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Gin comments on a few other people he’s seen come through. I don’t hear a word he’s saying, though. I’m too busy trying to figure out King’s end game. Why did he leave last night? Why am I still breathing? Did he say anything to my father? That’s the biggest one. Although, since I haven’t heard from Dad, I can assume King didn’t rat me out. Which then leads me to a whole other set of questions. I shake off the train of thought and focus on Gin again. Of course, Gin isn’t his real name, just a moniker I gave him when I learned of his absolute devotion to every brand of Gin.
Finding Gin was pure luck. I wasn’t looking for a nosy doorman when hunting for my new apartment, and I doubt he was looking for a know-it-all Southern belle with a smart mouth. But as luck would have it, we hit it off and somehow managed to build a friendship over the last year. He sees everything and hears even more. Most people don’t pay attention to the man opening the door for them. Even the ones who do tend to overlook Gin. For some reason, our society treats the elderly like they are inconsequential, and because of that, they don’t watch what they say or do around him.
I’m not angry about it, though. No, it works out quite well for me.
“Good job, old man,” I say, pulling a brown paper sack from the bag on my shoulder. “Want me to put it behind the counter for you?”
“Happy to be of service. Let me have a swig first, if you don’t mind.” He takes the bottle of Gin out and adds a dash to his Yeti cup before passing it back to me. I slip it back into the paper sack and make a beeline for the lobby counter, tucking the bottle on the shelf for him to grab later. No one bothers me, despite the fact that I don’t work here. No, I’ve gotten good at making friends with the people who matter. I’d like to tell you it’s just my charm, but that’s only part of it. Even if they didn’t like me, they wouldn’t say a thing. That’s what having one of the most powerful lawyers in the country as your father buys you.
Freedom.
I leave a flyer with my app on the table by the elevator before stepping through the doors and pressing the second to last button on the bottom, holding the grin on my face until the doors swoosh closed.
Walking through the door of my apartment is like entering an oasis that was created just for me. Here I don’t have to pretend to be anyone else. I don’t have to wear a mask or warp myself into someone else to accommodate other people’s needs.
I kick my shoes off by the door, peeling my clothes from my body as I make my way to the kitchen. By the time I’m standing at the counter eating chocolate ice cream straight from the carton, I’m wearing nothing but a pair of black panties.
Bliss.
This is complete and total bliss.
At least it was. Now... all I can think about is how sexy King looked as he leaned against the doorframe. The way my heart raced as he moved closer. The heat of his body as it pressed into mine. His course finger as it trailed over my skin, lighting it on fire. I swear, there’s even still a faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.
I shove King to the back of my mind and grab my phone off the counter, heading to the oversized couch in the center of the room. After artfully arranging the pillows around me, I open Swytch to check for any recent calls or texts. This app was a lifesaver for me. Giving out my real name and number is a sure-fire way of attracting the kind of attention I don’t want or need. It’s what first sparked the idea for creating my own app.
Now, thanks to three months of hard work and extensive testing, I have a fully functional app that allows users to input their information and requests. I still rely heavily on word of mouth, but rather than having to meet someone personally and feel them out, I can run their provided information. If they meet the criteria, then the app sets them up with an appointment to vet them more fully. Upon completion of the vetting process, users can select which package they desire.
It’s much more streamlined, and the options are endless. For a price, you can find out if your man will willingly text another female. If you want to find out if he’ll date, kiss, mess around with, or even fuck someone else, that’s going to cost you a whole lot more. The app calculates everything and selects one of the five women currently employed to investigate. It completely cuts out the need to make anything personal. No real names, addresses, or phone numbers are used. All aliases.
I made that grave mistake with one of my first marks. The guy wasn’t even married, but the girlfriend was worried he might propose and wanted to know whether she could trust him. I felt compelled to help, and it blew up in my face.
Not only was the guy complete and total scum, but she stayed with him and told him everything. Figures. Some people don’t actually want an out. They want to play the victim. It’s those people I don’t mind taking money from. I walked that cash straight into the bank and deposited it into my account.
I finish checking the various numbers I have and send back a few messages. Another thing I learned early on—if you just drop them right after their life explodes, it’s a little obvious you had something to do with it. I don’t need any more trouble. Once I finish, I put the ice cream away and connect my phone to the Bluetooth speaker in the bathroom. Hell on Heels by Pistol Annie’s blares through the speakers while I start the shower.
This is my favorite time of day, when I’m able to reflect on yesterday and plan for today. Maybe that’s why my mind is drawn back to another shower and a call that subsequently led me straight to into King’s grasp.
I’m rinsing my hair when the music cuts off, replaced by a ringing tone. I shut off the water and grab a towel before telling Siri to answer the call. “Mrs. Pierce, there is a gentleman here to see you.”
“Did he offer a name?” I ask, drying off.
“Yes, he said his name is Jeffrey.”
Speak of the fucking devil. Some days, I honestly felt like my past mistakes will never quit popping up to torture me. I’ve been ignoring his calls and texts for weeks, and now he’s shown up here. At my home. A part of me wants to ignore this too, but I don’t trust him to not start more trouble, and this is the sort of thing I don’t need getting back to my dad. They may love me here, but at the end of the day, he pays the bills. And like they always say, money talks.
Fuck. I don’t have time for this shit today.
“I’ll be right down.” I disconnect the call and wrap the towel around my hair, wringing out as much moisture as I can before popping it in a bun on top of my head, then slide on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt.
My descent back into the lobby is much like the ride up but in reverse. Instead of pasting on a grin, I slap a lazy, infuriating smirk on my face moments before the doors open. I see him as soon as I exit the elevator. But he’s too busy eye fucking the woman walking out the door to notice me. I take in every inch of him in the half minute it takes to reach him. He’s overdressed in bold, flaunting prints, a thick gold chain wrapped around his throat. Nothing he wears matches, but I guess he thinks it doesn’t matter since each item probably cost more than I make in a month.
“You rang?” I ask.
“Bout damn time.” He reaches out, grabbing my elbow. His grip isn’t bruising, but it’s not gentle either. I tug back a little to see if he’ll release me, but he only tightens his grip. “It’s time we talk, Nolan.”
I note the use of my name, my real name, about the time I notice how full the lobby is. Several people are looking our way, including Gin. He raises his eyebrows in question, and I smile before lifting my hand and brushing it down Jeffrey’s chest. “I agree. We should. How about there?” I nod to a set of chairs in the back of the lobby. He releases my elbow, and I take the opportunity to link my arm in his, guiding him to the chairs where I promptly sit and cross my legs.
I hold his gaze and lift my hand in a continue motion that always seems to piss people off. And it works, too. His eyes narrow, his lips flattening into a hard line.
