Fuck.
I knew the girl was brutally honest, but assuming her father would have died regardless of his choices? It’s the most callous statement I have ever heard.
“Is it why you don’t trust your gut?” I ask.
She pulls out of my grasp. The familiar barriers rise into place as she stares down at her feet. “Who says I don’t trust my gut?”
“You did.”
Another pop of her shoulders is my only answer. She rocks back on her heels.
“What does your gut tell you about us?” I prod.
Her mouth lifts, and she runs her hand along my chest. “It’s telling me I could really use an orgasm in the hotel room.”
Part of me wants to tell her no. Tell her she’s safe with me emotionally and doesn’t need to distract me with sex to end our conversation. The other part? It knows I’m not the one who needs the distraction.
Mia is.
Without giving a shit who could possibly see us, I tangle our fingers together and guide her toward the elevator. “Come on, Brat. I think I can offer my services.”
She grins cheekily and loops her arm through mine. “Why, thank you, Professor.”
29
MIA
My chest heaves as I pump my arms back and forth, rounding the last corner and finding the home stretch in front of me. The sun is hidden by gray clouds that finally decided to burst during my last half-mile. I’m drenched from head to toe. The water has soaked into my sports bra and spandex shorts, making me look like a drowned rat, but it feels good. The rain. It’s cleansing, almost. A little chilly, but the idea of a hot shower spurs me on. I feel like I’m on top of the world. Like I can do anything. It’s the endorphins speaking, but I soak the feeling up, grateful for the high running gives me. When my apartment building comes into view, I kick it up another notch.
Come on, Mia. You got this.
With a last burst of energy, I race to the front of the building, only beginning to slow once I’ve reached the entrance. Resting my hands on the top of my head, I bring my pace to an even walk, taking another lap around the skyscraper while letting my heart rate slowly return to normal. Sweat and rain cling to my skin as I steady my breathing, reach for the front door, and wave at the doorman as I head to the elevator. Once I’m on my floor, I search my shorts pockets for my apartment key, but it’s missing. Patting the soaked spandex, I confirm I’m not hallucinating. I peek between my cleavage in case I’d hidden the key there for safekeeping.
Nope. As empty as the pockets.
My shoulders hunch in defeat, and I rest my forehead against the locked door to my apartment.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” I mutter.
Goodbye, endorphin high.
Digging my phone out of my pocket, I pull up my text thread with Henry and send him a message.
Me
Any chance you know the superintendent’s phone number?
Professor Hot Suit
Why?
Me
I may have lost my key while running and need someone to let me into my apartment.
Professor Hot Suit
Come upstairs.
Me
Pretty sure it’s against the rules.
Professor Hot Suit
Just get your ass up here.
Chewing on the side of my thumb, I read his message a dozen times, unsure what to say. We have rules. And they’re there for a reason. But I’d also love to not be hanging out in the hallway until someone lets me into my apartment, so…
My phone buzzes with another message.
Professor Hot Suit
You can wait up here while I make a call.
It’s a bad idea. Toying with the rules. Especially after I opened up to him about my relationship with Pixie. He’s been looking at me differently ever since. With actual interest. And not in my body like every other guy I’ve met. He’s looking at me like he’s interested in more. Or maybe I’m imagining it. No one knows about Pixie, though. Not really. They know of her, sure. But all the nitty-gritty details? Hardly. I’ve never told anyone about her. About how she saved me. How she saved my uncle. How much I miss her.
Yet, I told Buchanan.
The reminder leaves me on edge, and I type my response.
Me
I know how to use a phone, Buchanan. If you give me the superintendent’s number, we won’t break any rules.
Professor Hot Suit
Stop arguing and get your ass up here.
Grudgingly, I head back to the elevator. For once, the button to the penthouse is lit up, indicating I can push it, so I do. It takes me to the top floor, and the doors slide apart, revealing a massive open floor plan with floor-to-ceiling windows and slate-colored walls. A pair of dark leather couches sit in front of a huge big-screen television hanging on the wall, along with a single closed laptop resting on the dark lacquered coffee table in front of it. Oh, and the fireplace? It’s also gigantic. Like something out of Beauty and The Beast, a movie I loved to watch as a kid. I wonder if there’s a hidden library in here somewhere, too, or servants to wait on you hand and foot. Probably. The fireplace is surrounded by gray stone and has a hand-carved wood hearth matching the warm mahogany floor.
And I thought my place was fancy.
Yeah, no.
It doesn’t even hold a candle to his. Walking into the empty kitchen, I trail my finger along the white granite. It’s as I suspected. Not a single crumb or speck of dust. The gas stove looks as if it’s never even been used.
Yeah. It’s official. If I didn’t know Buchanan was loaded, I do now.
Rubbing my hands up and down my bare arms, I head to the enormous windows, taking in the heavy clouds and streaks of rain against the glass when Henry rounds the corner a second later from where I assume his bedroom and bathroom are located. His nose is glued to his phone as he types something quickly and slips it into his back pocket.
“He’ll be here in an hour,” he announces, looking up at the foyer. Finding it empty, he scans the rest of his apartment.
When his gaze lands on me, I clarify, “An hour?”
“It’s Saturday. The building runs on a skeleton crew on the weekends.” Amusement teases his lips. “Glad you made yourself at home.”
“Can’t blame a girl for being curious,” I quip.
“Of course not,” he returns dryly. “I’m sorry David doesn’t have access to the spares. We had an issue last year and decided to make the superintendent and his backup the only two with access to apartments.”
“Makes sense.” I rock back on my heels, taking in the perfectly organized family room and kitchen from my fresh angle. Are those…? I tilt my head, examining the fluffy gray rug in the center of the family room. Yup. Those are vacuum marks. My mouth lifts with amusement.
“Something funny?” Henry asks.
I smooth my features and turn to him again. “Nope. Just admiring your place. It’s nice.”