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Chapter 3
The chime from the front door bell was so muted he sometimes missed it altogether, especially if he was on the phone, or talking with a client.
“Hmm, no idea who that’s supposed to be,” he said, clicking over to the front door camera. He didn’t have any visitors scheduled, and deliveries always used the building’s central loading dock in the back.
His office was part of a line of converted row houses along one of the busiest downtown streets. Tree-lined, renovated, and well maintained the boulevard might have been, but it still was a location that sometimes… got the sort of visitors one doesn’t want to greet in person.
The camera view clicked on, and he sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin.
It was Kelsey.
Her top, a form-fitting, sleeveless white tank, read Yes, I Am across the chest, the letters distorted as they coursed over the swells of her breasts.
Stop that.
Her hair was caught up in a messy tie, several strands hanging down, framing her face.
As usual, her skirt was way too short, her long, tanned legs on display for everyone to drool over.
Including you, apparently.
“What the hell is she doing here?” he murmured, finger hovering over the mouse, the cursor on his screen currently over Unlock.
The smart thing probably was to not answer at all, let her head on her way. But then that would mean her walking around in this neighborhood. Which wasn’t the best place for a young college girl—and especially one dressed like that—to be wandering about in.
He clicked the button.
She peered her head up at the camera, her dark sunglasses hiding her eyes, and grinned. Then she opened the door.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he sat there, listening to the clack-clack-clack of her heels on the wood floor downstairs. The lower level of his office he’d had converted to a large sitting/lobby area, with only the back two rooms blocked off for his use. Visitors walked down a long hallway, then took a tight hairpin turn up stairs that led directly to his office door. There were three other rooms upstairs—one of which he hadn’t yet finished converting—but he spent the vast majority of his time in his office.
The stairs, dark stained oak, creaked as she climbed them.
“Uncle Max? God, I hope I got the right address…” she said, her voice echoing slightly in the stairwell.
“In here,” he called, trying to make sure his wariness came through loud and clear in his tone.
His door, solid core, with a four-panel window at the center, swung in, and Kelsey peeked around it, spotting him behind his desk.
“Thank God, it is you!” She giggled nervously, stepping inside, and closing the door behind her. She strolled around the perimeter of the office, touching several items, as if getting a—literal—feel for the place. “Oh, wow… look at all these books!” She reached up, trailing a finger along several of them, stopping at another, tapping it gently. She looked over her shoulder at him, her grin pure mischief. “Torture Garden? Uncle Max, I never imagined!”
“Uh, hi?” He propped an elbow on the armrest of his chair. “You’ve read it? Mirbeau fan?”
She shook her head.
“How’d I guess?” He pointed at the bookshelf. “That title doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
“I’m sure, I’m sure,” she murmured, winking.
She plopped down in one of the two leather seats in front of his desk, crossing her legs, her foot clad in a strappy tan heel—again, completely inappropriate—bouncing before him.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
He wagged his pen at her foot. “That—you’re fidgeting.”
“Oh.” She crossed her arms, scanning the place. “This is such a cool office.”
