“Of course. You think I didn’t come prepared? One of my clients lives in this building and he lent me his card.”
Pulling the plastic out of his pocket, he swipes the box next to the elevator.
Time stands still as I hear the soft swish of the elevator coming down. Within seconds, the steel doors open before us.
Dominic gestures to me. “After you.”
I step into the elevator and lean against the handrail. Dominic stands next to me as the doors close. He presses the button. “She lives on the very top floor.”
“Of course, she does,” I mutter.
I glance around the empty elevator and at my reflection in the sleek glass mirrors that surround us. The wood trim, custom lighting, and designs on the ceiling give it an old-money feel.
“This is fancy.” I glance in the mirror and rub my finger under my eye, removing some mascara that smudged. “I like the mirrors.”
Dominic grips the handrail. “Yeah. I like them too.” Then his voice drops to a husky whisper. “Next time I fuck you I’ll do it in front of the mirror so you can watch yourself fall apart over and over.”
I almost choke on my spit. That came out of nowhere. But after last night's antics something has changed between us. We are more comfortable around each other and it feels like how we used to be before obligations pulled us in different directions.
Before I can open my mouth for a smart comeback, the bell dings and the doors open to a private hallway.
The carpeted floor has geometric patterns engraved on it, and the walls are matte gray separated by mirrors and intricatepaneling. White orchids in slender black vases sit on mahogany tables. There are only two doors on this level, one on each end of the hallway. Dominic walks to the right and knocks on it.
Nothing.
“Maybe she isn’t home,” I whisper.
“Yes, she is. One of my investigators was parked in front of the apartments and saw her go in.” Dominic knocks again.
A click sounds in the lock and the door opens slowly.
A woman stands before us.
She’s wearing sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. Her blonde hair is twisted into a lopsided bun. “Hi. Can I help you?” she asks.
“Rachel Evans?” Dominic nods.
“Who’s asking?” She looks past us. “How did you get up here? You need a key.”
I place my palm against the door and open it further. “We need to talk.” Then I push past her into the penthouse.
Dominic follows.
“Hey. You can’t just barge in here…”
“Or what?” I turn around and face her. “You’ll call security? I can call them for you but that’s not going to do you any good.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” she sneers.
I place a hand to my chest. “You’re telling me you don’t know who I am, and yet you tried to crash my birthday party a few weeks ago?”
Confusion spreads across her face as Dominic closes the door. “What are you talking about?”
“My party was invitation only.” I cross my arms. “And looking at you, I don’t know who the fuck you are or why you would want to get into my party unless you were trying to kill me.”
Fear spreads across her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Cut the shit,” Dominic intervenes. “We have footage of you trying to get into a private party that was held at Cipriani Capuano’s estate. You argued with the security guard at the door insisting you had an invitation when you weren’t on the list. Then you were escorted to your car by the head guard.” Dominic taps a few times on his phone, then turns it around to show her.
