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The hotel costs me double because I don't have a credit card or driver's license. Though the room smells of old smoke and heavy cleaners, I strip out of my wrinkled clothes and wash them in the green-tinted sink with the courtesy soap. It doesn't matter how hard I scrub though, I'll never wash away the memories.
Three days of grime sticks to my pale skin as I stand below the scorching hot water pouring from the crooked showerhead. I scrub my scalp until my arms are as tired as my body. Stepping from the shower, I manage to get a towel around me before I fall into the bed and blissfully pass out.
The next few days are a repeat of the first half of my journey. I decide to stick with the bus. There are fewer people and even less cameras. I wouldn't put it past Tripp to find a way to look for me using traffic light cams or something equally benign. It takes longer, but in the end, it is the safest choice. The entire trip I stay painfully aware of my surroundings, aware that I might need to find a way to flee at any point.
* * *
I’m standing in front of the building that at least two of the guys have offices in. I’ve been watching the flow of people go in and out and taking note of everything. I can’t announce my presence because what if they’ve heard from Tripp? He’s lied to others about me before, calling me mentally ill and pretending to be a loving husband. I need to make sure that I can trust them first.
I don’t know how I’m going to get through the line to the elevators. My baggy hoodie hides my hair and hangs inelegantly over a pair of cheap yoga pants I bought in Chicago. I look like a drug addict, not one of the high-powered attorneys or accountants who have offices in this building. I have to find a way to the elevators.
Looking down the sidewalk behind me, I see a pizza delivery guy parking his bike. I watch him set his hat on the handlebars and pull out a pizza, leaving one in the heating bag as he runs into the building next door. I swipe the sweaty hat and pizza and walk into the lobby. Multiple couriers have walked past the security guards and made eye contact with the man at the end of the line. After a deep breath, I do what I watched them do and try to look confident as I breeze past them to the elevators. No one stops me.
I climb onto an elevator with eight other people and hit the button for the top floor. Small, enclosed spaces send me into massive anxiety attacks. My eyes stay glued to the increasing numbers as I hold my breath the entire seventy-eight seconds until I am able to step out of the elevator and into the tasteful lobby. On either side are glass double doors with Ambrose, Williams, and Thorne LLC etched into the glass. Two exits. Four elevators. Deep breaths.
I ditch the pizza and hat on a shiny chrome table before walking through the doors on my left. I look right and left, trying to orient myself. I know he’ll be in the northwest corner of the building. He’s always loved that view of the city. My heart is going to beat out of my chest, and my skin feels tight and hot. I manage to make it down the first hall without being spotted. When I turn the corner, I see a straight shot through to the office I need to reach. I hear a door open and dart into a vacant office to hide while a short, balding man walks hurriedly down the hall, cell phone to his ear.
I look back into the hall and start walking toward the office. Sawyer Ambrose is listed on a plaque on the wall. I press my ear to the door and don’t hear any voices. I reach for the handle and take a deep breath because my life hangs in the balance. I live or die depending on what happens next. If they send me back to Tripp, he will end up killing me. I turn the handle and quickly dart into the office, slamming my back against the door as I close it.
“Excuse me,” he stands, an angry and surprised expression on his face. “You can’t just barge in here.” The light blue button-down shirt he’s wearing doesn't show a single wrinkle as he stands from behind a deep mahogany desk. I catch the tattoos peeking out from where he's rolled up his sleeves. He goes to hit a button that I’m sure goes straight to security.
“Wait,” I say quietly. I pull my hood down, meeting his eyes, until recognition hits him.
“Olivia?” He rushes toward me with shock all over his face, “What the fuck Liv?”
He comes toward me like he’s going to grab me, and I shrink into myself and pull away. He notices my reaction and puts his hands out in front of him to let me know he’s not a threat. I know that, or I wouldn’t have come here. Still, my basic instincts are telling me to be careful with all men.
“Olivia, talk to me. What’s happened to you?” He stoops down to try to look me in the eyes, but I just can’t hold eye contact yet. “Fuck. You’re scaring me, Liv. I’m calling Nolan, Grant, and Lake.”
He picks up his phone while watching me warily. “Nolan, my office now.” He ends the call and starts texting. He looks at me again after he sets down the phone. “I texted Grant and Lake, they’re not here in the building.”
Leaning against the front edge of his desk, his blue eyes evaluate me. His good looks have matured. His jaw is a bit sharper and his shoulders strain against the seams of his shirt. His chestnut brown hair is exactly the same though, longer on top and shorter on the sides. I’m swept away into memories of the first time we met.
* * *
“Olivia!” My uncle calls from the foyer of his huge house I’ve moved into for the next four years. “Come meet the neighbor’s son. He’s your age and will be at the same school as you this year.”
I walk down the curved staircase, looking down on a tall boy with messy brown hair and preppy clothes. Butterflies take flight inside me when I get to the bottom of the stairs and our eyes meet. He has the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He gives me an equally interested look, his eyes moving from mine down my body and back up.
“I’m Sawyer.” He holds out his hand for a handshake.
“Olivia.” I take his hand and shake it.
We stand there, awkwardly looking at each other and limply shaking hands. He finally smiles and lets go of my hand.
“A few of my friends are coming over tonight. If you want to come along, I can introduce you. Founders Prep isn’t the easiest school to handle from a social aspect. Knowing people the first day will only be a benefit.”
“Oh, thank you.” I glance out the still open door. “Which house?”
“The one to the left of yours,” he says as he gestures with his head. “Come over around seven, dress casual but bring a swimsuit.”
“Okay.” I watch him jog down the steps of the front porch and cut through the yards. Aside from the preppy clothes, he seems pretty cool.
* * *
The door opening and closing behind me startles me out of the memory. Sawyer stands from the desk and holds his arm out in warning. His eyes dart pointedly from the person who just entered, to me, treating me as a cornered animal. Truly, it is how I feel right now.
The tumultuous emotions warring inside me make it hard to focus. I just want to disappear, and I’m starting to regret my decision to come here. I so desperately wish I had some way to ground myself as the room starts to spin.
