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“Was. He was crazy about me.”
“He hasn’t changed his Facebook relationship status.”
“He probably forgot.”
“Because Sawyer Camden is a man who forgets the details, Everly?” Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
I gnaw on my lip. I know what she’s saying is true. Now what am I going to do about it?
Forty-Seven
I change into something a little more sleuth-worthy and fix my hair and makeup. It’s important to look your best when spying. Actually, I have no idea if that is true, but looking your best never hurts. And my nails… I shake my head. I’ve got chipped ten-day-old Porn-A-Thon still on my fingers. That will not do.
I pull the nail polish box out from under my bed and rifle through it, weighing my options while I remove what’s left of the old polish. Ugh. Most of these will not work. I find a bottle named Fake It Till You Make It and unscrew the cap. I bought this for job interviewing this spring, but looking at the shimmery gold polish it’s probably better suited for spying than interviewing. Very 007. I think. I’ve only seen one Bond film, back in high school, and my attention was focused on giving my boyfriend a handjob, to be perfectly honest.
Anyway, it’ll do.
I give my nails a quick polish followed by a clear topcoat, then lean back on my bed, waving my hands a bit while I wait for them to dry. I’ve got to strategize. I have no idea if he’s home or not, or even if that matters. What am I intending to do? Use my keys to break into his place? Is it breaking in if I have a key? What if he changed the locks already? I don’t think so, though. Just like he didn’t change our relationship status on Facebook. I don’t think he’s changed the locks or deactivated the ID card that gives me access to his building.
But what is my plan? I have no idea if he’s home or not. I can’t waltz into his apartment if he’s home. Why do I even want to waltz into his apartment? What am I going to find there? I could use my ID card and break into his office. But I’m not sure if the door to his office is locked on the weekends. I know I can get access to the building, but can I get access to his office? What difference would it even make? I rifled though his desk the first time I was in his office and didn’t find a single interesting thing. And computer hacking is way beyond my skill level.
I could call Sandra. But no. It would make her a nervous wreck to be put in the middle. I can’t do that to her. Besides, she’s loyal to Sawyer, as she should be.
So I’ll have to wing it.
“Wish me luck,” I tell Chloe while sliding my shoes on. I’m definitely not wearing the Louboutins today. As much as they would blend in at the Ritz, they’re not exactly spy gear. Plus, they make a tapping noise when I walk on a polished surface and you never know when you’re gonna need a silent getaway.
“Good luck! I’ll keep my cell phone on in case you need me to bail you out of jail later.”
“You’re a good friend, Chloe,” I tell her, freeing my ponytail from under my coat.
“Not really.” She shakes her head, smiling. “I’m secretly just happy I’m finally getting a crack at the Pringles,” she says, shaking the can. “You don’t share when you’re sulking.”
I cab it over to Sawyer’s, then hover outside on the sidewalk, the doorman smiling brightly, hand on the door ready to grant me access. What am I doing? Stupid. This is stupid. The residential lobby isn’t large enough to hide in. I can’t very well just sit there. And he’d likely take the elevator straight to the parking garage anyway. Nice plan, Everly.
I turn around and walk, stuffing my hands in my coat pockets. Dilworth Park is just around the corner in front of City Hall. I need to regroup. I arrive at the park a minute later. It’s pretty dead—being the first weekend in February isn’t helping, nice weather or not. I walk around the large rectangle of dormant lawn towards the temporary ice rink that workers are taking apart. I wander in that direction and watch for a bit, the walls of the rink coming down and being loaded into a waiting truck, backed up onto the pavement in preparation.
