Lie, Lie Again(62)
Next, she fished out the selfie stick. They were admittedly obnoxious but, in this case, necessary. She positioned herself on the bed, posing in a satiated sleeping position, and began snapping photos, taking care to keep her face out of the shot. The idea was to make it look like someone else had taken the photos while she slept. Angling the stick just so, she made sure to capture the intricate spiderweb tattoo that covered a two-inch space across her left hip. The spider’s legs were elegant, and its body was a bold, multifaceted, bloodred ruby. Best to get a shot with that little beauty. Scrolling through her work, she smiled. These were perfect.
The sound of a cell phone ringing cut through the quiet. She froze. What the hell? It rang once more, and she realized it was coming from the en suite bathroom. Through the closed door, she heard a man’s voice say, “This is Sammy.”
Had he been on the toilet this entire time? Shit! She quickly straightened the pillows, grabbed her clothes, and crept on tiptoe to the kitchen. His voice grew closer. There was nowhere for her to hide, short of ducking into a closet, but she wasn’t about to trap herself all day. Running naked into the exterior hallway wasn’t going to work either. She wriggled into her panties and fumbled to fasten her bra as she heard him say, “Later, man.” The bedroom door opened.
She was still half-naked, but she could work with this. Here we go, she thought. “Hugh? Is that you, babe?” she called. She stood near a kitchen chair and turned as Sammy appeared. “You’re not Hugh!”
“What the fuck!” he shouted, backing into a strange, lowered stance, like he was readying to pounce.
“Who are you?” she screeched, covering herself with her arms. “Where’s Hugh?” she asked, infusing panic in her voice.
“Who the fuck are you? This is my apartment!” He moved from his squat stance and shoved a hand through his hair. It fell to his shoulders in curly dark waves. He wore rock-star skinny jeans that hung low on his hips. Typically, shirtless men were attractive, but Sammy looked like a tall ten-year-old who hadn’t reached puberty, although he had a scraggly beard that he probably thought made him look edgy and cool. In a pinch, she could take him down, even with the sprained wrist.
Sylvia slid her dress over her head and grabbed her bag and purse. “I’m not sure what kind of clever criminal you think you are,” she said, backing away, “but if you take one step closer to me, I’ll scream.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. You’re the intruder,” he muttered. “This is my apartment. Call Hugh.”
“Oh, I will.” She rushed through the door and resumed a normal pace as she walked to the elevator. Well, that hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but at least she had her photos. And information. Now she knew exactly why Hugh had decided to ghost her when he did. His love nest was no longer available.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jonathan rolled into his mom’s old parking spot and strode to the hot blonde’s apartment, a tattered briefcase in hand. It wasn’t his—he’d found it in Ma’s apartment tucked in the back of the hall closet—but the prop would make him look more authoritative. Imposing. With any luck, he’d be able to get them all to sign the papers he’d stuffed in the case. He reached the door and rang the bell.
“Mama! Someone’s at the door,” a whiny voice said from inside. “I open it?”
“I’m coming, sugar.”
He rolled his eyes and tapped his foot. How long did it take to open a freaking door?
Finally, she swung it open. He offered a wide smile, even though the sight of her with a baby on her hip and her ponytail askew was enough to make him vow to never get involved with a woman who wanted children. Kids turned hot chicks into hot messes. “Hello, Elizabeth.”
“It’s Embry.”
“Shit. Right.”
She glared at him. “I have small children here,” she said tightly. “I’d appreciate if you’d keep that in mind when you speak.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.” He straightened. “I wanted to make sure Dave fixed the garbage disposal to your satisfaction.”
“Yeah. It’s working now.”
He waited for a thank-you, but she continued to glare. Ungrateful bitch. “Good. Another quick thing,” he began, shifting his briefcase so he could open it. “I need you to sign this paper for me.” The less he said, the better. With any luck, the baby, who was now grabbing at her shirt, would act as a distraction.
“What am I signing?” she asked, gently removing the baby’s hand from where he’d nearly pulled it low enough to reveal her bra. “Does this have something to do with you selling the place?”
Jesus Christ! He swallowed wrong and coughed into his hand. “What do you mean?” he asked, recovering.
“Dave told us. The handyman?”
“Right, right.” The idiot. He wasn’t ready for the tenants to know just yet. That would only create complaining and questions he couldn’t answer. Rolling back on his heels, he said, “It’s always a possibility, I suppose. Dave can fix things, but he clearly can’t differentiate hypothetical from reality,” he added with a smirk. “This page is just confirming that you’re on a month-to-month lease. It allows you to leave whenever you want. At the end of the day, it’s for your own protection.” He nodded as he handed her the paper. It was something he’d found on the internet on an attorney’s website.