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I walk back into the lobby, the shine of the marble tiles a welcome sight after what I put myself through. I try to ignore the way eyes linger on me, and I rub my temples. The ever-oncoming headache nips at my heels again from the scent of alcohol and tannins. It’s making me nauseous, so I barely notice when Russell appears beside me, but I swear that man moves with the silence of a cat.
“I take it, it didn’t go well,” he says, not even trying to hide his knowing smile.
“Sometimes I wish you’d retire sooner,” I grumble.
Russell chuckles and asks, “Do you want me to have that suit dry cleaned?”
“No, just burn it. There’s no way I want to remember this night, ever,” I say with a groan.
“As you wish,” he bobs his head.
I approach my private elevator, my safe space, and step inside the silence. It welcomes me into its cool embrace, and I force my mind not to focus on the disaster of the night that just happened. But it’s hard when I’m surrounded by the smell of red wine clinging to me. I definitely can’t wait to get rid of this suit. I instead think about the cake weighing down my hand and smile, knowing that the best part of this night will be having the triple chocolate layers sitting on my tongue.
“Well, I knew it was going to be a failure from the beginning,” I say out loud to the metal walls surrounding me.
My father would say that I caused this night to be as bad as it was. Going into a situation and expecting it to be horrible always makes it so. But I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that every situation is your own creation. Sometimes other people are at fault.
I step out into the hallway and walk down to my home. My eyes drift to the side of my penthouse door where a single figure leans against the wall. I pause in my steps as my sight focuses, and I realize it’s a woman. Amelia.
I’m surprised to see her, but she looks nervous, shaken, and pale. I’m not sure if she is on the verge of tears or just nauseous, but I pause just a few feet from her, waiting until her eyes drift upward and her attention focuses on me.
“Sir,” she whispers, her voice breaking.
“Come in,” I say after a moment.
My night may have been shit but she looks like hers has been burned down to ashes. I’m not sure what’s happened to her, but I know she needs somewhere safe to be. I may hate company but I’m not heartless. When someone is trembling and standing outside my door, I’m not about to turn them away.
She looks at me with wide and surprised eyes but nods and follows behind me as I walk into my entryway. The dogs, naturally, rush to the door. I turn to tell her they won’t hurt her, but I already see Jewel accepting pets from Amelia. My lips twitch dangerously at the corners, fighting the desire to smile as my dog wags her undocked tail as a complete stranger showers her with love.
“What happened to you?” Amelia asks as she looks up from one of my pride and joys.
I glance back down at my suit, wrinkling my nose against the smell. I sigh and shake my head.
“Insulted my date, I suppose,” I say with a shrug. “Though she definitely deserved it.”
Amelia snorts. “Oh, I’m sure she did. Don’t worry about me, go change. Your dogs will keep me company.”
I eye her for a moment and then nod. I don’t trust her, not really. But it’s not because I worry about her stealing something or screwing up my home. I worry about her presence tainting my house. Yet she looks like all she wants to do is sit down and perhaps cry. I can’t imagine she will be a problem.
I disappear into my bedroom and clean myself up with a washcloth, then change into a soft cotton shirt and sweatpants. It’s warm and doesn’t stink. I can say it’s 100% better than it was five minutes ago.
I walk back out to see Amelia pressing her forehead against Charity’s. She is whispering something to her, something that I can’t hear but she quickly stops as soon as she notices my presence. I lean against the door frame and cross my arms, studying the picture she paints with my dog’s head in her hands.
She is the only one who will work.
“So why are you here?” I ask, figuring I answered her question earlier and she can answer mine now.
She turns her gaze from my mutt of a dog and looks at me hard. There is a bit of hesitancy in her eyes. Something that flickers to life before she shuts it down.
“Have you reconsidered?” I ask, pushing up from the wall with excitement.
She purses her lips. “I will if you will give me an advance.”
Her stare hardens and I tilt my chin, surprise running through me at her boldness. She keeps throwing me curveballs. I consider her words before shaking my head once.
“How much of one?” I question.
“Five thousand,” her voice is firm, unwavering, and I know that for such a specific amount to be chosen, something is wrong, and I need to know what.
