by K. A. Tucker
He eases himself upright until he’s sitting within the hammock, his brown suede slippers planted firmly on the cedar platform below. The blanket falls to reveal the long-sleeved cotton shirt that clings to his body. It’s nowhere near warm enough for twenty-degree weather. “They can come to the roof, sure.”
I survey the arbor gate behind me again, and the wooden lattice fence that stretches all the way around, framing this little garden. “But not into here.”
He kicks off, somehow managing to balance himself while the hammock sways. “It’s one of the few perks that comes with my job.”
“And the building owner really doesn’t care? Because I feel like this would be a code infraction or something. What if there’s a fire and the tenants have to come up to get to the fire escape?” I’m rambling, but if I keep talking then it can’t get awkward and I won’t be forced back inside.
“My experience is people travel down when there’s a fire.” He chuckles as if that’s the silliest idea, his English accent making me smile. “But if they come up here, then I guess they’ll have a nice place to sit while the building burns.”
“Fair enough.” I pause. “Did Celine ever come up here?”
A shadow flickers over his face. “No. I didn’t see much of her at all, really.”
I’m not surprised. She was afraid of heights.
Silence hangs between us and I figure I have nothing to lose. I edge toward him with the tin. “Trade you . . . One of these for a hit of what you’re smoking.”
At first Grady meets my question with a blank stare, and I think I’ve overstepped my bounds. But then he grins, a handsome boyish grin that I never noticed before. One that makes him all the more attractive. “How do I say no to that?” He accepts the tin of cookies and then eases back into his hammock, stretching a long, toned arm out to fetch the hidden joint from a planter. “It’s big enough for two,” he offers, gesturing beside him.
Normally, I would never think of climbing into a hammock with a guy I barely know, but there’s something oddly familiar about Grady and the way he offers it. No leery glances, no winks. Nothing overtly sexual beyond his natural presence.
And I’m too drained to care about any of that right now anyway.
“This could go disastrously wrong,” I warn, stepping onto the wooden platform. In answer, Grady drops his leg on the far side to stabilize us. He lifts the blankets and I climb in, resting my head on the pillow while trying not to roll on top of him. With smooth movements, he adjusts himself on my right, until we’re balanced perfectly, my shivering body pressed against his surprisingly warm one.
“Come on, it’s not that cold.” He stretches the wool blankets over me, tucking them around the far side of me, the faint scent of his soap making me inhale.
“It is when you’re coming from eighty-degree weather.”
He pulls out a grill lighter. “San Diego you said, right?”
“And before that, Ethiopia.”
That earns a raised brow.
“A humanitarian thing I’m working on,” I explain vaguely.
“Humanitarian. Interesting.” I can’t tell if he’s being sincere. Holding the joint between a set of nicely shaped lips, he lights the end.
I watch, fascinated, as he closes his eyes with his inhale, holds for a few seconds, and then opens his mouth to release a puff of smoke into the quiet night. We’re in the heart of Manhattan, but besides the occasional horn blaring, you’d never know.
“So, how’s it going with the cleanup?”
I sigh. “Okay. It’ll take weeks to clear through everything. But I have some time.” Now that I know the truth about Rosa, I’ll only be leaving here to stay with her in San Diego toward the end, whether she likes it or not.
He chuckles softly, passing the joint to me, and our fingertips graze in the exchange. His skin is rough from manual labor, but I can see that he maintains tidy nails. “I’ve never seen someone so excited by bookshelves. When I first showed her the apartment and offered to rip them out for her, she actually started crying, she was so upset. Then, two weeks after she moved in, I saw her standing outside the front door with more shelves, which she had salvaged from a tear-down site. They were tossing them and she wanted them. Don’t ask me how she got them here, but I dragged them in for her and screwed them to the wall.”
