Chapter Ten - Veronica

 

“Well,” I say back, still standing at the base of the stairs. I should be walking up them, going inside. But this stranger has stopped me dead. “You found me.”

He adjusts his coat. It’s a long black trench, pressed crisp, and looks like it cost a million bucks. In fact, this guy screams money. And then he steps towards the stairs and descends. Slowly. Like he’s trying to make an impression on me.

It’s working. I’m just not sure what kind of impression he’s leaving.

Handsome? Yes.

Intimidating? You bet.

Dangerous? Absolutely.

When he reaches the bottom he looks me over. Like, not just the look-over. I get that a lot. That look says I’m a pervert and I’m imagining my dick between your tits right now.

No. Not this guy. This guy gives me a look that says pay attention.

And right now that look he’s giving me is making me wish he was just leering and looking for a mental image the next time he wanks himself off.

He stands there like he’s waiting for something, and I have time to take him in. Short, styled brown hair. Green eyes. Expensive suit that looks like it was designed specifically for his body. Which is large, easily the same size as my brother Vic’s. I bet he’s got muscles for miles underneath those clothes. He extends his hand. “I’m Mr. Mansi, owner of this”—he waves another hand towards the building in a dismissive gesture—“lovely piece of property.”

“Oh.” I laugh a little with relief. “Got it. I signed the monthly lease with Mr. Golden when I rented this place. So sorry, I just didn’t realize who you were.” I look around at the chaos of workers and take stock the way Spencer taught me back when we first started dating. “Where is Mr. Golden?” I drag my gaze from the commotion and stare Mr. Mansi in the face. “I don’t see him.”

It’s only then that I realize I’m still shaking his hand. For several seconds. He’s looking down at our grip with an amused smile and I pull my hand back self-consciously.

“He’s been… relieved of his position. I’m taking over from here. And that’s why I needed to talk to you. He should not have rented you an apartment in this building, Miss Vaughn. The first floor is contaminated with asbestos.”

I gasp. Holy shit, asbestos! That’s as bad as hepatitis in my book.

Mr. Mansi puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s OK, it’s not airborne. It’s not been disturbed. But it needs to be cleaned out, and I’m afraid that means you can’t stay here. You can’t go back inside now until they’re done. They’ve already started ripping it out. I’ve been trying to call you for several hours, and well, we couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Oh.” I breathe out some relief. “OK, so how long will it take? I guess I can stay with my dad.” He smiles an indulgent smile and all of a sudden I get it. “You’re kicking me out, aren’t you? For good?” I turn and kick the wall. “Goddammit.”

“Your lease was month to month and—”

I shove my helmet on my head and walk over to my bike and swing my leg over. I’m just about to twist the key when he places his hand over mine. I look up at him and he’s smiling. Asshole.

“Miss Vaughn, can you take the helmet off so I can explain your accommodation arrangements?”

“My what?” I echo through my helmet.

He knocks on the helmet and I slip it off and rest it in my lap. “My what?” I repeat.

“I own several apartment buildings in the area. I’ve arranged for one to be provided for you. Would you like to see it?”

“Uh…” What am I supposed to say? “OK,” I manage after a few silent seconds.

“Come with me, I’ll drive you there.”

“No,” I say with a small laugh. “I don’t think so. I’ll follow you on the bike.”

He looks up at the sky and makes a face. “It’s getting cold.”

“I’m good,” I assure him as I push the helmet back down on my head.

And then he nods and walks over to the alley. I start the bike and back out, then meet up with him at his big black Dodge Challenger. He revs the engine a little, making the whole car sway and rumble with power.

That is sorta hot.

He nods at me and pulls out slowly. I catch him checking his rear-view to make sure I’m following. We cross College Avenue and weave our way up a few streets, not far from Spencer’s new shop. He pulls up to an underground parking garage and we wait for the gate to open for us. I follow him inside the dimly lit garage and he parks the car in a reserved spot near the door to the elevator. There’s a few other cars, sporadically spaced. But the place is pretty empty. Everyone must be at work. I pull up next to him, shut the bike off and engage the stand, pulling off my gloves and then my helmet, before swinging my leg over the bike.

I feel sorta badass while I do this. I mean seriously, I’m riding a custom Shrike Bike. I’ve got my old faded blue jeans on. I’m wearing Spencer’s painted leather jacket, and my four-hundred-dollar Frye boots are the biker icing on the cake. I’m like one hundred percent hotness. I know this because this Mansi guy’s eyeballs never leave my body.

I wait for some sort of direction, but he waits too. “Well?” I finally ask. “You want me to live in the garage or what? Let’s get this show on the road.”

He waves me forward, then a beep sounds as the lock disengages and the doors to the lower-level lobby open. It’s pretty nice in here. Couple couches off to the side. Nice tiles on the floor, a rug. The elevator dings and we both enter and watch the doors close behind us.

“This is weird,” I say, mostly to myself, but also to the stranger who now has me alone inside an elevator.

“Apparently not weird enough to stop you from taking this ride,” he quips.

“No, not that weird.” I look up at him and I’m about to elaborate but the elevator stops and the doors ding out a request to exit. “Well, that was quick, at least.”

“It’s the second floor. I’m sorry, that’s all I have available besides the penthouse. But at least it’s not the ground floor. I’m sure you’d feel safer on the second story.”

