“Hey,” I say, forcing myself to smile and hoping the emotion translates sincerely. “How are you?”
“I’m great, now that you’re calling. What’s up?” I can hear noises in the background, muffled ambient sounds, like he’s out somewhere, which he’s supposed to be.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I say. “Are you at work?”
“Ah, yeah, but I have a minute.”
“I’m calling to ask if you have any allergies.”
A pause. “Allergies?”
“Yes. Is there anything you can’t have? Peanuts? Shellfish? I’d hate for you to break out in hives the first time I cook for you.”
“Oh, ah—”
“Or worse,” I add. “You could die. One time at work at the dental office we had a patient who didn’t know he was allergic to the anesthesia, and he nearly died in the chair. He turned blue and everything. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
There’s another pause, and it sounds like he might be trying not to laugh. When he finally speaks, he says, “No allergies. Thanks for checking.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. I’ll see you Wednesday, Chris.”
“See you then. Denise.”
I might be imagining the pause before my name, but maybe not.
I put the phone on silent and drop it in my bag, then walk out onto the busy sidewalk and raise my hand for a taxi. Three empty cabs cruise past, steadfastly ignoring me and my vinyl boots, until the fourth one recognizes the hundred dollar bill in my hand and stops. I slip into the back and pass up the money as I give the driver Chris’s address. We make the three-minute trip in silence.
I shiver again when I climb out in front of Chris’s building and cover the ten feet to the entrance. The doorman holds the door but turns away, not bothering to hide his disgust, and I fleetingly wonder who he’d scorn more: an escort or Reese Carlisle? The thought amuses me, giving me a tiny boost of confidence as I cross the lobby. It’s not terribly busy mid-afternoon on a Monday, and I approach the concierge with all the nonchalance I can muster for a first-time cat burglar.
“912,” I say, giving him Chris’s suite number. “He’s expecting me.”
There’s a sign-in book, but the concierge doesn’t pass it over, wanting no official record of this visit. “Have a nice afternoon,” he says, staring over my shoulder at a tacky water feature.
Invisible eyes follow me as I enter the mirrored elevator and avoid my own gaze. I select the ninth floor and feel in my bag for the heavy key ring, clutching it in my palm like a weapon. There are two dozen silver keys on it, enough to unlock ninety percent of the city’s residential units. It’s remarkably unsafe, but when you have enough money, you can access whatever you want.
The elevator dings as it stops. I step into the hallway, and my cheap heels sink into the carpet, muffling my approach. Chris’s unit is at the end, and I hold my breath as I pass each door on the way, waiting for someone to jump out and accost me.
No one does.
My hands are sweaty, fingers trembling, as I stop at his door and force myself to knock. If he answers, I’ll pretend it’s a kinky new sex game, then get cold feet, make my excuses, and run away. If he answers, we’re both caught.
The three sharp raps echo in the hallway, but no sounds come from inside the unit. No television, no footsteps, no voices. I knock again, just in case, but again I’m greeted with silence. Glancing around carefully, I slip the first key in the lock, and turn.
It doesn’t move.
I tug out the key and try the next one. No luck.
The third.
The fourth.
I’m sweating profusely, hot drops slicking down my sides.
The eighth key works.
The click of the lock turning is deafeningly loud, vibrating up my arm. I stand frozen for several long seconds before I twist the knob and push. The door swings open.
I flinch, waiting for a growling Doberman or a gun or even a shout of surprise, but of course none of that happens. Chris doesn’t have a dog, and city gardeners don’t have guns, and he’s at work. I slip inside and lock the door behind me, taking in the familiar space. It doesn’t feel like the den of a nefarious con artist or a swindler or a criminal, but then again, neither did our penthouse, and look how that turned out.