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Rooting around in the fridge for something that might pass as dinner, the landline on the counter starts to ring. I ignore it. The only person who calls me on it is the concierge. He calls every time he sees me heading up to my apartment. I think it freaks him out that I don’t have him running around, stepping and fetching for me. A few seconds later my cell starts to ring along with it.

Weird.

Reaching for my cell, I turn it over to see Conner’s name flash across the screen, and I answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Daisy—you want to answer your phone and tell the desk monkey down here to let me up?”

“What?” I look at the landline, still ringing. “You’re downstairs?”

“Sure the fuck am,” Conner says. “And I want to come up.”