Page 314 of Manhattan Bossholes

“I can’t say who because I just signed an NDA, not that I don’t trust you, but mostly because I don’t want to jinx it! Ahhh! It’s Broadway, baby! Okay, breathe. I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

“One, that’s so cool. I knew it was only a matter of time before Broadway came knocking. And two…I’m actually not altogether sure I am fine.”

“Wait…what’s wrong?”

“Have you left for work yet?”

“No. I was on my way out the door, though.”

“Can you come down here for two seconds?”

“Yes. But why do you sound so unnerved?”

“Cause something weird just happened.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

I sucked in a long breath, staring at the key. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“Oooooo! Okay,” she said. “I’m definitely on my way then. Be right there.”

Ten minutes later, Stacy and I stood around the kitchen table, staring down at the key and the note, our heads practically pressed together as we examined them.

“I guess it could be some sort of prank,” I said.

Stacy hemmed. “By who?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really want to circle back to the ‘someone’s trying to lure me to my death’ idea.”

“This does scream murder mystery, I’m not gonna lie.” Stacy picked up the key. “I wonder if your soon-to-be murderer’s DNA is on here.”

I knocked it out of her hand. “Don’t say that. I bet they just had the wrong address.”

“Well, your name was on the envelope, so it’s definitely from someone you know. And if we’re weighing the odds⁠—”

“I don’t like it,” I grumbled.

“If we’re weighing the odds,” Stacy said, continuing her thought, “it has to be Trent.” She opened Google, typed in the address, and zoomed in on Google Maps. “Nothing definitive is popping up, but I don’t know who else can afford real estate in this part of the city.”

The last thing I wanted was for this to be from Trent, but I couldn’t deny that she was probably right. I didn’t exactly have a long list of wealthy friends who had access to property in that part of Manhattan. Plus, of all our theories, this one made the most sense.

“Man,” Stacy complained. “I sooo wish I wasn’t working this afternoon. I’d totally go with you to have a look. Because let me be clear, you definitely need to check this place out. I mean, like, be careful…obviously. Text me when you get there to let me know you’re alive and all that.”

“Ew, no. Who said I’m going to check it out?”

“What?” she gasped. “You have to! I need to know what it is.”

I shoved the key in her direction. “Then be my guest. Text me when you find out.”

“No, Natasha. If this is from Trent, then you definitely need to be the one to check it out. First, so you can tell him the way to an apology is not with a creepy key with an unsigned note. And second, so you can kick him in the balls for treating you like an asshole. It’s the least he deserves after everything.”

“Hmm,” I said, picking up the key. The thought of seeing Trent again was a little too tempting. Even if it was only to kick him in the balls.

Forty minutes later, I was making my way down a slick side street in Manhattan, following Google Maps to the location pinpointed on my phone. I’d taken one bus and the subway to get here, so if this all turned out to be a giant waste of time, I was going to be pissed.

I slipped my phone in my pocket and stuffed my hand back in my glove as I came upon a large grey warehouse. It looked like a relatively new build, the siding shiny and sleek, devoid of the rust that marked some of the nearby buildings. I pulled the key from my pocket and walked up to the door. There were no markings or signs, not even a NO TRESPASSING notice, so I slipped the key in the keyhole, and my heart gave a little flip-flop when the door unlocked smoothly.

I pulled my phone out and quickly messaged Stacy to tell her I was going in. Inside, the lights flicked on automatically, seemingly triggered by motion. I gasped at the shelves that stretched out before me. There were at least a dozen of them, each one stocked to the top with woodworking supplies. I walked along the nearest shelf of hardwoods. There was oak, teak, maple, cherry, walnut, mahogany, ash—and those were only the woods I recognized off the top of my head. Some of them had to be rarer finds. I Googled images, certain I was looking at zebrawood and something else called purpleheart.