Corrupt(45)

They needed to move on.

I didn’t have any more classes today, so I bolted from campus and rushed across the Commons to my apartment a few blocks down the busy city street.

Walking into Delcour, I spotted Alex, the girl from class and the other night, waiting at the elevator.

“Hey,” she greeted, turning to me and pushing her sunglasses up to the top of her head. “Are you okay?”

She must be asking because of Damon and Will.

I smiled weakly, hooding my eyes. “I think so. I used to go to school with them and be so curious about who they were. Now I just wish I was invisible to them again.”

I turned my eyes, seeing the blue lights of the elevator descending.

“Well, I don’t know Damon and Will all that well,” she stated, “but I can promise you, you were never invisible to them.”

And I shot her a look, seeing her eyes scale down my body.

She knew them?

Well, I guess that made sense. If she was seeing Michael, she would’ve met his friends, I suppose.

Which reminds me…

“Don’t you take the other elevator to his penthouse?” I asked her, pointing my thumb over my shoulder, indicating Michael’s private entrance.

“Whose penthouse?” she asked.

“Michael’s.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. She stepped in, and I followed behind absently.

“Yes, but I’m not going there,” she answered. “I live on the sixteenth floor.”

And I watched as she pressed sixteen and the doors slowly closed.

She lived in the building.

“Oh,” I responded. “Well, I guess that makes it convenient to see him.”

“I see lots of men.”

I raised my eyebrows. Oooookay. Whatever that meant.

I reached over and pushed twenty-one, holding the strap of my bag at my shoulder as the elevator approached its first stop.

“Women, too,” she added, sounding cocky.

I stilled, feeling the heat of her stare on my neck.

“Do you like women?” she asked matter-of-factly.

My eyes rounded, and a laugh lodged in my throat. “Uh,” I choked out. “Well, it’s never really occurred to me.”

Damn. Got to hand it to her. She knew how to get my mind off the guys.

She turned her head, looking at the elevator door and smirking. “Let me know if it ever does.”

The doors opened, and she stepped out, calling over her shoulder in a taunting voice, “Hope to see you around, Rika.”

And she disappeared down the hall, the doors closing behind her.

I shook my head, clearing it. What the hell was that?

When the doors opened again, I stepped out, going straight for my apartment. Once inside, I locked the door and dug my phone out of my bag before tossing the satchel onto the sofa.

No missed calls.

I spoke to my mother every other day, and if she didn’t have a signal, the yacht had a satellite phone. Why wasn’t she calling me back? Damon’s threat had me concerned now, and I wanted to make sure she was safe.

Pithom, the Crists’ motor yacht, was usually docked in Thunder Bay. They’d hosted many parties there growing up, but it was also perfectly capable of handling long ocean excursions. During the fall and winter months, Mr. and Mrs. Crist often took it to southern Europe for their annual excursion instead of traveling by plane. I guessed Mrs. Crist went ahead of her husband a little early this year and took my mother with her.

I dialed her number, the line going straight to voicemail.

“Okay, Mom,” I said, annoyance thick in my voice. “It’s been days. I’ve left messages, and you’re making me worry now. If you were taking a trip, why didn’t you call me?”

I hadn’t meant to yell, but I was already frazzled. I pulled the phone away, hanging up.

My mother was flighty and not at all self-sufficient, but she was always available to me. She was always in contact.

Walking to the refrigerator, I dialed Mr. Crist’s office and stuck the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I plucked out a Gatorade and twisted the top.

“Evans Crist’s office,” a woman greeted.

“Hi, Stella.” I took a quick sip and replaced the cap. “This is Erika Fane. Is Mr. Crist in?”

“No, I’m sorry, Rika,” she replied. “He’s already gone for the day. Would you like his cell number?”

I sighed, setting down my bottle. Stella had worked for the Crists and been Mr. Crist’s personal secretary my entire life. I was used to dealing with her, since she also handled most of my family’s finances for Mr. Crist. Until I graduated from college anyway.

“No, I have his number,” I told her. “I just didn’t want to bother him on his private time. Could you please ask him to call me at his convenience when you speak to him next? It’s not an emergency, but it is kind of important.”

“Of course, dear,” she replied.

“Thank you.”

I hung up and grabbed my Gatorade, moving to the window to look out into the courtyard and the city beyond.

The sun was starting to set, thin slices of it peeking through the skyscrapers as I took in the clear sky and purple hues in the distance. The lamps outside in the garden, sensing the disappearance of sunlight, suddenly lit up, and I raised my eyes, seeing the windows of Michael’s penthouse.