Michael raced, swerving around vehicles, and pulled the phone away from his ear, pushing more buttons. “Baby, come on, come on,” he pleaded, putting the phone to his ear again. “Come on. Answer the phone.”
“Delcour?” I shot out, turning to him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
How?
“All this time,” he choked out, squeezing the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. “The Torrance’s sold Delcour in the eighties and built the new hotel in Whitehall to profit off the stadium.”
“Delcour is the original Pope?”
He pulled his phone away, redialing. “Rika, goddammit!”
We crossed the bridge and sped through the warehouse district, turning onto Parker Avenue.
“You knew?” I pressed. “You knew they owned the building? It was their hotel at one point?”
“No, I didn’t know!” he growled. “We weren’t even born yet, for Christ’s sake! I just knew it was built in the thirties, and that we didn’t always own it.”
But Michael’s father’s lawyer just confirmed. The Torrance’s were the original owners. And if there was a hidden floor at The Pope, then…
“Rika, answer the fucking phone!”
He threw his cell against the windshield, and it tumbled across the dash and onto the floor.
“Just get there,” I gritted out.
White lace panties. You’ve got to be kidding me. He might’ve been in the building, but he couldn’t have gotten into their apartment, could he? Would he really have been there and been able to resist making contact with Will? Alex?
Michael hit the gas, horns honking around us, and pulled up in front of Delcour, screeching to a halt.
Throwing open our doors, we ran out of the car and into the building, the doorman scrambling to hold the door open.
“Did you see Rika?” Michael shouted to the man behind the desk as we ran to the elevator.
His eyes snapped up, going wide-eyed as he tried to find his words. “Uh, no sir.”
We got in the elevator, and Michael pressed the button, and the doors closed.
“Do you know if the building has a hidden floor or hidden apartment or anything?” I questioned.
He shook his head, sweat covering his brow. “I don’t know shit. I don’t pay attention to anything my family does. You know that.”
Which included buying this building or learning anything beyond what he needed to know to get his fucking ass to his penthouse, I gathered. He was so self-absorbed. Did he ever trouble himself to learn or listen to anything anyone said? Get curious, maybe? If it were me, and I had free rein of the place, I would’ve explored every corner of this building.
Not Michael, though.
Basketball, Rika, food, sex, and sleep were the only things catching his attention.
The elevator shot past twenty-one floors, and slowed to a stop at the top of the building. The doors opened, and Michael and I shot out, rounding the corner and racing into his apartment.
Lev and Will stood in the center of the living room, and Michael made right for them. “Do you have her? Where is she?”
“Hey, what’s up?”
Rika’s voice came from above, and my head snapped up, seeing her come down the stairs with a brown leather overnight bag.
Michael bolted up the stairs, skipping two at a time, and grabbed her. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up, hugging her.
I exhaled, dropping my head. He hadn’t taken her. Maybe he wasn’t here, after all.