I say nothing to that. I’m not worried about being attacked. I mean, yeah, it could happen. And I’m a girl, so most men are a lot stronger than me. But I’m not just any girl. I’m Veronica Vaughn. I’ve been fighting boys my whole life. And maybe being alone with this guy is a bad move, but a whole shitload of people saw me leave my apartment with him. He says he’s the owner of my building that is temporarily condemned for asbestos removal. I have no red flashing lights for this, so I’m gonna ride it out.

He stops at a door, pushes a key in, then opens it wide so I can enter. I do.

He flips on the lights as he enters behind me and I walk forward into a stunning apartment. “It’s furnished?”

“This is the model for this complex. All the units are sold, save for the penthouse. So it’s no longer being used. It hasn’t been listed yet, so I’ll hold off on selling until you figure out what to do.”

“What to do? I’m not sure I follow. I get to go home once that whole removal thing is over and come up with an alternative place to live, right?”

He smiles one of those indulgent smiles people save for idiots and my blood boils. “No, I’m sorry. We’re going to remodel the entire building. Your apartment was not for rent, but the landlord”—he practically seethes that word—“rented you the apartment, took your money, and ran off with it. It was a mistake. So you’ll have to find other accommodations immediately.” He pauses to assess my reaction, but I hold it in. “But feel free to stay here as long as you need to.”

I’m just silent. What do I say? Thank you for kicking me out of my place?

He drops the keys on the table near the door. “Well, let me know if you require anything—”

“But… my clothes? My stuff? When can I get my stuff?”

That stupid indulgent smile is back. “We’ll have to see how the decontamination goes.”

My jaw drops. “What? But… I have, like nothing. No clothes, no—” I stop complaining because he’s thrusting a credit card at me.

“It’s prepaid, one thousand dollars. I’m sorry, Miss Vaughn. But I really need to go and take care of the penthouse. We’re having an open house tomorrow and that coordinator is about as efficient and trustworthy as Mr. Golden, I’m afraid.”

And just like that he turns to leave.

“But wait—” Holy hell, Ronnie, get a grip. He’s gonna think you’re some pathetic loser who wants to jump his bones if you keep stopping him from leaving. “My boss is in the market for a place. I’m not sure if he wants to buy or rent, but I need to show him a place today. Maybe I could just take him up there and you can show him around?”

“Now?” he asks, like this is the most stupid request he’s ever heard. “I’m afraid I have pressing matters that require my attention. But I will instruct the doorman in the main lobby to give you access if you bring him by tonight. Otherwise he can look during the open house tomorrow like everyone else.”

And then he walks out.

What the fuck just happened?

I live here?

I twirl around and take it all in. It’s really beautiful. Maybe more beautiful than Rook and Ronin’s apartment down in Denver. There’s an L-shaped beige couch complete with a myriad of throw pillows along one wall. A giant TV. Not like those paper ones they put up in furniture stores. It’s real. There’s a pretty coffee table complete with magazines and large colorful expensive-looking books.

I walk over to the French doors and peer out over the large square balcony. It’s only the second floor, so I have a view of some trees. They don’t have leaves yet, but they might in a few weeks.

Will I still be here by then? I’m confused.

I walk down the hallway peering into the first bedroom. It’s decorated as an office. It even has a computer. Real, like the TV. There’s a bathroom across the hall. Just a regular one with a tub and stuff. But then I turn left and walk on until I come to the master bedroom.

I don’t gasp, I laugh. Because holy shit! It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. King bed, large dark wood dressers, another huge TV, and an en suite bathroom that has a large oval jetted tub and a separate glass shower.

My phone buzzes in my pack that’s still slung over my shoulder and I fish through it, hoping it’s Rook calling so I can tell her about this amazing turn of events.

It’s Spencer. But I need to talk to him anyway, so I press his face. “Hey, I was just gonna call you with that appointment.”

“You were, huh?” he asks, with, like, zero enthusiasm.

Does he have to be such a dick all the time?

“Yeah, I found you a penthouse in those new condos on Mason Street? Well, they’re having an open house for the penthouse tomorrow, but I got you a private appointment tonight.” I stop talking and get silence. “If you want it.”

“Where have you been all day?” he finally says after several long seconds. “I’ve called a dozen times and it went straight to voice. You were out of area. Where were you?”

“Uh…” I scramble for my alibi. What was it? “Well, I sorta had a big day, Spence.”

“That right?” he says in that voice that tells me he thinks I’m full of shit.

“Yeah, my apartment, well, you’re never gonna believe this, but—” I stop. Because that was not the alibi. It was Rook’s doctor’s appointment. “Um, well, I’ll tell you if you want to see the condo.” Silence. He’s mad. Or suspicious. Or something. I’m suddenly so glad I’m at this place and not my old apartment, because I had nowhere to stash the bike over there. Here I’ve got it safely tucked away down in the parking garage. “So… do you? Want to see it?”

“Will you be there?”

Oh, what a dick. “Yeah, I’m the one showing it to you, remember?” Asshole, I add privately.

“The ones with the red roof?” he asks.

“Yeah, them. I’ll meet you downstairs if you’re coming.”

“Be there in five.”

And then I get the I-hung-up-on-you beeps.