Lock Every Door(53)

“It’s for the rent,” he says, his voice a desperate whisper. “You don’t know how expensive that place is.”

“I actually do,” I shoot back, “seeing how I paid half that rent for a year.”

“And you lived there for a few days this month, which means you should give me at least a little money to cover that.”

“What makes you think I have any money to give?”

“Because you live here.” Andrew spreads his arms wide, gesturing at the grandiose lobby. “I don’t know what racket you’ve got going, Jules, but I’m impressed.”

Just then, Nick enters the lobby, looking particularly dashing in a fitted gray suit. Even better, he looks rich, which prompts Andrew to eye him with undisguised contempt. Seeing it makes me feel petty. Vindictively so. Which is why I rush to Nick and say, “There you are! I’ve been waiting for you!”

I pull him into a hug, whispering desperately into his ear, “Please go along with this.”

Then I kiss him. More than just a quick peck on the lips. It’s a kiss that lingers—long enough for me to feel the jealousy radiating from Andrew’s side of the lobby.

“Who’s this?” he says.

Nick, thankfully, continues the charade. Casually throwing an arm over my shoulder, he says, “I’m Nick. Are you a friend of Jules’s?”

“This is Andrew,” I say.

Nick steps forward to shake Andrew’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Andrew. I’d love to stay and chat, but Jules and I have an important thing to get to.”

“Yes,” I add. “Very important. I suggest you run along as well.”

Andrew hesitates a moment, his gaze switching between Nick and me. His expression is a mixture of insult and injury. I’d like to be the kind of person who doesn’t enjoy seeing him hurt. I’m not.

“The door’s right there,” Nick says, pointing the way out. “In case you’re confused.”

“Bye, Andrew.” I give him the weakest of waves. “Have a nice life.”

With one last regretful look, Andrew slips out the door and, hopefully, out of my life. Once he’s gone, I pull away from Nick, humiliation burning my cheeks.

“I am so sorry about that. I didn’t know what else to do. I needed him to leave and couldn’t think of a better way to make that happen.”

“I think it worked,” Nick says while absently touching his lips. They’re probably still warm from our kiss. Mine certainly are. “I’m guessing Andrew is an ex-boyfriend?”

We make our way to the elevator, cramming ourselves inside. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Nick, I’m exposed once again to his cologne. That woodsy, citrusy scent.

“He is,” I say as we begin our ascent. “Unfortunately.”

“It ended badly?”

“That would be an understatement.” In the confines of the elevator, I realize how bitter I sound. I wouldn’t blame Nick for wanting to stay far away from me after this. No one likes bitter. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this—”

“Hurt?” Nick says.

“Vindictive.”

The elevator reaches the top floor. Nick moves the grate aside, allowing me to exit first. As we walk down the hall, he says, “I’m glad I ran into you. And not just because of the way you greeted me down in the lobby.”

“Really?” I say, blushing anew.

“I wanted to know if you’d heard back from Ingrid.”

“Not a peep.”

“That’s disappointing. I was hoping you had.”

I could tell Nick about the gun. Or the note Ingrid left that I try not to think about, because thinking about it is too frightening.

    BE CAREFUL



Instead, I don’t mention them, for the same reasons I didn’t tell Chloe. I don’t want Nick to think I’m being overly worried, even paranoid.

“I know she’s not in the homeless shelter I just returned from visiting,” I say.

“That was some smart thinking to look for her there, though.”

“I can’t take credit. It was Greta Manville’s idea.”

Nick’s brows lift in surprise. “Greta? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of you are becoming friends.”

“I think she just wants to help,” I say.

We reach the end of the hallway, pausing in the wide space between the doors to our respective apartments.

“I’d like to help, too,” Nick says.

“But I thought you didn’t know Ingrid.”

“I didn’t. Not very well. But I’m glad she has someone looking out for her.”

“I’m afraid I’m not doing a very good job of it,” I say.

“Which gives me all the more reason to help,” Nick replies. “Seriously, if you need anything—anything at all—let me know. Especially if Andrew comes back.”

He gives me a wink and heads to his apartment. I do the same, pausing in the foyer as soon as the door is closed behind me. I feel slightly dizzy, and not just because of Nick. The past twenty-four hours have been so strange it borders on the surreal. Ingrid going missing. The fire. Having lunch with Greta Manville. It’s so far from my normal existence that it feels like something Greta herself might have written.