I take a long haul off the joint and feel the burn as the smoke fills my lungs. I smother the cough threatening and hold it in until my limbs sink into the canvas. Relaxation slithers into my body. By the time I’ve exhaled, a nice buzz has taken over my senses. “Yeah. Lots of creepy dolls and breakable shit.”
“I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t happy you’re here. I was afraid I was going to have to deal with those creepy dolls and breakable shit.”
“According to her appraisal friend, some of it is pretty valuable.”
“Really?” He sounds skeptical.
I take another hit and then stare at the night sky as smoke sails up. And let my body press further against Grady’s.
I sense his gaze on me as he murmurs, “I’ve never seen a dead body like that. You know, not already in a casket.”
I close my eyes.
“Do you know why she did it?” he asks.
“A guy,” I say, before I can stop myself.
There’s a pause. “Seriously?”
“Yes. No. Maybe.” Our fingers brush against each other again as I hand him the joint and sigh. “I don’t know. I really hope not.”
“And what does this guy have to say about it?”
“I have no idea. She never even told me about him.” Not me, not her closest coworker, not her gay best friend, nobody. Not even the nosy neighbor. “I don’t know if he even realizes she’s dead.” I pause. “Why am I even telling you this?”
He doesn’t answer, inhaling more from the joint before passing it back to me.
Because I need to talk about it out loud, that’s why. On impulse, I ask, “You never saw her with anyone, did you?”
“Nope.” Opening the tin, he shoves a shortbread into his mouth.
“I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about it.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just . . .” He holds another cookie up. “These are so damn tasty and I’m really fucking hungry now.” He eats another one and moans, “God, that Ruby and her shortbread.”
“You just moaned the old lady’s name.”
“Oh, God! Ruby!” he moans again with exaggeration.
I can’t help but laugh. It helps me let go of a bit of the anger I’ve been holding inside. “What’s the story with her, anyway? How can she even afford a place like this at her age? She can’t be making very much.” How could Celine afford it, for that matter? I found a raise letter in her work documents, announcing that she was getting bumped to forty thousand dollars a year. At $40K, she’d have little money for anything but rent in this neighborhood. I guess that would be another reason for her to start selling her prized possessions.
He slips the joint from my fingertips with a wink. “It’s called ‘rent control.’ Ruby moved into her apartment in the seventies.” Rings of smoke float up into the night sky as Grady’s jaw works to puff them out. “If people around here knew how little she was paying, they’d revolt. But don’t say anything because these cookies are fucking dynamite and we won’t have anything to eat while we get high up here if she cuts us off.”
I chuckle. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. This is a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of night for me.”
“Of course. Same here.” He smirks, like he doesn’t believe me. “They’ll never taste better than they will right now.”
I grab one and take a bite. And moan just like Grady, as the buttery cookie melts in my mouth, hints of curry and parmesan sparking my taste buds.
He nudges my leg with his. “See?”
“You’re right, this is the best damn shortbread I’ve ever had. And it’s not just because I’m high.”
“She makes a batch every we
ek. Right around the time that her kitchen drain gets clogged or a screw somehow goes missing from her cabinet hinges.”
“You think it’s a ploy to get the strapping young super into her apartment?”
He smiles, scratching at the light stubble along his jawline. “The screwdriver she uses to take them out is usually sitting on the counter.”
For some reason—because I’m high—I find that hysterically funny and I burst out in a fit of giggles.
“You have a nice laugh,” Grady says through his own chuckles. “Did she tell you what she used to do for a living?”
“No, but if I had to guess, I’d say part-time librarian, full-time hoarder.”
“Close. Ask her next time you see her.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “It’s pretty cool.”
I roll my head to face him. “You know, you’re pretty cool, Grady.”
Golden eyes, more hazel than green and richer than before, stare back at me from only inches away. “This is out,” he finally says, taking one last haul off the roach until the tiny spark dies. Leaning over until his upper body weight presses against my chest, he flicks the evidence into the fire.
