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CHAPTER ELEVEN
Joanie
My form quivered in the elevator, cheeks flushed. Because when I checked in with the concierge, he’d nodded.
“Of course, Miss MacAllister,” the elderly man said in a professional tone. “I’ll let you right up.”
But then that expression got serious. “You guys having a party up there? Three other gentlemen went up this morning as well. Management needs to be informed if there are parties bigger than five,” he frowned.
I gulped. Who was at Nick’s apartment? It had to be Damien, Charlie and Tom. The other three alphas must have shown up to resolve the issue of my possession.
So I gulped.
“No-not sure,” was my stammer. “But I can let Mr. North know.”
The concierge nodded.
“Yes, please. Ask him to call down and I’ll note it in our computers,” he said officiously. “Co-op rules and regulations, you know.”
I nodded, although in fact, I had no idea how the rules worked. Co-ops are a weird quirk of New York City. They run buildings in NYC, and the boards have been known to be strict and even bizarre in some cases. A party of five people didn’t sound so ginormous to me, but it wasn’t my place to say.
“Okay,” I said timidly. “Will do.”
And with that, I was whooshed up in the gleaming elevator, heart pumping excitedly. Because after visiting Karen, I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to tell the billionaires my story. I wanted to lay out my concerns, and to address them heart in hand. How things would turn out wasn’t clear, but there was definitely some type of resolution that would work for all of us.
But life is zany and bizarre, and my heart dropped to my stomach when the elevator doors opened. Because I thought I’d be alone. There’s only one apartment on Nick’s floor after all, and that’s his penthouse.
But unexpectedly, a beautiful blonde breezed in, hair slightly mussed, lipstick off just a touch off.
She shot me a dirty look.
“Getting off?” the girl asked. Her voice was dry and raspy, like she’d just tasted something nasty.
I shook my head, and then nodded quickly.
“Yes, yes, in fact I am,” I said.
She stared, those blue eyes unkind.
“This is it,” were her flat words. “You’re at the right floor.”
And numbly, my feet took me off the elevator, doors dinging closed once more.
But my lungs wouldn’t inhale. Or more accurately, they were filling with oxygen too fast. I felt lightheaded and faint.
Because who was that girl?
Why had she been so surly?
Why had she looked me up and down like I was the competition?
I was dressed in nothing special, just jeans and a t-shirt. My brown hair was wild as always, springing in curls around my shoulders.
But the blonde had narrowed her eyes at me, surveying my assets up and down. And strangely, we looked somewhat alike, superficially at least. We both had huge, soft breasts with wide hips. Her bum was as big as Kim Kardashian’s, clad in pink velour sweat pants with a lower back tattoo peeping over the waistband.
Who was that girl?
And why was she visiting Nick?
