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“Whoa!” Ace rushed over. “Okay, so you said the clue out loud. That means we have to talk through the clues to find out how to escape, nineteen eighty-seven.” He frowned. “I mean, I could be wrong, but I think that’s when Max’s grandpa founded his third hotel in New York.”
“Manhattan?” I asked out loud.
Another lock sounded as the desk opened again, revealing a purple stapler and a picture of Max and his family. A beautiful elderly lady was circled in the photo with the number 2.
I sighed. “I really should have read up on his family before taking this job.”
“Yes.” Ace said in a bored tone. “Because all employees should know the history of the crazy one who hired them right down to his birthday and preference on cake, it’s carrot by the way, don’t ask.”
“Carrot cake? Really? Out of all the cakes?”
“Bro’s a legend for a reason.” He looked over my shoulder, put a hand on my hip, and leaned even further to look at the stapler. “They said beware.”
I couldn’t think.
All I had was Ace’s giant palm on my hip and a stapler that may or may not kill us staring up at me.
“Two.” Ace repeated, his breath on my neck. Was he doing this on purpose? I shivered and tried to focus. “And her face is circled, and we have a purple stapler. I’ve got nothing.”
“Two.” My voice was a hoarse whisper. “Was she second in charge? Maybe they have names on the back of the photo? Most old photos do.”
“Good idea.” He grabbed the frame and opened it, then turned over the old picture and sure enough, at number two was her name: Edith H. Emory the Second.
Ace handed me the picture, our fingers grazed, he paused, his eyes darted to my mouth before looking back at the wall. “A stapler. Well, if I was just going off the stapler, there was this rumor.”
“Rumor?”
“Yeah, like a story people tell when you get hired on to explain just how insane the family actually is.”
“Like people need an explanation. It’s evident on the daily, but continue… I’m intrigued now.” I yawned, afraid to check the timer on the wall, we would probably lose but at least I’d get a good story and alone time with him.
Why did it matter?
And why was I suddenly wanting to be closer to him? I wanted him to laugh, to be the same man he was before I broke him. He always used to laugh easily, wasn’t cynical, and never cared what people thought.
This version of Ace was restrained.
Angry.
Bossy.
Cocky.
Resentful.
I sighed and shook all the thoughts away. This wasn’t about us, it was about my student loans and about getting out of this escape room with him unscathed.
I needed to seriously stop traveling down memory lane every single time he touched me or seemed like he wanted to talk about the past.
The past belonged exactly where it was—it was too painful to bring up and I was too much of a chicken to admit that I was at fault for so many of the things that went wrong during that time.
Fear does that to a person, it chokes you and then convinces you the only way you’ll be able to breathe again is to believe the lie it tells you, at first it’s incredible because you can inhale, exhale, until you realize it’s been poison all along and nothing was ever solved, no, the fear just dug you deeper into the darkness and laughed while you smiled over the lie of being rescued.
Yeah, I knew fear well.
“This is bullshit.” Ace groaned. “We need a hint, something, anything.”
A knock sounded at the door, and then a piece of paper slid underneath the ASME door.