I hold my breath as he shifts back to lie next to me, adjusting the thick wool blanket that traps our body heat as if he has no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. “Warm enough?”
“Warm enough.” Staring up at the sky where I know stars blanket us, though I can’t see them beyond the city lights, I silently thank the little old lady for steering me to the roof tonight. I needed this escape. And some human connection.
The question is, what should I do tomorrow? What can I do besides sell a thousand-plus antiques and slowly dismantle all that was Celine’s life?
I know what I’m inevitably going to do. Dwell on the tiny voice in the back of my mind that tells me something isn’t right here.
If Celine was dating Jace Everett, why keep it secret?
Maybe it’s like Dani said—maybe Jace didn’t want to bring a lowly administrative assistant home to meet his governor dad. Or maybe the issue wasn’t her day job. Maybe it was something else. Something he won’t want to admit to.
“I need some advice, Grady, and I have no one else to ask.”
“Shoot.”
“If you needed answers and the only person to give those to you was a person you didn’t know, had never met, and who might not like the questions you have to ask, what would you do?”
He twists his lips in thought. “I’d create a situation to meet this person and make it hard for them to refuse me.”
Simple in theory . . . “But how?”
He exhales heavily, his warm breath grazing my cheek telling me that he’s facing me. “Find common ground. A location, a purpose, an acquaintance. Force the meet and then work your questions around the real ones that you want to ask. You can get a lot of information out of a person just by treading too close to what they don’t want to talk about. The look in their eye, their facial expressions, the way they react to the mention of a name, or a place.”
Grady seems more intelligent than what I’d expect of a pot-smoking building super. “You sound like you’ve been in my situation before.”
“Once or twice. Maybe.” I hear the smile in his voice.
Find common ground. Force the meet. The only common ground I have with this guy is now six feet underground in a San Diego cemetery.
Unless . . .
There is something that we’re both very familiar with.
I pull out my phone and scroll through my emails to find the one with her phone number. I know this is beyond inappropriate, but once I get something in my head, there’s no dislodging it. Plus, I’m high.
“Hello?”
“Hey Dani. It’s Maggie Sparkes.”
“Hi . . . Is everything okay?” She definitely sounds shocked to hear from me.
Grady watches me quietly. “I’m sorry to be calling so late. You know how you offered help with anything I needed? Well, I need a favor.” I hesitate. “I need a meeting with Jace Everett.”
CHAPTER 7
Maggie
December 2, 2015
I step into the building, taking a second to smooth the skirt down over my hips once more.
“Wow. You look . . .” Dani’s sapphire eyes skim me from head to toe, stalling first on my freshly cut and styled hair and then on the coating of mascara and liner rimming my eyes. “. . . different.”
I do look different from yesterday. Almost unrecognizable, actually. That was my full intention when I finagled an eight a.m. appointment with my mother’s New York stylist—after a call from my mother to him at midnight, while I was still curled up next to Grady—and told them to make me look good.
What Dani doesn’t remark on—and I’m thankful for it—is the fact that I’m wearing one of Celine’s dresses. It’s fitted, with a plunging neckline and black-and-white stripes that run diagonally along the entire length. It’s one of those dresses that Celine could wear once and no one would ever forget.
I chose it intentionally.
Our heels click against the marble in tandem as we stroll toward the elevator. Dani agreed to meet me in the lobby so we could ride up together.
“How much time do I have?” I ask as she hits the button for the top floor and the doors slide shut. My heart rate begins to climb.
“Twenty minutes, which isn’t enough time for a new client, but his calendar is completely packed for the next month.” She’s talking a mile a minute. “Natasha had to bump another client and juggle a bunch of things around. I’m still surprised that she agreed to this.”
“Reservations are already made, for two at eight p.m. this Friday, with the bill going directly to my family’s account there.” We needed a carrot to dangle in front of Jace’s assistant, and Dani suggested dinner at Per Se for her and her boyfriend.
