to see when I open the door, knowing it only could have been her. She’s the only person who knows where I live. Yet, in all the years we’ve known each other, she’s never stopped by unannounced. I don’t know what to expect.
“Did you leave your phone with Talent Ridge?” she asks right away, shaking hers at me.
Swiping sweat from my eyebrow on the back of my hand, I groan. “I dropped it before I left and forgot to take it with me. I haven’t activated another burner…”
“He called, and I thought it was you. He said my number was the only contact saved.”
My heart nosedives past my shredded lungs, through my shaky legs, to my feet. “What did he want?”
“You.”
“Are you training for a marathon or something? What’s wrong with you?” Inez asks, letting herself in. She hurries past me, careful not to touch my sweaty body.
“After two days of chaos and binge drinking, I thought working out was a healthier way to deal with my problems,” I answer, toeing my shoes off. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“Jesus, Lydia.” Inez looks around, scoping out the bare walls and lack of furniture apart from the couch and treadmill. “How long have you lived here? Would it kill you to decorate? Where’s your television?”
“In the bedroom.” What’s the point of decorating when I might have to leave without notice one of these days? “Can I get you anything?”
Inez shakes her head. “No, thank you. Once I realized Talent had your phone and I didn’t have a way to contact you, I headed over to make sure everything is square. It’s not like you to make a mistake like that.”
Embarrassment warms my cheeks, concealed by the redness in my skin from the workout. “Looks like Ridge & Sons threw us off our games.”
Snapping her head in my direction, Inez’s short haircut sweeps along her jawline as it swings from the sudden movement. For a split second, she stares at me with the same dark dissatisfaction she shared with Naomi yesterday. I am, after all, an employee who performed with unsatisfactory results. But unlike Naomi, Inez won’t let me go so easily.
She sits on the center of the couch, bouncing up and down and scoffing. “Do you ever sit here?”
“No. Not often,” I admit.
The couch was purchased because coming home to an empty living room every day was depressing. It was a constant reminder that I have no roots—a shoddy history. I didn’t have parents to pass down their old furniture to me when I rented my first apartment or heirlooms to inherit. There are no awkward school pictures or family photos to hang up, and I don’t have any friends. No one takes pictures of me or with me, so there’s nothing to put in frames.
I bought the sofa online because it looked cozy.
It’s not.
The material is itchy and it’s hard. But it’s something to come home to.
I’ve considered ordering canvas portraits of inanimate objects, but the truth is, nothing interests me. There’s not anything I consider particularly beautiful.
Except Talent.
My only hobby is getting paid, and I can’t very well put my line of work all over the walls. The exception to my indifference about making my house a home is my bedroom. I lived on this planet for eighteen years without a bed to call my own, so I don’t take it for granted. My room is everything I wanted as a kid—without the band posters and lava lamps.
“This couch won’t do.” Inez sits back, draping her arm over the back of it. “I’ll get you a new one.”
I finish the rest of my water, unamused with her rant about my living situation. “I’m always glad for your company, but you didn’t come all this way to criticize my furniture. Talent didn’t call you to return my phone, did he?”
“No, sweetheart, he didn’t.” She looks at her shoes and exhales audibly. “And I should tell you that I answered the call by your real name.”
Caught off guard, my normal passiveness and self-control nearly abandon me with my ability to clear my mind during appointments. It’s a total out-of-body experience, and I don’t recognize who I’ve become in forty-eight hours. Who’s this girl who’s allowed her strict routine to come unraveled, because it certainly isn’t me.
“You called me Lydia,” I state. “Did you call me Lydia Montgomery? Or just Lydia?”
“Have I ever answered your telephone calls with Lydia Montgomery? You’re Lydia. You’re the only one who’s ever called me from