“And then kill them,” I whispered.
“And then you destroy the evidence,” Adrian said dryly. “All of it.”
“So dramatic.” I got up and straightened my tie. “Did you get me a fake name?”
“You’re going to be Barry Boulders.”
I snort laughed. “That was Noah, wasn’t it?”
Adrian wasn’t big on smiling, but the corners of his mouth pulled wider. “I came up with the name.”
“Barry Boulders,” I said, testing the name out. “I like it.”
8
TRAVIS
I stepped out of the elevator on Elizabeth’s floor and stifled a yawn. Damn. I preferred to hit the sack by ten most nights. Adrian and his complicated scheme kept me at the office far longer than I’d planned. It was nearly midnight.
I knew I should probably go straight to my bed and get some rest. After all, a wise man would likely spend some time preparing for the big interview in two days, But...
Elizabeth’s door was calling to me like a big ass bottle of water after a trek across the desert. I took a few steps in the direction of her apartment, then shrugged and decided to commit. I knocked on the door and waited, hands in my pockets.
“What are you doing?” A woman’s voice came from behind me.
I jumped. Elizabeth was standing behind me with two briefcases and some kind of satchel swung over her shoulder. She may have been fit, but she was still a small human being and looked like she was struggling under the weight.
“Let me help you with that,” I said, reaching for the satchel. Women loved it when you helped them carry heavy things.
“Don’t touch,” she grunted, trying to jerk back.
“Don’t be stubborn,” I said. “I’m not going to seduce you. I just want to help you with your bags.”
“I’m at my damn door, Travis. I can get it.”
“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t help you with your bags?”
Elizabeth looked absolutely dead tired. There were dark circles under her pretty blue eyes. Her normally perfectly kept hair was escaping her ponytail in a few places to dangle in front of her heart-shaped face. She glared up at me. “I’ll carry them.”
Sometimes the word “stubborn” failed to capture the full range of possibilities. “Suit yourself, babe,” I said.
“Don’t call me that.” She shouldered past me, bumping me with her many bags as she fished for keys. She was struggling to get the right key when her satchel’s strap slipped from her shoulder to her elbow. The weight jerked her arm down and the whole bag fell to the ground. It landed with a surprisingly loud thump and a seam on the side burst open. A few magazines with PROOF and DRAFT in semi-transparent letters across the cover slid out. I picked one up, ignoring her attempt to snatch it from my hands.
My eyebrows went up as I read the name of the magazine. K.M. Glass Designs: Fashion Weekly. “You work here?” I asked, pointing.
She finally managed to jump high enough to pluck the magazine from my hand. “That’s none of your business.”
“I met your mother. We recently announced our plans to move in together. I’d say we’re much closer than you want to admit.”
Her cheeks were red now, and I didn’t think it was the blushing variety of red. “Oh, you want to go there? To the part where you inserted your giant ego into my life and decided to make things difficult? Do you have any idea how much trouble you might be causing me with that stunt you pulled?”
I looked at the magazines tucked under her arms. It was all I could do not to laugh. She worked at the company I was going to interview for. Her boss was the one trying to bring my friends and I down. Why did I have such a strong suspicion that Elizabeth from downstairs was going to wind up being the “promising woman” who worked at Mrs. Glass’ right hand, too? This was too fucking good.
“What?” she demanded. “This is funny to you?”
I looked up, searching for the right words. I usually didn’t have to dig far for the perfect words, but even I felt somewhat out of my depth at the moment. There were so many layers to this, I couldn’t even decide which one to sink my teeth into first. “Let me drop the bullshit for a minute and be honest with you,” I said.
“Was that an option the whole time?” There wasn’t a hint of amusement in her pretty little face when she crossed her arms and waited.
“I may not have the most conventional way of showing it, but I like you.”
She kept staring.
“You know all those animals I keep in my apartment? Want to know what makes them so special to me? Almost all of them tried to bite me the first time we met. Most of them were upset. Damaged. Scared. Pick your problem and name it, basically. But we got past it. Rat doesn’t poop on my pillow every time I leave anymore because we got through his separation anxiety. Windbag stopped swearing when he gets mad and now he only does it when he’s in a good mood. And Mr. Meatball doesn’t tear my house apart if I get his feeding schedule wrong anymore.”