Page 45 of His Wicked Revenge

Chloe insisted on grocery shopping for me because she said I would only buy junk food. She was ecstatic to discover that her new best friend lived across the hall.

After my sister's bright idea of leaving Veronica and me alone at the bowling alley, she thought we hit it off, and I moved here on purpose.

I did move here for a purpose. Just not for the purpose she thinks.

Staring into the fridge, I scan Chloe's neatly stocked items on the shelves: juices, water bottles, and a couple of cans of pop. She told me not to drink too much of it, or else my teeth would rot away.

With being pregnant and raising Carter, she is in full mom mode.

Snagging a bottle of water off the top shelf, I shut the door and twist the cap off the bottle. As I bring the rim to my lips, I hear a door shutting in the hall. It sounded close by as if it could have been Veronica’s.

I walk over to my door, peering out the eyehole to see her searching inside her bag. Once she is content with knowing she didn’t forget anything, she looks up and glances at my door. Only for a second, until she stalks off down the hall. I wait until I hear the elevator ding before I open my door and enter the corridor.

Looking to my left, I don’t see any sign of her, so I take the few steps to her apartment and try her door handle. I’m not sure why I thought she might have left it unlocked. Being back in Seattle, she is most likely paranoid. So why would she leave her place unlocked?

But there is an issue.

I want in there.

I stare at the door handle, wondering if I could pick the lock, but then I remember we have other neighbors. It isn’t only Veronica and I living in this building, and if someone saw me picking a lock, they’d call the cops.

If Veronica were home, she might let me in, but I want to peek inside her place when she isn’t here.

After multiple ideas play out in my head and fail, I reach into my pocket for my phone. Although this one may fail, it is my only option without getting charged for breaking and entering. I search for Rachel's number. She insisted I put it in my phone for emergencies.

It rings a couple of times before she answers, “Hello?”

“Hi, Rachel. It’s Leo.”

“Oh—hi!” Her voice went from customer service to something less professional. “How are you?”

I inhale a deep breath, careful to let it out without an audible sigh. “I’m good. And you?”

“Just great!” she states, and then finally circles back. “What can I help you with?”

“Camille was in a rush this morning and forgot to water her plants,” I lie. I have no idea if Veronica even has plants in her apartment. “She texted and asked me if I’d be able to do it for her, or else they would die, and she wouldn’t survive.”

“Okay?” she says slowly. “How do you expect me to be of any help?”

“Well, there is no spare key under her welcome mat.”

“I see. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate for me to hand out keys that don’t belong to tenants.”

“I completely understand.” And I do. It’s a request most people would shut down immediately. Rachel needs a little push, if you will. “I just know how much Camille loves her plants. She would be devastated if anything happened to them.”

“Leo—” Her tone is almost pleading. It is as if she wants to give me a spare but knows it goes against their protocol.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

“W-what?”

“Dinner. With me.”

There is a short pause before she says, “The key in exchange for dinner.”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” she quickly agrees. “You must really care about Camille’s love for her plants to do this. I’ll be right up.”