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He glowers at me. “My friends are actually helpful in situations such as this.” He checks his watch. “Actually, we need to go.”
He grabs clothes from his dresser and flings them at me. “Put those on.”
Sweatpants that are guaranteed to be too big. I glance down at my chest and zip up the sweatshirt the rest of the way, tomy throat, scowling at him. But I put on the pants and roll the waistband down until I’m not drowning in fabric.
“Great. Come on.”
“Where?”
He sighs. “You didn’t even bring shoes.” He tosses flip-flops down in front of me. “We’re not going out, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried at all,” I argue. But I’m moving, sliding my feet into the oversized sandals. I lead the way out of his bedroom, into the main part of his condo. That seems an awfully lot like mine, just in reverse. And way more windows.
I didn’t notice that last night. But now, sunlight streams in through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides.
Corner unit. Should’ve known.
“Lucky,” I mutter.
“Not so lucky when even the sun reminds me of you,” he replies under his breath.
I ignore that.
We head down the hall to the elevator, and I glance up at him. His hair is a mess of curls, like he’s run his fingers through it a million times. There’s scruff on his cheeks and shadows under his eyes.
I haven’t looked at myself in the mirror, and I don’t really want to know.
It’s really fucking tempting to ask how the game went. But I’d rather not remind him of the laxatives he’s no doubt pinned on me. Rightly. But still.
He loops his arm through mine, pulling me toward the door.
And the doorman.
“Jerry,” he calls.
I gulp. A lump forms in my throat, and I suddenly have a feeling I know exactly why we’re here. I dig my heels in, but Ihave no traction with these stupid shoes and the fabric that’s swallowing up my legs.
The doorman turns to us, and immediately his normally tan face goes a sickly shade of green. He steps back on reflex. “Ms. McGovern, are you?—?”
“Save it,” Knox snaps.
“I must really look like shit,” I joke.
Knox steps in front of me, so I can only see Jerry’s face over his shoulder. I huff at his back, but he ignores it.
“You let someone in yesterday,” Knox says to him. “Maybe they asked about Aurora’s condo? Which one it is?” He glances over his shoulder at me. “You’re known to give out condo numbers, aren’t you, Jerry?”
Jerry shakes his head frantically. “No, no, I didn’t?—”
“Does her face say you didn’t?” His voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it. “Did you have any inkling of what the man was going to do when you let him go up to her condo?”
“I—”
“Is there a problem?” The manager has appeared, hurrying forward with a slight frown. And then he sees me, and he, too, goes pale. “I heard you were inquiring about Gerald’s next shift, Mr. Whiteshaw, but are you accusing…?”
“I’m accusingJerryof letting up someone with malicious intent toward my wife,” Knox growls. “And I will not stand for it. We live here. We pay a lot to be here. I expect, at the very least, a decent measure of security. Give me one good reason not to involve the cops?”
The manager’s mouth gapes. Open, closed, like a fish out of water. Finally, he seems to make a decision, because he clears his throat and straightens his suit. “Jerry, take a fifteen-minute break. Mr. Whiteshaw, if I see a single hair on his head misplaced, you will be stonewalled. I promise you that.”