“He doesn’t take new clients unless they meet a certain minimum threshold, and there’s a screening process and everything that you haven’t gone through.” Dani frowns with worry.
“I’ll meet the threshold.”
“Do you even know what it is?”
I smirk. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll meet it.” Celine told Dani who I am, so she should realize that I have a lot of money. I assume that’s the only reason she agreed, albeit reluctantly, to go along with this plan in the first place. The woman who came in yesterday, in her hiking boots and jeans, would not have been able to pull these kinds of strings otherwise.
That’s the power of money.
“You didn’t tell her that I was a friend of Celine’s, right?”
“Nope.”
“Good.” I need to watch his face when I say Celine Gonzalez’s name.
“Natasha could get into trouble for this if Jace starts digging into why he has no files on you.” Dani worries her mouth. “You really are going to invest a lot of money with him, right?”
“If he impresses me.”
If Dani’s smart, she’s wondering if this has anything to do with yesterday’s run-in—if this is more about wanting to sleep with the handsome asshole than investing my money with him. She’s definitely wondering if I’m going to railroad her friend and make her look like an idiot. I feel only slightly guilty about using her for this “forced meet” as Grady calls it. But it’s the only way I’m going to get the answers that I need about Celine.
My ears pop with the quick ascent, the high altitude weighing on my lungs. I don’t know how people handle being up here, nearly in the clouds.
“Marnie,” Dani calls the second we step out. She begins rushing through floor-to-ceiling mahogany, crystal chandeliers, and white Italian leather, toward two women sitting behind the mammoth front desk, her heels speeding up as they click against the travertine.
If the lobby of Falcon Capital Management is meant to make a statement, it’s that FCM has made an obscene amount of money at the hands of its investors.
The woman on the left—a narrow-faced girl with mousy brown hair and a l
ong pointy nose—stands, yanking her headset off. Round, doubtful eyes that are too close together appraise me. “Margaret Sparkes?”
“Yes.” No one refers to me by my given name. Not even the media. That’s why I asked Dani to use it. I assume that if Jace even notices me tucked into his calendar, he won’t put two and two together. An heiress to an energy fortune would already have an investment firm to manage the family money. And I do.
“This way.” Marnie’s floral perfume wafts as she leads me away.
“Thank you for your help.” I wave to Dani, dismissing her. I’m sure she’d love to be a fly on the wall, but I’m not having any of that.
I’m forced to pick up the pace to follow Marnie’s lithe body down a long hallway of small fishbowl offices where people mill about and phones ring and a low chatter buzzes. As we weave farther back, I see the distinct separation between the general office environment and what I’m guessing is the executive space, complete with solid doors and frosted glass and plenty of space for everyone.
“Natasha, this is Miss Sparkes, for that eleven thirty with Jace.”
Natasha, an attractive Scandinavian-looking blonde with high cheekbones, a severe updo, and an even more severe face, looks up from her desk. Sharp eyes size me up from head to toe, the flash of shock so fast I nearly miss it. She glares at Marnie. Dani said that the three of them—and Celine—were somewhat of a group, occasionally connecting for lunch or morning coffee. I wonder how much of a friend Natasha truly was to Celine. “Have a seat, please.”
Marnie nods at me once and then takes off abruptly as male voices approach from behind the glass door. As if she doesn’t want to be anywhere near this side of the floor.
“All right. I’ll see you next month. Say hi to your dad for me. And make me some more money.” A silver-haired man exits with a chuckle, winking at both Natasha and me before disappearing down the hall.
I’m not normally a nervous person, and yet I can’t keep from tapping my fingers against the cold metal armrest. A moment later, a deep male voice hollers, “Natasha! Come in here!”
With a full breath, she stands and stalks forward, her tall, leggy frame accentuated by a short skirt. “Yes?” The harsh edge in her voice falls off to make room for a soft coo. All I hear is “Where is this person’s file?” before the door shuts behind her.