I grab a pen and quickly scribble down her address, before shutting down Gina’s computer and flying out of the office.And what now? I wonder, as I sit in my car across the street from the complex in Maida Vale, staring at the communal entrance past the arched driveway. I must have lost my mind. Shaking my head in disbelief at my own actions, I get out of my car and wander over the road, looking for the instruction I need to get me out of here. There’s no instruction to be found, but there is another question. A question I hate: Did she bring that man I saw her with at the tennis club home on Sunday night? Did they wake up together yesterday morning? Is that why she was so happy at work yesterday? God, is he here now? Or even another man? Did she find solace in different arms last night after I was a total arsehole to her? Did they convince her to skive work and spend the day in bed?
Fuck me, the questions. My racing mind only makes my feet move faster, and when I make it to the door, I see the intercom with an array of buttons for the various apartments. But rather than press the one for apartment number eight, I wait, hoping that someone will come or leave and I can get in without the need to ring up to her. Because I know she won’t let me in. And definitely if a man is tucked up in her bed. I growl under my breath.
Thankfully, I’m only loitering like a weirdo for a few minutes before a young woman appears, laden down with tons of bags. She’s cute, if a little alternative, her peroxide cropped hair a little haphazard and her lips almost illuminous pink. Not my type at all, but still. I slap on my most dashing smile. “Here, let me take those for you.”
She instantly flames red, struck dumb. So I widen my smile, knocking her back a few more paces.
“Thh . . . thank you,” she stutters, going to her purse and retrieving a key. “You new around here?” she asks, opening the door.
I don’t dash her hopes. “Yes,” I reply simply, indicating for her to lead the way. “Just moved in.”
She flashes me a smile that’s definitely tinged with delight. “Hope you settle in well.”
“I’m sure I will,” I reply, as she goes to take her bags. I shake my head. “Lead the way. These are heavy.”
She laughs. It’s quite cute. “Thanks. I’m working on a project and needed some props.”
I start to follow her up the stairs, looking around a little warily. “What do you do?”
“I’m a fashion student.”
Makes sense. “Sounds good.”
“I’m in my final year. All that stuff you’re lugging for me is for my final examination piece. It’s been a great course, giving me a new start in my life. New work opportunities.” She rounds the corner, me tracking her, while I half listen and half try to figure out what I’m going to do once I lose my new friend and find my way to apartment number eight.
“Well, good luck with that.”
“Thanks. I’m Martha. You are?”
“Sal,” I mumble without thought.
“Nice to meet you, Sal. Here we are.” She stops, and I look at the door she’s currently standing in front of.
“Oh fuck,” I breathe, dropping the bags as I stare at the number on the wood.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yep.” I start backing away, wondering, again, what the hell I plan on doing now I’m here. “Nice meeting you.”
Her forehead furrows, and I laugh nervously, but before I can make a dash for it, the door swings open and Lainey appears, smiling. Until she sees me.
Oh . . . double . . . fuck.
Her bright eyes widen as she catches the side of the door. “Ty,” she breathes.
I raise a pathetic hand in a silent hello.
“Wait,” Martha says, flicking her eyes back and forth between Lainey and me. “You know each other?”
“No,” I say.
“Yes.”
Both our mouths snap shut, and Martha looks between us. “Yes or no?”
Lainey takes a deep breath and shakes her head. It’s in despair. “Martha, this is my boss, Ty Christianson. Mr. Christianson, this is my sister, Martha.”
Martha balks. “You said your boss was short, bald, and ordinary. He”—she points at me—“is definitely not short, bald, and ordinary.”
Lainey fires a look at Martha that’s telling her to shut the hell up, and I laugh, standing tall and running a hand through my thick waves. Nope. I’m none of those things. “He’s my other boss,” Lainey clarifies.
“Nice to meet you, Martha.” I hold my hand out and smile.
She narrows questioning eyes on me, and my smile falls, my six-foot four-inch frame shriveling a little. She’s quite formidable for such a small thing. “And you live in this block?” she asks.