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My feet are killing me by the time I make it to the cobblestone path that leads to the front entrance of my apartment complex. There are a few people standing outside enjoying a cigarette while talking amongst themselves about whatever bullshit they heard on the news — every so often one of them will stop me and tell me what they heard, but thankfully tonight isn’t one of those nights. I give them each a small smile as I walk by, trying not to shiver under their lingering gazes, and quickly push through the glass doors.
Ernest, who I call Ernie, is sitting at his usual spot behind the front desk with a crossword book folded back in his hands. “What do you got for me tonight, Ernie?”
He glances up with a smirk, then darts his gaze back to the puzzle he’s working on and taps his chin in thought. This is something we’ve started doing every night — I’ll come in from work and he’ll read off one of the definitions for me, then I’ll head into the elevator — and it’s become one of my favorite parts of the day.
Ernie is an older man, who loves talking about his grandkids to anyone who will listen, and enjoys a good hoagie. I happen to know all of this because I’ve let him talk my ear off about his granddaughters while sharing a hoagie from around the corner with him.
Ernie clears his throat and says, “Right-hand man for a man with no right hand. Four letters.”
It takes a few minutes, but thank goodness I spent most of my childhood watching Disney movies or else he would’ve gotten me this time. I smile brightly at him and his shoulders slump in defeat when I say, “Smee.”
He shakes his head and lets out a sigh. “I’m going to stump you one of these times, Miss Whitlock.”
I chuckle. “Whatever you say, Ernie, have a good night!”
The elevator doors burst open when I walk up to them and as soon as they shut in front of me the men that were standing outside all walk through the lobby together, their eyes falling right on me. It’s not the first time they’ve looked at me this way, but it’s starting to get uncomfortable — nothing like it was when I was staying in the guest house at Brent’s.
I’m digging into my purse for my keys and sigh in relief when I have them clutched in my hand, but my steps come to a sudden halt when I look up and find Heath standing outside my front door. “H-Heath, what are you doing here?”
He smirks at me, bringing a hand out to touch me, but I flinch away from it. “Syd, I was waiting up for you, thought we could have a chat. Mind if I come inside?”
If I could, I’d send him away, but if this is about the ranch project then I need to act as calm and collected as possible about it. I nod, then wait for him to move out of my way so I can unlock the door and hold it open for him. Like usual, he walks in without so much as offering to let me go first — ever the gentlemen — and his gaze studies my apartment with a frown.
“What’s up?” I ask after throwing my purse onto the counter.
“I was wondering what’s been going on at the ranch,” he says casually. “You said that there wasn’t anything worth writing down, but that must mean there’s something you’ve gotten while there.”
My hands get damp at his questioning and I shrug my shoulders. “Nothing out of the ordinary. The owner's son, Nathan, took me for a tour around the property. The most I saw while there was a lake that he and his dad like to skate on during the winter months.”
“Anyone ever talked about their horses?”
“Not that I can recall, other than seeing if I wanted to go for a ride on one.” When I turn around and lean against the counter, drink in hand, Heath is looking at me with an accusatory frown. I roll my eyes. “Calm down, it was the son’s way of welcoming me onto the property.”
“And that’s all?”
I’m not sure if anything in my eyes is giving me away, but I’m praying to hell it’s not at this point. I nod my head. “Yes, Heath. You do realize I know how to do my job, right? The only information worth giving you was that they were cleaning up from a barn accident, which has since been finished, but that’s all.”
He hums in response and moves to the front door. “I expect more information when you come back next. Something tells me it’s going to be much different than the other times you went down there.” Then he shuts the door softly behind him.
Why does that sound so ominous?
Chapter 23
Brent
There are roughly two more weeks before I get to see Sydney again and I’m going crazy with making sure everything is in order for her. I’ve had Nathan go into the guest house and clean it out more than once, even though no one else has been in there since her, and I’m almost certain he’s about to cuss me out over it. I pull the truck up to the mailbox and grab the small stack of envelopes inside, noticing that one looks a little fancier than I’m used to seeing.
Nathan is sitting on the couch when I walk through the door, standing up as if prepared for me to ask him to clean the guest house again, but I only shake my head at him while pulling the fancy card stock paper from between what I’m sure are bills. I frown at the cursive written along the thick paper — an event that I’ve been invited to taking place in New York City, some kind of charity event.
Something akin to hope blossoms inside of me. Maybe this is Sydney’s way of telling me that we are more than just a fling or a way for her to pass time, and my frown turns into a grin.
“What’s got you smiling like that?” Nathan asks from beside me. I toss the invitation on his lap and lean against the cushions, already trying to plan what I could wear. This seems like a fancy gala, but I’m not sure I have anything that would be appropriate for an event like that. Nathan hums beside me and hands it back over. “You going to go?”
I shrug. “Maybe, but I don’t know if I have anything to wear.” With money being a little tight right now I highly doubt I’d be able to get anything too expensive even if I could go. Is the humiliation worth it to see Sydney again, sooner than I’ve been used to seeing her?
It would be nice to see her in a setting that’s more in her wheelhouse, watching as she rocks the shit out of the rich pricks looking to blow their money as a form of publicity.
“I think it could be good for you.”
