I bought this beauty when I still had money and could afford gas, but the last couple of months have eaten all my savings, so I had to switch to the bus and subway. That brought me to the question of where I would store my Betty because even such an old vehicle would get stolen in my neighborhood. So I batted my lashes at the security guards and made a deal to keep her in the building garage. Which is coming in handy right about now.
My heart pounds with a cocktail of determination and anger. The engine sputters and groans, clearly begging me to stop this reckless chase because Betty, apparently, has more common sense than I do, but I’m not giving up. Not now. Not after everything I’ve seen. I just know I’m about to uncover something scandalous—something that makes Noah so relaxed while my insides turn with jealousy.
Noah’s car takes a sharp turn up ahead, and I barely manage to yank the wheel in time to follow. Tires screech, and Betty swerves dangerously close to the curb. A quick curse escapes my lips as I narrowly avoid hitting a fire hydrant. I know I’m a terrible driver on a good day, and today is definitely not one of those, but I’m not letting him get away. I’m going to discover where Noah snuck out from work and came back with that annoying satisfied smile. If that man goes to some sex club, I’ll make sure to buy a membership there too so I can look just as satisfied after my lunch break.
As the neon lights of a rundown warehouse district come into view, I slam my foot on the brake—maybe a bit too hard—and Betty lurches to a stop, nearly sending my face into the steering wheel.
Noah’s car parks ahead, sleek and intimidating next to the ramshackle building. My heart pounds in my ears, but I’m not backing down now. Instead, I park Betty between two SUVs, trying to be discreet, which is hard because my loyal vehicle sounds like a dying lawnmower.
In the meantime, Noah steps out of his car, completely oblivious that I’ve been tailing him for the past half hour.
I watch him through the cracked windshield as he pulls the collar of his jacket up, glancing around like he’s a spy in an action movie. I stifle a laugh. There’s no way he knows I’m here. He thinks I’m too busy handling his paperwork back at the office and waiting with puppy eyes for him to come back from the place where his anatomical inadequacies get satisfaction.
I wait until he’s inside the building before slipping out from Betty. The door creaks loudly—because of course it does—and I freeze, hoping no one heard. For a second, I imagine Noah whipping around, spotting me in the parking lot and demanding to know what the hell I’m doing here.Oh, hey, just, you know, casually stalking my boss because I’m jealous of his free time.
Yeah, that’d go over great.
I scurry toward the entrance, trying to act normal while checking around to make sure no one’s watching. The area around the warehouse is vast and grungy, like something out of a bad movie, and I feel completely out of place in my work clothes—a white blouse and my ever-present black skirt. Not exactly undercover gear.
I carefully tiptoe toward the only tiny window I’ve spotted, which is entirely too high for me to reach. Then I hear the door opening—the same door Noah just entered.
Terrified of being caught too soon, I thrash around like a fish out of water, desperately searching for cover. The only thing nearby is a row of trash cans farther down the wall. I sprint toward them and dive behind one just as the door swings open. A tall man steps out and lights a cigarette. Another follows him.
“Are you betting today?” the second man asks.
Betting? Are they betting on which one of them will last longer?
“No,” the smoking man replies.
“Why?”
“Have you seen King?” He chuckles.
“Yeah.”
“That’s why.”
They’re clearly talking about Noah. What the hell is going on? Is he some kind of high roller? Ten hours of nonstop action?
Their voices drop lower, and I can’t make out what they’re saying, so naturally, I lean forward. Big mistake. I accidentally knock over the trash can, which crashes into the next one, and the next, until all four are on the ground. I scramble to get away, sprawled atop the first one.
When I finally pull myself together and look up, two pairs of narrowed eyes are glaring at me with open hostility.
“Who are you?” the cigarette man demands.
“No one,” I reply instantly.
“Yeah, you are,” he confirms harshly.
He takes one last drag, the cigarette glowing briefly, before tossing it to the ground. The next thing I know, his hand grabs my elbow and yanks me up.
“You’re coming with me, ‘No One.’”
“What? No, I’m not!”
“Dante,” the other man interjects. “Maybe she really doesn’t know anything.”
“Yeah, and she just randomly wandered up here looking like that.” He tugs my arm, turning his attention to me. “Let’s go, No One.”
