn’t seen each other since the day he’d brought me here, and even the sound of his voice was weakening my resolve. I stared at the wintery street outside the lobby door and straightened my shoulders. “Thank you, but no. I’ve got a home.”

Vaughn was quiet. “Fine. But you’ll take a car.”

“The subway?—”

“It’s already waiting for you.”

My gaze shifted to the black sedan parked outside the building. I bit my lower lip, knowing I should refuse. Knowing that every time I accepted something from him, some of myresolve weakened. But one little car ride wouldn’t be so bad, would it? It’s not like I was kissing Vaughn again. It was just accepting a courtesy. “Thank you,” I whispered.

His sigh ruffled the speaker. “Are we still on for tomorrow’s lunch?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ll see you then.”

“See you then,” I replied. After I hung up, I clutched my phone to my chest, pretending that the warmth in my ribcage was simply the result of three days’ rest. Then I stepped outside and waved to the driver, who opened the back door for me and took me back to my apartment.

Except I never made it to my apartment. I made it to the building and was intercepted by a spry, middle-aged redheaded woman in the lobby. She exited the office tucked in the corner next to the elevators and marched toward me. “Alba Enders?” she called out.

I paused with my finger on the elevator button. “Yes?”

“Here are your keys,” she said, thrusting a new set at me.

I frowned. “My keys? What keys? Who are you? Where’s Mr. White?”

“Retired,” she announced. “New management. Name’s Gina. Nice to meet you.” She pumped my hand, then slapped the keys into them. “Your things have been moved to apartment 815. We’ve started work on your old studio. The mold—my goodness. Have a good day!”

I blinked at her back. “Wait!”

Her door slammed just as the elevator door opened. Dazed, I stepped inside, my finger hovering over the button for the fifth floor, where my studio was, before moving to the eighth. I pulled out my phone and found Vaughn’s number, sure that this was something he had done…

But how? He’d whisked me off to his apartment and booked a few massages for me, but he’d have no control over my apartment building. I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder and made my way to the door marked 815. Half expecting the key not to work, I slid it in slowly and turned.

The door swung open to a clean, bright apartment much, much bigger than my studio. My things had been packed in boxes and left in the corner of the living room. There was no hint of my old, two-seater sofa. Instead, a long three-seater faced two armchairs, all surrounding a coffee table on top of a plush rug. The kitchen was tucked in the corner next to the front door, and through three doorways, I spied a bathroom and two other rooms. Upon closer inspection, one had been furnished as a bedroom, and the other as a small office. The furnishings were nowhere near as luxurious as Vaughn’s penthouse, and there were no decorative touches or any artwork on the walls, but it was solidly built and ready to move into.

I wobbled on my feet as the walls closed in. A two-bedroom apartment…furnished…

How much would this cost me? Why had they moved me? What was going on?

Back downstairs, I banged on Gina’s office door and was greeted with silence. I spun around in a circle, hyperventilating, then I pulled out my phone.

Vaughn answered on the first ring. “Hello, princess.”

“What did you do?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“What did youdo, Vaughn?” I repeated, leaning a palm against the wall before placing my head on the back of it. “You did this.”

“Again, you’ll have to?—”

“Myapartment!”

Vaughn paused, then said, “I might have called the building management and impressed upon them the importance of having habitable accommodations?—”