SUV’s tailgate echoes through the parking garage. Hitching my bag onto my shoulder, I turn to Olivia, who has been silent the entire drive.
Normally, she chatters too much. Today she’s taken to listening to something through her headphones, which are still in her damn ears. I glare at her until she removes them.
“What’s the deal?” I ask, not sure I care.
The quiet has been nice.
“I just don’t get why I have to be here and why we had to lie about going to the beach.”
It’s official; she has turned into a moody teen.
I turn away without answering and lead her to an elevator bank on the opposite side of the garage. Her heels click, each echo sending aggravated bursts through my blood.
When the elevator opens, I hold the door until she’s through, then follow, selecting the fourth floor.
Anger erupts inside me. “What the fuck do you have against New York?”
Her lips part in shock, and she shifts nervously.
“Nothing. I just—”
“You wanted to do this, Olivia. This,” I say, waving my arms about, “is part of it. And don’t you fucking degrade my home again.”
The rage loosens its grasp. A subtle disappointment creeps in. I know better. I don’t lose control of my emotions.
“I … I didn’t mean—”
“Just don’t do it again,” I interrupt before she can get under my skin and make me feel something else unsavory.
The elevator doors creek open, and I rush out of the metal box onto the faded green carpet of the hall. The beige walls with the fake board and batten close in on me.
She’s ruining this place—my sanctuary.
I pull out my old key ring and unlock the deadbolt and handle, then swing the door open. The tiny entry that’s no more than an old mat over tile greets me. My living room hugs me as I enter. I glance at my wine barrel tabletop and smile.
“This is where we’re staying?” Olivia asks. There’s no hiding her disgust.
“It’s a little dusty. The housekeeper’s unreliable.” I smirk, knowing her biggest issue is that it’s cramped and outdated.
“It’s not that dusty,” she answers unexpectedly. “Compared to the level you keep your house, though, I can see how you think that.”
“What the hell?”
“Sorry,” she says, defeated. “I just … Camden’s pissed about me being gone.”
Bastard. Ruining my life beyond his grave.
“He’s an ass,” I say, irritated.
I try to relax.
I need a drink.
This time, my bourbon is right where I left it. “You want a glass?” I ask.
She waves her hand and scrunches up her nose. “I still can’t. Where’s the bathroom?”
Not many options here. I walk over to the door and fling it open, revealing the closet-sized space.
I sip from my bottle while she fiddles in the bathroom. When she steps out, she looks around.
“I’m guessing there’s no food or anything here. Besides that,” Olivia asks, pointing to the bourbon. “I could use some ice cream or something.”
The woman has a problem.
“Nope. We’ll have to get your ice cream from the market a few blocks up.”
Carrying the bourbon with me, I return to the living room and hold the bottle out toward the couch.
“The sofa is comfortable to sleep on, and there’s a bed in the other room. Sheets and blankets are in the closet in there.”
Her face twists again.
“I’ll let you decide which you prefer,” I say, spinning around to open the bedroom door and pull the bedding from the shoebox closet.
“So generous of you,” Olivia mumbles from behind me.
I slump onto the queen mattress, lying back to stare up at the ceiling.
The floor creaks as Olivia walks into the bedroom. I don’t turn to look her way. She crosses the floor and lands on the bed next to me.
“So, what’s with this place?” she asks with a sigh.
Laying the bottle next to me, I place my hands on my stomach and feel it rise and fall with my breath.
“It’s my lost haven.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. It’s just—mine.”
“Your lost haven requires like ten locks on the front door?”
“Four, and yes. If you want something to stay lost, you’ve got to protect it.”
She may be on to something. Ten locks would be much more reasonable.