by JJ Knight
I press the button marked L for Lobby.
The button lights up, but blinks off.
The elevator hums as it rises. I travel up, above the lobby floor and past the first floor. I start pressing buttons. All the buttons. Even the emergency stop button.
The elevator keeps going, until it reaches the tenth floor.
DING.
The doors open.
Mr. Morris stands in the hallway of the tenth floor, with a girl beside him.
The girl is my sister, Riley.
Chapter 11
“Riley?”
I step out of the elevator. I’m so stunned to see her, I nearly trip over my feet.
“Hi, Jess,” she says.
“Why are you here?”
She smirks. “See you at home,” she says, taking my place inside the elevator.
“Riley?”
She looks past me. “Really nice to meet you, Mr. Morris, sir!” She presses a button inside and waves goodbye as the doors close.
I turn and stare at Mr. Morris. With his striking white hair, his green eyes are like emeralds sparkling in the snow.
“What’s my sister doing here?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Refusing my job offer, apparently.”
“But Riley’s already got a job,” I say.
“I hear she did very good work last night with young Bryce. He’s back on track as of this morning, though I suppose I should also thank you.” He nods for me to follow him down the hall, in the opposite direction of Maggie Clark’s office.
“I don’t get it. Riley’s a pharmaceutical rep.”
He leads me into his elegant office, filling it with the sound of his deep laugh.
“She’s got a talent, that one. I imagine she’ll use my offer as leverage to get herself a raise. Good for her.”
He sits in a tall-backed burgundy leather chair. I take a seat across from his huge wooden desk. Now that the shock of seeing her is wearing off, I’m annoyed at Riley.
Did she call up Morris Music about a job? That would be just like her to jump on whatever good thing I’ve got going and wreck it.
Mr. Morris raises his snowy white eyebrows, prompting me to say something.
“Sorry I was late. It was only five minutes, but I’ll try harder next time.”
He waves a hand. “Five minutes. Pssh. I’m just giving you a hard time.” His face wrinkles as he leans forward. “You were the last person hired by David Ambler.”
“I was. But… he doesn’t work here anymore.”
“No. He doesn’t.”
I wait for more. The office is so quiet, I can hear the faint sounds of traffic outside, ten stories below.
The longer Mr. Morris stares at me, the more nervous I feel.
Finally, when I can’t take another minute, I say, “The elevator is broken. I wanted to get out and… go to the bathroom, but the buttons didn’t work.”
He doesn’t seem surprised. “Would you like to use my washroom?”
“No. I’m fine.”
He reaches over to his computer monitor and turns the screen to face me. The view is of the interior of the elevator. The grin on his face tells me he has the power to control the elevator.
“Neat trick,” I say.
“David Ambler knew a lot about elevators.”
“I never met him. We exchanged emails a few times, and that was it.”
He swivels his chair as he takes an audible, deep breath. Gazing out the window at the city, he says, “When your hair goes white, people start to treat you different. You catch them in a lie, and they insist that you’re the one who’s wrong. That you’re the one who’s forgetful.”
My eyes go to the screen, to the view of Morris employees riding the elevator. This is so creepy, but I can’t look away.
“Never get white hair,” Mr. Morris says.
“My grandmother has white hair, but she’s sharp as a tack. She doesn’t forget a thing. Well… except for the time zone difference between us now. She can’t wrap her head around that.”
Mr. Morris stays in profile to me. Even when he’s not looking directly at me, I can feel his presence in the room.
Weirdly, I want him to look at me. I want him to tell me I’m doing a good job. If he makes everyone feel this way, it’s no wonder he’s so powerful in the industry.
“You’re not from around here,” he says.
“Nope. But I like it. Los Angeles is fun.”
“Fun.” He chuckles. “Jessica, can you explain to me why, out of all the intern applicants we receive, David Ambler hired you?”
Suddenly, my school training kicks in. Before graduation, we did a hundred mock interviews. I know the answer to this one.
“Sir, I believe my resume and school transcripts opened the door initially. I did graduate at the top of my class, from a respected program. My school puts an emphasis on developing a strong work ethic and leadership skills. When I was fortunate enough to interview with Mr. Ambler, I let him know that my life-long passion for indie music would give me an advantage over other business school graduates.”
Mr. Morris turns to face me, laughing and clapping his hands slowly.
“Very good,” he says. “I’d hire you on the spot, and ten more like you.”
“Thank you.” I beam with pride.
“Next question. Is Dylan Wolf worth a million dollars?”
My heart leaps up into my throat. Why’s he asking me? Of course I’ll say yes. I’d say anything to help Dylan.
“Wait,” he says, holding up a shiny quarter between his fingers. “Let’s make it interesting.”
“Dylan’s very talented,” I say. “Plus he’s likable, and he has star quality…” I trail off under the intimidating stare coming from Mr. Morris and his emerald green eyes.
“I’d be taking quite a risk to sign the young man,” he says. The quarter dances back and forth across his knuckles like magic. “But you’re the one who could lose everything. If Dylan takes this deal, your budding puppy love affair won’t last a month. So, Jessica. Do you love him?”
