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“Always a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Mason,” he gushes, almost as if he’s dealing with a celebrity.
Blake only smiles politely and once we’re inside the elevator he slips his hand over mine, giving it a little squeeze.
The ride up is long and I wonder if the elevator is broken, but once the shining silver doors open it all makes sense.
From what I can tell, we’re on the very top floor, with only one or two suites on it.
There’s a huge window at the end of the long hallway, red-bordered white carpeting, and a view that takes my breath away.
I want to go check out the view, but Blake’s hand in mine signals me the real view is from our suite. Not the hallway.
The concierge swells with pride, announcing the Presidential suite and flinging open both the huge white doors with gleaming brass handles before we both step in.
It’s huge, bigger than our whole house. Bigger than the whole block if it was laid end to end, it seems.
I gasp and feel overwhelmed as the concierge does his little routine, announcing the services and features available for the suite.
Blake was right, we’ll want for nothing staying here but I had no idea when he said fancy hotel he meant the Presidential suite.
It looks like something from a movie set, with old style furniture and fittings from another era that look like they were made just the day before.
More than impressed, I quickly forget about his keenness to get me away from home and into this place.
It all makes sense now.
I’ve never been so—
The concierge tsks to himself, picking up a remote from one of the low tables.
“Sorry Mr. Mason, someone left one of the televisions on.”
But before he can switch it off, I grab it from his hand, torn between trying to figure out how to work the volume and the image on the huge, wall-sized screen in one of the lounge rooms.
It’s a photo of the owner of Blake’s house. I’m sure it’s even one of the photos he took off the wall and put in a drawer.
Blake moves to take the remote, but finding the volume I keep it out of his reach just long enough to catch the end of the news story.
“…Mr. Nathaniel Macy, chief editor and part-owner of Chord magazine has been reported missing after not returning to his work or home as scheduled…”
My blood runs cold for a moment, and my entire body gets a chill, as Blake slips the concierge some money, murmuring that he’ll take it from here.
“…Vegas holdings, the owner and publisher of Chord is offering a fifty thousand dollar reward for any information leading to the whereabouts of their—”
I want to hear the rest, but Blake’s switched the TV off at the wall.
He’s obviously seen enough. And I’ve maybe seen too much.
“So if that guy on your wall at home is our neighbor, if he’s Nate Macy,” I ask, feeling like I’ve been winded. Punched below the belt.
“If that guy’s our neighbor,” I say again, not wanting to even look at him. “Then who the hell are you?”
Chapter Sixteen
Blake
I was gonna tell her. I really was.
I mean, I will. I have to now, don’t I?
Krystal looks beyond hurt. More than upset. And I guess she has every right to be.
Once she hears the news on the huge TV, sees the real neighbor who not only owns the house I’ve said I rent, but actually does live there himself, my secret’s out.
I move closer to her, my hands reaching out for hers, but she shakes her head, backing away from me. She seems almost frightened of me all of a sudden, which hurts me more than anything else.
“Krystal, let me explain,” I tell her. Figuring now’s as good a time as any to get it all off my chest.
And then we can just...
“Where are you going?” I call after her, my stomach twisting into a knot as I see her turn her back, making for the door we just came through.
“I don’t know who you are, Blake. If that’s even you’re real name. But I’m going home now, just stay away from me,” she stammers, walking before she actually runs the final few steps for the door.
Jesus.
“Krystal! Wait!” I call after her.
This isn’t going to plan at all.
I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to frighten her by chasing her down, but I can’t just let her run away either.
I jog after her, watching her tear stained face as the elevator doors close, making me growl out loud with frustration.
There’s another elevator down, and by the time I make it to the ground floor, I can see her bolting from the front desk.
I watch her run outside, fumbling for her valet ticket before someone at the desk asks if everything’s alright.
