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“You need to invest in a car,” I tell her matter-of-factly.
“I need to do a lot of things.” She unlocks the door by punching four numbers into the keypad, then holds open the apartment door for me. “Getting a car is not at the top of my list, Daddy Warbucks.”
I scoff at the Annie reference and enter the apartment, silently absorbing all the changes that have taken place inside since the last time I was here. I can see that Megan has been quite busy making the space her own. All the furniture has been rearranged, most of it facing the window, and there are small sketches and paintings hanging on the walls. I’m pleased.
I place all the bags on the kitchen counter before wandering over to one of the charcoal sketches. It’s of a busy street with a child standing in the center of it, with a forlorn expression on her face.
“A little depressing, wouldn’t you agree?” I study the sketch, entranced by the sense of loss in the child’s eyes.
“The world often is,” Megan says from the kitchen counter as she unpacks everything.
I look over my shoulder at her. “A little dark coming from somebody your age.”
“My generation is more in touch with our mental health.” She grins playfully. “Your generation likes to pretend that this too shall pass.”
“How old do you think I am, Megan?” I laugh.
“Probably a question I should have asked you before Paris, but I don’t think our age difference really matters at this point, does it?”
I am enjoying Megan’s good mood, and I take some pride in the fact that I had a hand in making it happen. I was quite busy this afternoon, shaking things up at her university, and I don’t feel an ounce of regret meddling in her affairs.
“Do you paint in the living room?” I look around for any paint stains like the ones I’d seen in her old apartment.
Her phone rings, and I watch her fumbling through her purse, looking for it. “No, I set up the third bedroom as my art studio. You can go take a look if you want.”
“It’s not a third bedroom. It’s supposed to be your walk-in closet,” I correct her.
“How can any one person own enough clothes to fill a whole bedroom?” She chuckles. “It’s ridiculous.”
I can think of ten women offhand who could easily fill a room with clothes, but her philosophy about ‘things’ is so refreshing. I can tell that she would rather have experiences like Paris.
I walk towards the room as curiosity guides my feet. Opening the door, I step inside, and the first thing I realize is that the entire floor is covered in plastic. There’s an easel in the middle of the room with a small stool and an unfinished painting. A bunch of fluffy cushions are piled in the corner, and an empty coffee cup is next to them on the floor.
I rented this place to Megan, which is fully furnished, but the bed and all the furniture have been pushed to the side, clearly to ensure that nothing is damaged. Where the dressing table used to be, a rusty-looking wooden table is where it is, and a bunch of art supplies are carefully arranged there.
The place looks a little disorganized, but it has charm and Megan’s artistic footprint all over it. I wander over to the unfinished painting and, on closer view; I see the rough outlineof a river and an old couple walking alongside it. Only the sky is scattered with the paint, depicting hues of pink, orange, and blue. It reminds me of Paris, and I wonder if she’s drawing inspiration from her visit.
Hearing Megan’s voice on the other side of the door, I exit the room just in time to listen to her hiss at the person on the other end.
“I told you I’d send you the money when I get it. Threatening me isn’t going to make me pay you any faster!”
Chapter 30
Who Was That Man?
HUNTER
Megan sounds both upset and angry, and I frown. Rounding the corner, I see her hunched over herself, one hand on the marble counter, her expression tight.
“That’s not my problem, and I don’t live there anymore!”
The hand that’s holding the phone is shaking. She doesn’t see me since her back is towards me, but her posture reveals her fear.
“What do you want from me?” she half shouts, struggling to keep her voice low. “I sent you more than half my fucking paycheck! I don’t have the kind of money you want.“
I’ve heard enough.
Walking over to her, I pluck the phone out of her hand, my tone icy. “Who is this?”
