The penthouse condo was a labyrinth, and it wasn’t because the rooms were small and crowded. Quite the opposite—the place was gigantic.
The movers must have finished up already—no sign of them, or anyone else. Maisie wondered who had overseen them. One of Ethan’s personal assistants?
Her overnight bag was where she’d stashed it that morning, under the sink in one of the guest bathrooms.
Thank goodness her bosses had been too distracted to wonder what she’d done with it, because inside the bag was that goddamn cursed envelope.
She wandered from room to room, looking for her furniture. She soon discovered that the condo was actually two levels. Her rooms were on the lower level and took up an entire corner of the floor, which meant tons of bright daylight pouring in through the immense windows.
The layout was one main room with two smaller, but not small, rooms leading off of it: an office and a bedroom. The main room included a fireplace and the most beautiful wood floors she’d ever seen. To her right was a sleek and modern kitchen as well as the living and dining areas.
These rooms were an entire apartment, an elegant, luxurious place that was nonetheless warm. And it was all her own.
The movers had set things up, but Maisie’s furnishings were pathetic compared to the available space. The office, for example, contained nothing but her rickety desk and the little filing cabinet that had previously lived in her bedroom closet.
The keys from her old place were sitting on the counter.
She went into the bedroom, opened the overnight bag and plunged her hand inside.
Her fingers touched the envelope. Well, at least now she had time to get rid of it.
She rolled the envelope up tightly and shoved it into one of her larger purses, a cheap black tote bag that had been a holiday gift from the call center she’d previously worked at. She suspected the owner had gotten the bag as a freebie at a trade show. Even after two and a half years it still carried the odor of petroleum byproducts.
She also added the smaller purse she’d been carrying.
Now the only question was where to dump the envelope. In the trash, obviously.
Take it a few blocks away and chuck it into a street garbage can? But what if it got knocked over? What if a homeless guy collecting bottles found it?
In a dumpster, then.
But she knew how messy trash trucks could be. The last thing she needed was for the envelope to be one of the pieces that didn’t make it into the compactor.
Maybe she could find a trash truck, throw the envelope into the back, and watch it get eaten. How to find one, though…
Unless she took it to the dump herself. She had no idea where the dump even was, but there had to be one within driving distance of the city.
Too bad she didn’t have access to a paper shredder. And she couldn’t use her new fireplace. First, she didn’t know how. Second, the air conditioning was running, so how suspicious would that be?
Burn it in a bathtub? But she expected the penthouse, with its irreplaceable art, had overly sensitive smoke detectors.
She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out her phone to do some research. There was a dump forty minutes away.
“Forty minutes,” she murmured.
Lunch had sucked up a big chunk of her afternoon, but she could be back in time for the wedding.
Unfortunately, her car was still at her apartment building. Not enough time to swing by there.
She had Ethan’s credit card. She could take a taxi.
And tell him what when the bill comes?
Maybe he wouldn’t look at the bill. But if he did? She could claim she’d hired someone to take her shopping all afternoon. Then she’d need to buy stuff, as cover.
But… she didn’t want to lie to her bosses ever again.
She flopped onto her bed—someone had laundered the sheets in a pleasant lavender-scented detergent—and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. The room was painted in neutral white. A blank slate, waiting for her to make her mark.
She needed to get rid of the envelope. Immediately.
Somewhere in the city, there had to be a trash can that she could feel confident wouldn’t be rummaged through or mishandled.
The hospital, maybe. She could bribe an orderly to throw it into the incinerator. Better yet, she could bribe him to let her throw it into the incinerator and pull the lever or push the button or whatever.
The closest hospital was only about five minutes away.
She couldn’t do anything about the Heather problem, but at least she could take care of this.
Maisie got to her feet, grabbed the bag, and headed briskly for the exit. It was quite a walk—there had to be a closer way out, but if she started looking for it now, she’d probably end up getting lost.
She reached the penthouse’s entrance and was shocked to discover Raphael standing there.
Time seemed to slow. She stared at him, her mouth open.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Getting fresh air,” she stuttered. “Why aren’t you at the office?”
“I came to get you,” he said. “The app lets us know who’s in the condo. Good thing I didn’t show up three minutes later. It’s time, Maisie.”
“Time for what?”
His smile was dazzling. “To get you married.”