For fuck’s sake.
Eager?
I want to punch my own self in the nuts for being even remotely eager about a fancy-ass building. Get a grip, man.
God, it’s so lame that I’m stuck with this job. Naturally, Sparrow and Scout got the good assignments while I’m left with the stupid one. My job is to teach speechreading to the youngest Croft girl. Apparently, upon some quick internet research, it’s basically teaching a deaf person to lip read. Seems easy enough and she’s a kid, so I think I can pull it off, but it still sounds boring as fuck. I bet neither Sparrow nor Scout spent all night attempting to learn the basics of another language like I had to. I can sign the alphabet, but that’s where my skills end. This ruse might end before it begins if I can’t convince these people I’m an expert.
I’m honestly unsure what to even expect when I get in there. Of course my brother was worthless on communication. According to our chat when Sparrow got back home from class, he had an interesting and entertaining day with Landry.
That was all the information he gave up.
Interesting and entertaining.
He wouldn’t even tell me if she was hot, but based on the way he smirked, I’d say he thought so. Hell, knowing Sparrow, he probably fucked her already. This job Bryant has us doing is ridiculous, especially if Sparrow plans to be tightlipped about his encounter with her. Though we’re triplets, we’re so very different. The first time she faces off with Scout, that will be glaringly obvious.
Whatever.
If she finds out, then this charade will be over. Bryant can find some other way to fuck with Croft and the Constantines. Maybe he’ll find something else to obsess over and leave us alone. It might be easier to convince my brothers to leave this hellhole of a city if we aren’t on one of Bryant’s little missions.
I try to imagine Scout as a surfer. He’d probably try to feed Sparrow to the sharks. That makes me smile despite my annoying predicament.
I turn into the C-shaped drive in front of the building the Crofts live in and push the button down for the window. A valet man dressed in a crisp navy uniform rushes my way, his face pinching with distaste when his gaze sweeps over my Bronco.
Fuck him.
Yellow looks cool as fuck.
“May I help you, sir?” he asks, standing a safe distance away from my vehicle.
I grab my wallet and flip it open, revealing the fake driver’s license Bryant gave to each one of us. Same name on all three: Ford Mann. “I’m here for an appointment with, uh, Sandra I think.”
He plucks my wallet from my grasp, studying the identification card. Finally, he gives me a curt nod as he hands it back. “Of course. She’s expecting you, Mr. Mann. When you’re ready for your car, just ring this number and I’ll fetch it for you.” He passes a ticket to me and then steps out of the way.
I slide out of the Bronco and head inside. I’d tried to mimic what Sparrow had been wearing—jeans and a black T-shirt—but I couldn’t get my hair to do what his does since not everyone spends three quarters of their day in front of the fucking mirror and settled for a baseball cap instead. Close enough.
The building is swanky. I’m getting a few nasty looks since apparently there’s a fucking dress code here. Everyone’s wearing suits and dresses like it’s a damn ball, not a residential building. I’m not some poor loser, though. I grew up wealthy, so I eyeball each and every asshole who attempts to look down on me until they avert their gaze.
A man in a security uniform approaches me to check my ID. I’m forced to stand there for several minutes while he scrutinizes it. I know Bryant’s ID guy is good, because he works for the Morellis, but goddamn does it still make me feel like this security officer is seeing me for the fraud I am. After far too long, he eventually hands my ID back to me and points to a bank of elevators.
I wait for the doors to open along with an elderly woman holding a teacup poodle. It cocks its head at me as though it, too, is aware I don’t belong here. If Scout were here, he’d probably growl at it. Since I’m not a total asshole, I reach over and scratch him on the top of his head. The old woman shoots me a dirty look. When the doors open, she purses her lips and steps onto the elevator, making sure to step all the way to the far corner.
“Miss Franks,” a man in the elevator says in greeting. “Sixty-second?”
She gives him a clipped nod, not even bothering to acknowledge him. He looks my way after he mashes the sixty-two.
“You, kid?”
“Eighty-Eight.”
The dog yaps at me and the woman scowls. “That’s the penthouse, mister.”
“You have to have a code,” the man says, frowning.
Since Bryant set all of this up, I do, in fact, have a code. With a smug smile at the bitchy woman, I punch in the numbers on the keypad and then hit the “P” for penthouse. The man smirks at me.
I pull out my phone, needing to do something for the long ass ride to the top. When the man and woman and judgmental pup are finally gone, I breathe a little easier. This place is so fucking stuffy.
I eventually make it to the designated floor and the doors open with a ding into a grand lobby area with high ceilings, marbled floors, and a tinkling fountain in the center. Across from the elevators, beyond the fountain, is a massive door to the penthouse, which happens to be ajar.
Something black flashes out the door and runs past me.
Rat?
The thought is so absurd for such a nice building, I almost laugh. But, a bigger creature with golden hair chases after it, momentarily startling me.
From within the residence, a woman is barking out the name Della over and over again, each time growing more agitated. Rather than heading toward the sound of the woman’s voice, I turn left and follow after what must be Della, if I had to guess. I find her at one corner of the lobby area, crouched beside a plant, reaching her arm behind it.
The black flash I’d seen sounds much like a cat based on the furious hissing it’s making. Despite the angry cries of warning, the little girl keeps up her attempt to grab the cat.
“Hey, kid.”
No response.
A heavy sigh escapes me.
I tap the girl on the top of her head, since she won’t be able to hear me. She whirls around, fire gleaming in her green eyes. Her hand swipes across my forearm, scoring the flesh hard enough to sting but not draw blood. Glowering at her, I shake my head. From the intel Bryant gave me, I learned she’s deaf. No means no in every language, though.
She flips up her middle finger which would be comical if not for the fact she’s like six or something. What the actual fuck. And, yeah, it too means the same damn thing in all languages.
“Back at ya,” I growl, offering my middle finger back.
Her eyes widen and her mouth parts as though she’s shocked. She’ll learn real quick, I’m not about to let some ankle biter push me around.
“Your momma is calling for you,” I say, gesturing toward the sound of a voice around the corner.
Della snarls, baring her teeth. Feral little shit. Her hands move rapidly, no doubt signing something I’m meant to interpret. But, unlike my glowing fake resumé, I don’t know American Sign Language. Something, despite my desire not to, I’ll have to get more proficient at if I intend on keeping this ruse up.
Slowly, I sign to her one of the only things I’ve learned past the alphabet. Hi, I’m Ford.