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Gilded glass gleamed out of the shadows, drawing her closer. She crossed the sidewalk to the rocky alcove that shrouded the front door. A woman Chloe’s age strolled through the huge doors, barely glancing at the doorman who held the door open for her. He gave the woman a deferential smile, his posture positively perfect.
Had Chloe dropped into an alternate reality? She was used to seeing some of this behavior thanks to working on The Strip, but this was crazy.
The woman wore white from head-to-toe with gold flashing at her ears, fingers, and even her ankles.
Realization clicked like a flashbulb. Holy shit, that was Victoria Sheer.
Chloe swung around as the actress passed her by without a hello, a smile, or even a spare look. Shock and awe faded as her suitcase twisted onto its side thanks to her oh so graceful manuever.
“Can I help you, miss?”
Chloe stumbled and made a little yelp as the doorman saved her suitcase from scraping over the flagstaff. “Um, hi. Sorry.”
“That’s quite all right. Are you here for a resident?”
She shoved her purse back on her shoulder and smiled at him. “Yes.”
He glanced at her suitcase, but he didn’t betray a single thought about the status of her battered to hell suitcase from her first year at college. He probably thought she should be asking for the service entrance. “His or her name?”
She blinked. “Right, sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Michael Shawcross.”
A flash of surprise betrayed his features before they smoothed again.
“He’s my…friend.”
Was her wedding ring actually burning a hole against her leg? Hmm.
He opened the door. “Shall I announce you?”
“Announce me?”
“Unless you have a code?”
“Oh.” Maybe she should have texted Michael before she’d come over. What if someone was up there with him? What if he wasn’t home? Cripes, she hadn’t really thought this through.
“Your name, miss?”
“Chloe.”
“Your last name?”
Just how pretentious were the people in this building? “Adams.”
He pressed a button. “Mr. Shawcross? I have a Miss Adams here to see you.”
“Chloe?”
“Yes, it’s me.” She leaned closer to the panel inside the door.
“Send her up.”
The inside door clicked open. Chloe struggled with her suitcase over the track for the door. The wheels had been tortured with multiple bus rides over the years. They barely rolled.
“Eighteenth floor, miss.”
“Thanks.” Chloe spun back around. “What’s your name?”
“Barney, miss.”