My voice comes out a scratchy whisper. “I barely know him.”
He flips the coin high in the air.
My heart feels like it’s in my throat.
He snatches the coin easily, and slaps it against the top of his other hand.
“Your call,” he says. “His new songs are terrible, but I believe he can do better. Call the coin, and if you’re right, I’ll authorize the deal.” He pauses. “God help us all.”
“Heads.”
He slowly lifts his hand away. I lean forward, straining to see the shining surface. In that moment, I know.
I do love Dylan.
But it’s a selfish love, because I’m praying the coin is tails.
“Heads,” he says.
I smile and nod. I should be thrilled. Dylan’s going to get his deal, and he’ll be happy. If I really, truly loved him, I’d want the best for him.
But here I am, secretly hoping he’ll stay a street busker in LA. So we can hang out more.
He deserves better than me.
Mr. Morris picks up the phone and starts making a call.
I take this as my cue to leave, and walk out the door.
He calls after me. “Jessica, stop off at the ninth floor for your consolation prize.”
“Okay,” I mumble.
Chapter 12
After I leave the tenth floor, I stop on the ninth to see Stephanie.
She has her assistant fetch me a fresh coffee and a magazine while she makes calls.
Stephanie talks to Mr. Morris, then books the best hotel room she can get at short notice. She even orders room service.
I get a text message from Dylan:
Blue Shoes. I’m going into the meeting now. Don’t tell them I’m nervous. I’ve got the bodyguards with me. You know what? I don’t think the bodyguards Q assigned are to protect me. I think they’re here to hold me back if I get… passionate. But don’t worry. I’m saving all my
passion for you.
Dylan
I text him back to wish him good luck.
“I bet you’re excited to celebrate,” Stephanie says. “You may do this a dozen times in your career, but there’s no time like the first.”
I just keep flipping magazine pages, pretending to read about celebrities. Inside, I’m horrified. Stephanie is suggesting I’ll go to a hotel room to celebrate with other, different guys.
Screw that. I’m quitting this job as soon as Dylan gets his money.
I just have to play it cool a few more days.
Stephanie’s on the phone again. “She’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
She hangs up, and starts motioning for me to get going.
“I can sit in on the meeting upstairs?”
“Not a chance. You’re going to the spa to get every inch of you waxed and massaged.”
“I’d rather just stick around here, thanks.”
She hands me an address. “Do as you’re told.”
I take the card, silently cursing her.
“A driver will be waiting out front,” she says.
I frown. I was planning to go straight home, but I guess today’s not about me getting what I want.
I take the elevator down to the archives. Nick isn’t around.
I gather up my bag and other things. It’s too bad I can’t take the flowers, since I might not be back Monday.
Outside, a sleek towncar is waiting for me.
The next few hours pass in a blur of spa treatments, a makeover, and shopping.
Now it’s seven o’clock Friday night, and I’m waiting.
In front of me is a room service trolley, loaded up with champagne and food. I cross my legs and adjust my pose on the nice sofa in the hotel suite.
I’m all alone here, in the penthouse suite, waiting for Dylan to arrive.
He’s been in touch with me by text messages only.
He told me he signed the deal with Morris Music. A significant deal. Like, the kind of deal all the industry blogs are buzzing about. And the blogs are buzzing.
There’s no way people could have gotten the news this fast. Someone within Morris Music was sending out announcements.
I check the clock over the grand marble fireplace. 7:01pm. Dylan said he’d be here by 6:30.
The longer I wait, the more I worry that Mr. Carter Morris was right.
Now that Dylan has signed his deal, our relationship could fall apart. Maybe he was only with me to get him inside information. Maybe when he looks at my face, he sees his dead wife, and he secretly hates me.
Who’s been playing whom?
I smooth down my new black dress. Underneath the dress is more new underwear, all black and lace. I flick some lint off my new dress. If only I could flick away my doubts as easily.
By 7:30, I’m not just nervous anymore. Now I’m pissed. Dylan’s keeping me waiting. With each minute, I feel our relationship becoming disposable.
Finally, I start eating the food from the trolley. I grab my bag and dump the contents onto the fancy coffee table for sorting.
The stack of old photos I stole from the archives are here, along with a shocking number of candy wrappers. My old bag hasn’t been much use since I started carrying a purse.
I sort through the photos. Something catches my eye. It’s a group photo, taken outside at a picnic.
The picture’s old, but I recognize an older couple wearing matching hoodies.
They’re younger here, but it’s definitely them. These same two were filming Dylan on the street the day we met. And Dylan confirmed to me that they’re working for or with Q.
On the back of the photo, there are no names written. Just question marks, like the photographer didn’t know who they were.
A realization hits me.
These people are working for Q. But these people are also connected to someone within Morris Music.
My head is buzzing with these new developments.
I dig through the photos and find one of the couple posing with a third person—a man. They seem friendly with him. I flip over the photo.
There are two question marks, and just one name: David Ambler.
My hands drop to my lap.
