Page 121 of Gold Rush

“Rory called his godson, who’s the head of neurology at Mass Presbyterian. And I guess she made a big donation to New York General. Arthur is on some board or committee there. He stopped by the office today. Asked Oliver about all of it. Oliver told me to give you his best, by the way, so I think you’re golden there.”

“Jesus.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Not bored anymore, right? You’re welcome. It’ll be fine. You—fuck, Dylan found a Sharpie and is coloring the wall. Lunch soon?” Kit hangs up without waiting for an answer.

I glance at Finch, still peacefully asleep. Drawing on walls is new, but I’ve personally witnessed Dylan scream, kick, bite, vomit, and throw toys. Yet Kit and Collins are willingly going through that again. Temporary insanity, or am I missing something?

It’s seven thirty now. Still no Rory. I pick up my phone again to text her, then decide a walk sounds better. Aside from visiting the gym on the first floor, I haven’t left this apartment all day. No doubt that’s contributing to my current state of stir-crazy. I pack up some of the leftovers from dinner in a glass container, feed Finch a treat, then head out the door.

An unwelcome face is waiting when I reach the lobby. Carson Albright stands from the bench across from the elevators as I step out, surprise, then annoyance appearing on his face.

“I was just about to call up and let you know you had a visitor,” Gavin, the doorman, says, setting the phone back down.

I nod, adjusting the container of leftovers under my arm. “Thanks, Gavin.”

“What are you doing here?” Carson asks.

“I live here. What are you doing here?”

“You live here?”

“That’s what I just said.”

He exhales, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was hoping to talk to Rory.”

“She’s not here. And I don’t think she wants to talk to you.”

“I know.” He sighs again.

I prefer the prick at the party to this contrite sight. I have zero sympathy for him, but kicking a guy when he appears down isn’t as satisfying. “I’ll tell her you stopped by.”

He huffs. “No, you won’t.”

“I will, Albright. Because I might have spent too much time drinking and partying, but I have this tiny thing called integrity, which means I don’t lie to people. So, yeah, I will tell Rory you were here, and she can decide what to do with that information.”

Carson’s jaw works as he glances at the generic painting on the wall past the elevator. “I-I thought Knox was full of shit when he told me you guys were together. He’s always had a thing for Rory. He hit me, too, that night, after you left. I figured he was reading way too much into it because he was bothered that she’d moved on with someone who wasn’t him.”

Knox likes her. He’s liked her. Which I already knew, but don’t appreciate the confirmation. If I hadn’t pitched this scheme to Rory, would they be dating for real by now?

“Rory always complained about you,” Carson continues. “You were the last guy I ever thought she’d date. But at the gala, she was so … focused on you. She was never like that with me. She only paid attention when we were alone. Sometimes not even then. She never … needed me. The other girls …”

My fingers flex at the confirmation he cheated more than once.

Carson sighs. “I convinced myself, as long as Rory never found out, I was doing it for her. Getting what I needed to stay in a relationship she wanted. We had it all. We worked. Then, when she found out—when everyone found out—I panicked. I lashed out—mostly at the person who deserved it the least.”

I stare at him, impassive. He cheated … for her? That’s got to be up there with his this isn’t what it looks like as the stupidest shit he’s ever said.

“I’m not telling her all that,” I state. “Like I said, she can contact you if she wants to.”

“She won’t. She blocked me weeks ago. She’s clearly moved on. And I should have realized why she talked about you so often a long time ago. So, uh, yeah.” He scratches his jaw. “All the shit I said at the gala? I’m sorry. I’ll leave you guys alone.”

Carson turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the lobby.

Rory’s office is not that near to mine. She traveled at least fifteen minutes the day she came to see me.

The building is a block from Tweed Courthouse, the facade similar stone. There’s a gold plate affixed next to the ground-level doors that could use a good shining. I tuck the container with Rory’s dinner under my arm, then yank at the door. It’s locked.

I swear under my breath, although a part of me is glad. It’s almost eight now. For security reasons, someone shouldn’t be able to walk in off the street.