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A marriage that was in name only.
No real friends to speak of.
No hobbies.
I had my family, but that was dicey at times. My father had never forgiven me for taking the opposite path as my ancestors. I’d had a lot of years to come to terms with that, but the wound was still tender.
I tossed my pen on the desk.
If JoJo couldn’t be bothered to be reached, why should I bother trying to make more of an effort?
But I was halfway out of my chair, jacket in hand.
Because I didn’t want to fail at this too.
What this was exactly, I wasn’t sure. JoJo had come to me. And that gave me great satisfaction. And even if we could barely be in the same room, I’d promised my help.
“Dammit.”
I grabbed my briefcase but smiled. I lived for chaos. Thrived on the pressure. I had too many places to be at one time. That was nothing new and exactly how I liked it.
I checked my watch. It was after nine. JoJo would be pissed. I could imagine all the nasty thoughts she was having about me. That she shouldn’t have trusted me. That I couldn’t be counted on. That I was good for nothing.
It would be quite satisfying to prove her wrong.
“She’s expecting me.”
I strode past the doorman into JoJo’s building. It was old money. No, it was ancient money. The kind of place that new money could easily afford, but would never gain access.
He chased after me. “Sir, you can’t go to the private residences.”
I stepped into the elevator. “You and I both know the phone is still off the hook.”
His steps faltered. I didn’t need to explain which resident I was here to see.
“You need to wait in the lobby, sir, while I check with Miss Cunningham.”
“Miss Cunningham won’t be pleased.” Especially since I was an hour late. Cunningham. Had she held on to the name because of the prestige associated with it? Alma certainly had. But JoJo had never struck me as the type to care about those sorts of things. Not unless it could help further her cause.
The doorman darted his eyes to the lobby and then to me before scurrying inside the elevator. He scowled and fidgeted the entire ride and it grew worse when we reached the tenth floor. The top.
Old money didn’t need to live in high rises. This building had ten floors and ten residents. A giantwe’re here and you’re notto the rest of the world.
I hadn’t been here since Grandma Josephine passed away. Alma never came much anyway. I had visited the old woman more than she had. This man hadn’t worked here then.
As the doors opened to her floor, it was odd that Josephine wouldn’t be waiting in the parlor for me. Nothing had changed. The wallpaper was the same. The floors still a gleaming polished hardwood. Even the scent was familiar.
I strode in front of the doorman and knocked on one of the massive brass knockers on the set of double doors. He stopped beside me, and for a moment, I thought he’d ring the doorbell too. But he refrained.
And we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I knocked more insistently this time and rang the bell for good measure.
I craned my neck. Only silence greeted us.