“David Ambler,” I say to the empty hotel suite.
He’s the man who hired me at Morris, but was fired by Maggie Clark before I started.
I take a closer look. David Ambler has small, beady eyes. He’s wearing thick glasses. Just like how Dylan described the mysterious Q.
I swear out loud at the empty room.
David Ambler is Q.
And if Nick and Maggie Clark really don’t know about him, that means he’s working against them.
The door to the penthouse suite opens.
I’m so shocked, my arms jerk up, scattering the photos. I let out a strangled scream.
Chapter 13
The door to the room opens all the way.
Dylan walks into the penthouse suite. He’s followed by two redhead girls.
The girls are shocked by me screaming. They scream, too.
Dylan catches my eyes with his, and starts laughing. His laughter echoes the room. I’ve never heard him quite this happy.
“Guilty conscience?” he says.
He’s got his old beat-up guitar with him, which he sets just inside the door.
I holding my hands to my chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“I brought some old friends,” he says, nodding to the girls.
They’re pretty redheads. One has blue eyes and the other green. I recognize them as the singer twins I met at Dylan’s gig. They slept off their partying at his loft, and then they wouldn’t leave.
And now they’re here.
Great.
Marley shrugs up her shoulders and runs over to me, squealing. She leaps on the couch and hugs me. “It’s so good to see you again, Jess!”
Her red hair flies everywhere, sticking to my lip gloss and tickling my nose.
Her more reserved sister, Bianca, waves politely. Bianca takes a seat on an ornate chair.
“Marley and Bianca,” I say, looking them both over. They’re wearing layers of feathery, gauzy clothes. Both look amazing from head to toe.
Dylan is busy for the moment checking out the food trolley. I try to hide my disappointment that he brought company.
I smile at the girls. “I love your turquoise jewelry. You guys look amazing. Are you… rushing off to a gig tonight?”
Marley settles back on the sofa next to me. She stretches her arms along the sofa back, like she’s not going anywhere.
“No gig, but we just came from a photo shoot with Mr. Wolf,” Marley says.
Dylan pops the champagne open. “Don’t call me Mr. Wolf.” He pours champagne into four glasses. “You make me sound like the bad guy in a fairy tale.” He looks right at me, his dark brown eyes sending a tickle down my spine. “Mr. Wolf sounds like someone who devours innocent young girls.”
I smile back at him sweetly. “Doesn’t sound like anyone I know.”
Bianca gets up from her chair and helps distribute the tall glasses of champagne.
“That’s some black dress you’re wearing,” Dylan growls at me. “No little red riding hood today?”
“My riding hood must have fallen off in the forest, on my way here.”
He jumps over the back of the sofa facing mine. He lands on his feet on the firm cushions, then on his butt.
The twins squeal about him spilling champagne. He hasn’t spilled a drop. He takes a sip, his eyes on me over the glass.
“Congratulations,” I say, tipping mine back.
Marley rifles through the pictures I’ve dropped on the floor. “What’s with all the photos?”
“That’s nothing.” I snatch them from her hands. “Boring work stuff.” I push everything into my bag. I can ask Dylan about the photo and Q as soon as we’re alone.
Marley declares that she’s famished, and starts raiding the trolley for food.
/>
For the next hour, we eat and drink, celebrating Dylan’s deal. I find out why they were all at a photo shoot together. Morris Music signed a deal with Marley and Bianca, as well. Not a huge deal like Dylan’s, but they’re planning to go on tour with him.
As we talk about the tour, Dylan barely takes his eyes off me. I would be jealous over the idea of him spending more time with the redheads, but he’s not even looking at them.
The words of Mr. Morris echo in my head. I push them away by thinking about Q. Something tells me the game isn’t over yet.
By nine o’clock, I’m getting annoyed. Dylan and the girls pass around his guitar. They trade off playing songs, talking about working together on something. We’re on the third bottle of champagne, brought up by room service.
I give Dylan a special look, my eyes wide and unwavering.
He puts down the guitar and says, “Girls, I can spring for a room down the hall for you, but I have bad news. You’re not spending the night with Jess.”
Thankfully, the girls take a hint and start to leave.
We all hug goodbye, and they tell me we’re going to have so much fun.
I practically shove them out the door.
Once they’re gone, I collapse on the couch. Dylan walks over to where I’m sitting.
I feel a gentle pressure in his silence now. The last time we were alone together, he basically said he loved me. I didn’t say it back.
He leans over me. I pucker my lips to kiss him. He scoops his arms under my legs and around my back, and picks me up.
“Dylan,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to say anything.” He gazes down into my eyes as he walks us over to the bed. “You’re my inspiration. My angel. My good luck charm. You’re my everything. I should have said no to the girls coming over, but they wanted to see you.”
“It was nice to see them,” I say.
He stops at the foot of the bed. His smile widens to a huge grin. The corners of his beautiful brown eyes crinkle. “It wasn’t that nice to see them. Miss Rivera, you’re a terrible liar. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”
I open my mouth to argue with him. He tosses me from his arms, onto the bed. I bounce and roll.