I typed a message back immediately.
Me:I shouldn’t have said those things I did. It won’t happen again either.
There was a long pause, and I wondered if he was finished messaging me. I decided to put my own full stop to this conversation.
Me:I’ll see you tomorrow.
Ryan:Don’t be late, Miss Granger.
Me:I won’t, Mr. Stark.
I woke up on Monday morning to another sound at my door. This time it was a knock, and unless it was another pizza delivery guy, I knew who it was. I walked over to the door and called out just in case it was a dodgy neighbor, though.
“Hello?”
“Poppy?” I heard my name. My real name—and it suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t heard anyone call me that in a while. God, it felt good. This Doris person was becoming such a burden to me.
I opened the door. “Hey, Mr. Reddy,” I said and followed it with a sweet smile. Not that I was expecting a smile to soften him.
It didn’t, and he launched straight into it.
“Do you know why I’m here?” he asked.
I nodded. I did.
“You paid rental short this month, and last month,” he said.
I nodded. “I know. I just got a job and I could have paid in full this month, but I had to get my car back, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to work and earn money. I promise, I’ll pay everything I owe at the end of this month.Promise.”
He glared at me. Mr. Reddy wasn’t exactly the most upstanding of landlords, he couldn’t be, what with owning a building like this. I was also rather weary of his debt collection process; my suspicion was that it would involve some snapping of bones.
“You’ll pay me back with interest,” he said. “Twenty per cent.”
“What? That’s more than the bank.”
“Well, then go get a loan from your bank and pay me with that,” he said sarcastically. He was clearly betting on the fact that people who lived in this building weren’t exactly the kind who were square with their banks.
“Fine,” I conceded. “Twenty per cent. Next month.” I closed the door.
Talk about bad timing! Just when it looked like my job really might be in jeopardy again.
I drove to the meeting in a state of nervous anxiety. I didn’t know what Ryan would be like this morning. Especially after the lock incident yesterday. We pulled up next to each other and I didn’t look at him. Instead, I sat in the car for a moment, trying to compose myself. I hadn’t worn the stupid wig this morning, since the cat seemed fully out of the bag. A door slammed next to me and then he was at my window. I looked up at him.
A shaft of sunlight illuminated one side of his face, leaving the other side in shadow. The duality hit me as symbolic, because from what I’d experienced so far from my so-called boss, he was exactly this. Light and dark. Hot and cold. It was almost as if he hid in the shadows deliberately. Mind you, I guess I was hiding too. Except now my wig and glasses were finally gone.
His knuckles rapped against my window. “Are you coming, Miss Granger?”
“Coming!” I reached for the door and climbed out. I looked around, and something struck me.
“I thought this would be a hotel.” I stared at the massive building site in front of me. It clearly wasn’t a hotel.
“It’s a shopping center,” he said flatly.
“But I thought Stark built hotels?” I walked after him, struggling to keep up.
“So did I,” he suddenly said. His voice had taken on that same mournful quality I’d heard in the car after the hospital. He stopped walking and looked around, putting his hands on his hips. I stopped walking and looked at him. He stood upright, like a soldier. It looked like he was surveying the area, looking for what?
“We did build hotels,” he said slowly. “Weshouldbuild hotels. But in this recession, you have to try your hand at other things. Diversify, as Mr. Grey is always so bloody fond of saying. Funny thing is, people seem to shop more in a recession.”
