I pulled out of the driveway and crept through the city. Of course, the check engine light came on halfway to Vera’s. The damn thing needed to decide if it wanted to stay on or off. That, or I needed to get a car that would go with the healthy and well-adjusted persona I was trying to portray. Something that wasn't a couple of decades old.
Damian had one giant miscalculation when he bought me a house and invested in my fledgling security firm–I didn’t look the part. Nothing I owned looked the part. Nothing I’d buy for myself would look the part. I just wasn’t the type of person to wear Prada and drive Ferrari. I was comfortable driving Mr. Rusty and wearing jeans and tees.
The time on the GPS changed, announcing lighter traffic ahead, thanks to the accident clearing out. Great. I now had too much time to kill.
Instead of annoying Vera by getting there half an hour early, I found a pizzeria close to her and called to order cauliflower pizza with all the veggies and then some. Now, what drinks to pick up?
No soda. Maybe I could get some ice tea. Who was I kidding? She’d probably find something wrong with sugar.
My phone rang, breaking my train of thoughts. I checked the number and hit ignore. Dad was the last person I wanted to talk to. If I could live the rest of my life never seeing his pudgy, drunk face, I’d die a happy man.
By the time I got to the pizzeria, I was down to two choices of drinks, and they didn’t sell juice there, so water it was. At least the pizza looked almost normal. They even put all the bell peppers on one side, like I had asked.
Food in hand, I walked the two blocks to Vera’s apartment. It was a newer building in… well, it wasn’t the worst neighborhood in Brooklyn, but it was cutting close.
Inside, the building smelled like vomit and yesterday’s booze. The elevator door had a dent, like someone had taken a hammer to it. Nice place.
By the time I got to Vera’s floor, she had already opened her door and stood waiting, arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the wall. She eyed the pizza box but said nothing about junk food.
“It’s cauliflower crust,” I said. “With lots of veggies.”
“Good God, you’re taking healthy food to an extreme.” She let me into the apartment that was already filled with boxes. “You can put the food in the kitchen.”
“We were supposed to pack together.”
Vera shrugged. “I have enough packing left to take pictures.”
I looked her up and down in her long gray dress with a white belt and a pair of high heel black shoes. She was packing in that?
“You know, people usually wear something comfortable when they have to lift heavy boxes,” I pointed out.
“Who said I’m going to lift heavy boxes? That’s what you’re here for.” She smirked, then waved at the pizza. “Are you hungry, or should we take pictures of us packing?”
“Why not take pictures of us taking a break from packing?” Because, of course, I hadn't eaten since that morning.
Vera opened the box and looked at the giant pie. Then lifted an eyebrow at me. “Good thing you ordered a cauliflower one, so it makes up for the lack of Vitamin C in your toppings.”
“Your side has bell peppers.” I grabbed us two plates and served a slice each. “And I got water because I figured you wouldn’t want ice tea or soda.”
Vera eyed the bottle I was offering her, then went to the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of iced tea. “I like some flavor in my drinks.”
“Aren’t you afraid of sugar and what not?”
“I sweeten it with buckwheat honey.” She put two cups down. “Want some?”
“I do.”
Before we dug into the food, Vera set up the camera, recording a video of us eating rather than taking pictures. Good idea. We could just grab a couple of shots from that.
“You have a nice place here,” I said. “The elevator could use some work, but that’s the price of living in Brooklyn, I guess.”
She nodded. “I looked up the address you gave me for your house. Looks a lot less banged up than this building.”
Was this pizza too dry, or was it just me? The ice tea did the trick of clearing my throat, though. “Damian bought that house for me and Glen because of the custody battle. My grandparents own their place, so it would be a point in their favor if I didn’t. I have no idea if they have a mortgage or not, so Damian just bought it outright to make sure we can outdo them.”
“Lara told me you own your own security company.”
I nodded. “Me and a couple of my friends do, but Damian invested into it to make it happen, and it’s technically a part of his company because a brand new business isn’t a good proof of stable income. To make sure everything looks good on paper, Damian also has me do security for his hotels and has me on the payroll for that.”