Cecilia:Deflect, deflect, deflect. I learned it from the best!
Nadine:I don’t know if you’re referring to me or your mother, but… yes. Good strategy. I’ll be there with you, you know. If you want me there.
Cecilia:I always want you with me.
Nadine:You’re never getting rid of me!
Nadine:I should be free on Friday. Can I come over and see Mr. Bosshole’s apartment then? Pleeease? I need to know you’re not his captive. Is he monitoring your texts? Tell me the exact color dress you wore to our junior prom. If it’s correct, I know you’re safe.
Cecilia:Friday’s perfect! Mustard. It was an awful look. Thank you for making me relive it.
Nadine:You looked cute.
Cecilia:Liar.
After making myself lunch from the well-stocked fridge, I go out for a run. It takes me four-point-five seconds to make it to Central Park. It’s just across the street, and then I’m there, pounding on pavement under fall foliage. Dry leaves crunch beneath my feet and I breathe in deeply.
I got this. I just have to keep my eye on the prize. A year living in this place, barely ever seeing Victor, with time to spend every single day working on my business. He gave me the opportunity of a lifetime when he proposed, and I’m going for it. Accept the open door. It’s what he would have done.
I return, sweaty and breathless, to see Steven walking through the lobby. He’s carrying a giant blue package, complete with a dainty white ribbon. His face is a mask of concentration.
I hurry across the marble floor. “Do you need help?”
He shakes his head, but when he tries to hit the elevator button with his elbow, the package wobbles.
I press it. “Let me. Are we going up to Victor’s apartment?”
“Yes. Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair.”
“Call me Cecilia, please.” It’s difficult to see him over the giant box, but not impossible. I meet cautious brown eyes. “How old are you, Steven?”
“I’m twenty-three, Mrs… ma’am.”
“How long have your worked for Victor?”
“Two years.” He looks from me to the gilded walls of the elevator, like he’s not sure we’re allowed to talk.
“Do you enjoy your job?”
His eyes turn suspicious. “I do, ma’am.”
The elevator door opens and I hurry on ahead, using my keycard to open the front door. “That thing looks heavy, too. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” he says, but he grunts as he hoists it up and steps through the front door.
The hallway is filled with presents.
They make an obstacle course on the floor. Every size and shape, some wrapped, some not. The explosion of gifts stretches all the way into the living room. The coffee table is filled with so many flower bouquets it looks like a garden patch.
“What’s this?”
Steven sets the box down. “Wedding gifts.”
“Weddinggifts?”
Bonnie answers, emerging from the kitchen with a clipboard in hand. “Welcome home!”
“Um, thank you.” I toe off my dirty running shoes and run a hand over a silver packet. “All these arrived today?”