from a wealthy family? Her apartment is the same floor plan as mine.”
With a better view, nicer appliances, more expensive furniture, and artwork on the walls that’s probably authentic and not a bunch of knockoffs from a discount store.
Other than that…
Our shit is mostly the same.
Mostly.
“So you’re racing home to watch her cat?”
“No, I’m going home because I’m tired and can work from my living room, and the basketball game is on tonight.”
A pen materializes from nowhere and gets tapped against Taylor’s pointy, intrusive chin. “You better be careful or you’re going to end up falling in love with this girl.”
That—that makes me laugh out loud, and the sound reverberates through the reception area with its polished marble flooring and tile walls.
“Take a picture of her apartment for me, would you?” Taylor’s request has me scowling.
“What the fuck, dude—no.”
“Bring me a lock of hair! Maybe I can become the next Margolis heir if I clone her.”
That makes absolutely no fucking sense, but oddly enough, I kind of get where he’s trying to go with that whole idea.
“Bye Taylor.” I walk to the elevator bank and punch the down button with my knuckle.
“Take a mental picture at least. I’m going to have a million questions tomorrow—don’t disappoint me.”
“I’m sure I will.” I’m sure Abbott Margolis has had people betraying her confidence her entire life; I don’t need to be tacked on to the end of that list. Wouldn’t want to be.
It’s not that I’m feeling protective of her, but she’s a nice girl. Clearly wants to fly under the radar, and I don’t actually give a crap how or where she was raised as long as she acts like a decent human being.
Which she does.
So, I’m checking on her cat, following a twenty-five minute commute from the office.
After presenting my driver’s license to the newbie manning the front desk in the lobby, I grab the key to her place and dump my work in my own place.
Change out of my work clothes, too, throwing on sweats, an NBA T-shirt, and flops. Pad across the carpeted hallway and let myself into Abbott’s apartment.
The lock unlatches easily, and I turn the gold knob. Push the door slowly—not sure why. I know she’s not home, but for some reason it feels like I’m about to invade her privacy. Her inner sanctum? It’s weird, so I move slowly, not rushing.
I also kick my flops off because entering her place with shoes on also feels wrong?
Whatever.
“Here kitty, kitty.”
Why the hell am I calling the cat? All I need to do is check its water bowl.
Wait—where is the water bowl?
I make my way toward the kitchen, head peering around the wall to the cozy galley, metal feeding bowls tucked neatly beneath the lower cabinets. One is full of food, the other…
Is empty.
A wet mess beside it.
Well shit, the little bastard did empty its water bowl—which has an engraved plate on it that reads Duchess Desi.
Groaning, I grab the hand towel that’s hanging from the stove and lower myself to the ground so I can soak up the water. Just as I start swishing the terrycloth around on the sleek tile floor…
“Don’t move, scumbag.”
An older woman’s voice from somewhere above me tries to sound menacing.
What the…
I turn my head to look over my shoulder.
“I said don’t move! Are you hard of hearing?”
Seriously. What the actual fuck?
“Abbott sent me. Who the hell are you?”
This time I do turn around, standing in one motion, facing the intruder. A woman is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a large glass vase in one hand, Desdemona tucked protectively under the other.
“Wait a second, are you stealing the damn cat?” I accuse, stepping toward the pair of them to snatch the purring feline.
Little traitor. Of course it’s friendly with a thief.
Is this woman nuts?
She doesn’t look like a nutjob, or a schizo. I’ve certainly never seen her in the building before—though that isn’t saying much because I’d never laid eyes on Abbott until very recently, either.
“Am I stealing the—are you out of your mind?”
“Just give me back the cat and get the hell out of here before I call the police.”
“I beg your pardon?” She is affronted, still holding the vase, still holding Desi.
“I said, give me the cat and I won’t call the—”
“Young man, I’m not hard of hearing. Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my granddaughter’s apartment?”
Granddaughter’s apartment.
It’s then that I really take a good look at the older woman. She’s in her sixties