Fall (VIP #3)(41)

Fashionable she may be, but she’s looks as though a strong wind could blow her away. I’d been headed out, but I set my purse on the door’s threshold to keep it open and then jog down the stairs and pick up her cart. “Let me.”

“You’re very kind,” she says with a small smile. “And new here.”

“I’m Stella Grey.”

“Madeline Goldman.”

“I’ve been here a few weeks,” I tell her as we climb the stairs. “I’m pet-sitting.”

“Killian’s place?” she says with a nod. “I’d heard he was away for a few months.”

“You know him?”

She takes the cart handle as soon as I set it down, and the enormous canary diamond ring she wears winks in the weak sunlight. It’s part of a set, flanking a thin gold wedding ring. Everything about her exudes established New York money. Except for the fact that she’s living in a building without a doorman and doesn’t have a driver. That part is a little odd. But it seems this building attracts eccentric people.

“My dear,” she says, “I make it my business to know my neighbors. It’s safer and friendlier that way.”

“This is true.” We make our way into the building, and I grab my purse, ready to leave.

Mrs. Goldman takes out a set of keys and opens her mailbox while sliding me a look. “I suppose you know Jax as well.”

My heart gives a little leap, trying to escape my ribs. Pathetic. I have to stop reacting to all things John, or Jax, or whatever he wants to call himself. My life was perfectly good before I met him. A little lonely, sure. Not as exciting, okay. But fine. Then I meet the mercurial rock star and he dominates my thoughts. Totally unacceptable. Especially since he ran out on me as though he’d seen a ghost.

I swallow past the bitter lump in my throat. “We’ve met.”

She must hear something in my tone because she does a double take and then laughs. “Yes, I can see you have. That boy has a way of making a lasting impression.”

I snort. “He drives me nuts.”

“Then you must like him quite a bit.” She appears pleased.

“I don’t mean to burst your bubble, Mrs. Goldman, but not every annoying person is secretly likable.”

“No, they certainly aren’t.” Her smile grows. “But Jax is. Remember, I know the young man. Not only is he charming as a prince, he has a good heart.”

I make a noncommittal sound in my throat.

“He also tends to blunder from time to time,” Mrs. Goldman says with a knowing look.

“You could say that.”

“Messed up quite a bit, has he?” Her eyes glint with amusement now.

“Well, let’s see. He accused me of stalking him. Though I guess that’s fair since I accused him of the same. But he also speculated that I was a professional escort when I wouldn’t tell him what I did for a living.”

That at least gets her. Mrs. Goldman pales, her red lips parting. “Oh. My.”

“He apologized,” I feel compelled to add since it looks as though she might take John by the ear and lay into him the next time she sees him. “Then he left me high and dry at a party, and we haven’t spoken since.”

I shrug it off, but my shoulders feel too tight, the memory of John clinging like a limpet.

“He likes you,” she says, nodding almost to herself.

My skin flushes. “I don’t see how you’ve come to that conclusion.”

“Can’t you?” she counters softly.

And damn it, I want to crawl into a hole and hide. Because I had thought John liked me. I’d honestly started to believe that there was something between us. But he ran out and left me without looking back. I don’t know what to think anymore.

Then don’t. Forget him and move on.

“At any rate, I’m just passing through and he’s … well, him. Rock star. Legend. All that …” I wave a helpless hand. “I’m much more suited for nice, normal guys.”

Why am I babbling? I don’t know this woman. I don’t want to talk about John—Jax. Worse, she’s looking at me as though she sees right into my head. An awkward pause fills the space before she sets her mail in her Birkin bag and then straightens.

“I’ve lived a long while,” she says thoughtfully, “and what I’ve learned is there are people who never make mistakes. They never put their foot in it, always act perfectly. My dear, I don’t trust those people an inch.”

A shocked laugh escapes me. “Because they’re nice?”

“Because no one who lives honestly is perfect all the time. Those perfect people? They’re often living a lie. A tidy public persona to hide behind.” Her dark eyes glint. “Ever notice on the news, they’ll interview the neighbors of some deranged serial killer, and they’re always insisting he was such a nice, normal man. Ha. Norman Bates wouldn’t hurt a fly, right?”

Her droll tone makes me laugh. “Well, you have me there.”

“There is no such thing as perfect. Human beings make mistakes. Humans who feel greatly often make the biggest ones. It’s the intent that counts. Is it a mistake based on hate, selfishness, or moral cowardice? Give them no quarter. But an honest mistake backed by a true heart is another matter entirely.”