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Once I reach the main lobby, my humiliation commences. This strange “living-death” effect comes over anyone seen leaving a workplace with their things in a box and an envelope sticking out of their bag. The unlucky souls they cross don’t know whether to say goodbye or stare. I’m irritated to find that most people take the latter option. I canfeeltheir pity, more jarring than the icy rain steadily falling outside.
Luckily, I don’t have far to travel as James is there to meet me at the entrance of the building rather than beside the car. Without a word, he takes my cardboard box and tucks it under one arm while holding a black umbrella above my head with the other. Gratitude renders me speechless—I can’t even muster up a proper thank-you, not that he seems to expect one. Once we make it to the Mercedes, he gently tucks my things onto the seat beside me and drives me across town to my apartment.
“Let me help you, Miss,” he insists, withdrawing the key from the ignition once we’re parked in front of my building.
“That’s okay!” I shake my head and gather my box before he opens his door. “I’ve got it. Thank you…”
I race inside before he can even make it out onto the curb. It’s funny how your body can move on autopilot while your brain self-destructs. Without any witnesses, I reassemble my consciousness in pieces during a sleepy ascent up three flights of stairs. All the while, my brain repeats the same statement on a loop, as if to help it sink in—Graeme Bellamy fired me. I, Evelyn King, who rarely failed at anything, was fired by an ungrateful bastard like Graeme Bellamy…
The thought trails off when I almost collide with a wall. I blink and find myself staring at a section of peeling paint in the hallway near my flat. Muffled shouts reach me from the tenants above, ten hours ahead of schedule. At least the fight serves as the perfect chaotic soundtrack when I pull my keys from my pocket and make three attempts to unlock my door. The moment I finally get it open, I set my box down and kick it over the threshold before closing the door. Out of habit, I scan the items on the end table as I close the door behind me. Picture. Vase. Ficus…
Wait. I blink and look closer. Picture… vase…
It takes me another five seconds to realize that Mom’s statue is missing. Did I knock it over when I came in? I glance under the table and find nothing.
And then I smell it—heavy cologne like the cheap kind used by addicts to cover up the scent of smoke. It lingers over the doorway, too far in to have been left by someone passing by. My nostrils flare, picking up the acrid scent underneath. It’s so familiar I can instantly put a name to the brand—Lucky Cigarettes.
Once I finally look up, it isn’t hard to spot the source of the stench. I don’t know how the hell I missed him before, lounging on my couch with his feet on my coffee table. He’s aged about ten years in the three since I saw him last. His baby fat has melted, revealing the bone structure he inherited from Dad. They style their hair the same, but Dad was always clean-shaven, never approving of the scruffy look. Danny, apparently, didn’t inherit that habit. I wonder if he’s showered this week. It certainly doesn’t smell like it. Red stains splatter the gray sweatshirt he wears over a ratty pair of jeans. Paint? Ketchup? Blood?
Who am I kidding? I’d stake my money on it being a mix of all three.
He must have been asleep when I came in because he startles upright, scrambling to get his muddy shoes off my furniture.
“Eves,” he croaks out. “I… uh… long time no see.”
Long time. I guess to him three years might seem like a decent reprieve since he last showed up unannounced on my doorstep. For me, it’s too damn soon.
“How the hell did you get in here?” I scan the table again, focusing on the spot where Mom’s stupid clown figurine should be. It isn’t long before I locate it—tucked in his grip. “That’smine.”
“Whoa… Eves.” He scrambles to his feet, holding the clown up for closer inspection. Judging from his blank expression, one might assume he’s never seen the damn thing before. But if memory serves me well, he’s had his eye on it since the age of ten when he first learned to attach a price to other people’s property—not many kids his age tried selling their sister’s Barbies on the playground for spending money. “I was just—”
“Fine, you can have it,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest. “If that’s what it will take to get you to leave before one of your drug-dealing buddies comes by, then take it and go. I’m sure you can get at least seventy bucks for it. Maybe a hundred. It’s vintage.”
He has the nerve to look ashamed—his cheeks flush red, his eyes downcast. “Eves… I—”
“Well, I see that you already made yourself comfortable.” My eyes zero in on my bedroom door—it’s hanging open.
Ineverleave it open. My throat feels tight as my brain pieces together the obvious reason it is now. I guess he’s already turned over the mattress and found the cash I keep there. Go figure. I’d been stupid enough to assume that, after the last five apartment switches, I might have been able to finally let my guard down. As per usual, the joke’s on me.
“That didn’t take long. Keep the cash. I don’t even want to hear your pathetic excuses this time,” I tell him before he can speak. My hand flies out for the door, prying it open so hard it smashes against the wall. “Don’t let me stand in the way of yourfun—”
“Evie!” I hear him behind me as I stumble into the hallway clutching my bag. My heart is pounding when I reach the lobby and race onto the street.
Above the rush, I think I hear him call out. Maybe it’s an apology. Maybe it’s a request for my bank account information. With Danny, you never know.
CHAPTER12
graeme
Four meetings in one damn day trap me in the boardroom for most of it. Usually, I’d navigate the schedule like clockwork, guided by a silent scribe who would take note of every detail and only pause in her duties to shove an apple into my mouth every blasted hour. Without her, it’s all a bloody mess. By the fourth appointment, Ann has already been reduced to tears twice, and she cowers beside her desk as I leave the office three hours late. The delay turns out to be a blessing in disguise when I finally surface to find that Gloria left at least twelve messages for me. Rather than return them, I exit the building alone for the first time in three years without an ounce of remorse for the person who isn’t by my side.
Firing her wasn’t cruel, but an act of mercy. Without any ties to me, Adrian Riley will have no desire to pursue her. She’ll be safe, a fair trade after three years of dutiful service.Liar,a part of me counters. Even a ruthless bastard like Riley could have an interest in Evelyn beyond revenge. Especially after he saw her inthatdress.
My throat goes dry at the memory. No one could blame any man for gaping at her open-mouthed, practically drooling. Buttheyhadn’t glimpsed what lay beneath the material. I can still see the image of her flashing through my skull, and I grit my teeth to chase the thought away.
She could be with Riley right now. He could have followed her. Coaxed her back to that blasted club. Coaxed her into his bed.
But, knowing the bastard, he won’t expose her past for his own benefit, and that’s all that matters. Besides, I can always find a new assistant. In fact, the silence is rather refreshing, considering that no one is there to nag about hypoglycemia as I find James waiting out front. Once inside the car, however, my nostrils flare to catch a scent they shouldn’t—the faint hint of rose perfume. I roll the nearest window down to disperse the smell and slam the door behind me without bothering to examine why. Nothing will ruin this night.
