Page 76 of Roman

“Was anyone hurt?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.

“No. Margi worked ahead yesterday, so no one was there.”

“Thank God for that,” she whispered. “It’s all gone? My apartment too?”

“Yes.”

“Oh God. What do I do?”

“You have your insurance information?”

“Yes, it’s all in the files you brought over.”

“I’ll help you with all that.”

She stood. “I want to go there. Now.”

“No, Effie. The place is crawling with firefighters and police.”

“I have to see it.”

“There is nothing to see. You don’t want to look at a smoking ruin.”

Suddenly, her anger flared. “Stop telling me what I want, Roman. How to feel. What to do. I know you rescued me, but stop it. You don’t own me.”

“You think because I rescued you, I think that?”

“I have no idea what you think.”

“What I think is you’re not going anywhere.”

She pushed past me and headed to the bathroom. She slammed the door, and part of me was grateful for her anger—even if it was directed at me. It showed her resilience. Her strength. She was going to need that.

I went to my desk, waiting for her. She couldn’t stay in there forever.

She came out, her face pale, her eyes damp but calm.

“I want to go to the spa. I need a massage.”

I was surprised but pleased. “I’m sure that you do.”

“Maybe a facial.”

“You can have any service you want.” I picked up the phone. “I’ll arrange it and take you down.”

“I can go down on my own,” she informed me haughtily.

“You need a passcode to do that.”

“It’s 6984,” she replied.

“Vi gave it to you?” I asked, angry.

“I watched her punch it in. I’m not stupid.”

I drew in a deep breath. “It only works on that elevator.”

She crossed her arms. “I am well aware of that. I also know any other floor would have your men stationed at the door. I’m quite sure I’m safe getting a massage.”