Page 39 of No Headlines Please

I was an adult. A civilized adult. An adult who absolutely did not root through the garbage in upscale apartment lobbies.

Unfortunately, I was also an adult whose sister's rent had been mysteriously paid by a rich stranger named Ryder Vaughn.

And not just rich. Very rich. Google had been quite clear on that.

Plus, he was tall, blond, and excessively good-looking, which made him the perfect match for my sister.

Inside the elevator, Walt said, "So about those shrimp…you wanna deliver 'em?"

I was still thinking of Tessa. "You mean, like…now?" A deal was a deal, right? Plus, I was no welcher.

"Nah. Ballgame's not 'til five. You gonna be around?"

I gave it some thought. Maddox and I had made plans to meet in the lobby at noon for our coffee date. Unless things got wildly out of hand, I'd be back with plenty of time to spare.

When I nodded, Walt said, "Terrific. I'm in 860, the one with the trout. And don't forget the truffle fries. That was part of the deal, remember?"

The trout? I didn't even know what that meant. "Don't worry. I won't forget."

"You'd better not," he teased. "I know where to find you."

No doubt he did. But two could play at this game. "And I know where to find you."

He snorted. "Only because I just told you." He paused for a beat. "And just so you know, pre-warmed would be nice. In the oven. Not the microwave. I'd do it myself, but I always mess it up."

Just then, the elevator dinged at our arrival on the seventh floor. Tossing Walt a quick goodbye, I got off and heard the doors slide shut behind me. I stood in the hallway for a long moment before turning back to eye those same elevator doors.

I bit my lip. I shouldn't.

It would be totally undignified.

And yet, almost like it had a mind of its own, my hand was already reaching for the down button. One quick press, and it was officially lit. A few seconds later, the bell dinged, the doors slid open, and there I was – staring at a conveniently empty elevator ready to carry me down.

It was a sign, right?

Way too soon, I was in the lobby, preparing to do the unthinkable. Unfortunately, the place was no longer empty.

A man in running clothes stood beside the wall of mailboxes, flipping through envelopes while two teenage girls sprawled across the sofa drinking iced coffee. Their drinks were annoyingly full.

Damn it.

Trying to look casual, I wandered toward the windows and pulled out my phone, hoping to blend into the scenery. Before I knew it, I was once again pulling up my mom's social media page.

My eyes widened. Oh. My. God.

She was in Paris.

Freaking Paris.

Shopping.

She couldn't afford Paris.

I knew this, just like I knew exactly who was paying for this extravagant shopping trip.

Me.

That's who.