Mission: Retrieve the charger. Operation: Swift exit. Now that I’m here, I’m too chicken-shit to play private detective and snoop on what JP classifies as “admin.”
I slide the key in, wincing as it clicks loudly in the silence. With bated breath, I creak the door open, expecting a dozen alarm bells to blare at any moment.
Nothing. I exhale and slip inside, gently closing it behind me. So far, so good.
For a moment, I’m dazzled by the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Manhattan stretches out before me, glittering like a sea of precious stones, stretching as far as the eye can see.
If this were my place, I could happily spend all weekend here, sipping tea and staring at the view. The questions plaguing me, the mysteries swirling around the man across the hall, they all seem distant for a second.
But reality soon snaps back—this isn’t my home, and now that Spider is gone, I should hand JP back his key.
But first… I might as well read here for a while.
I get lost in my book for the better part of an hour. Books are one thing I can rely on during memory loss because they don’t hold back from me or lie to me. If only there was a book on my missing year.
It would be365 Days MIA, and it would be anything but a steamy romance.
The setting sun peeking through the towering skyscrapers snaps me back to the present.
Time to execute phase two.
I hastily gather my forgotten Kindle charger and the toiletries I left behind in my hurried departure that morning after I stayed here. The fear of running into JP had driven me out at dawn.
Then, cutting through the silence like a shard of glass, the elevator dings. There are only three apartments on this floor. Are they coming here? To JP?
Clutching my bag like a life raft, I edge to the door and listen, every nerve alert.
Footsteps come closer, louder.
A knock on JP’s door. A pause. And then another knock, more assertive this time. I find myself holding my breath, my pulse racing a mile a minute.
“Hey.” JP’s voice filters through the door, deep and gruff. The sound of it makes my heart pound even harder.
Peering through the peephole, I see a sleek brunette, knocking on his door. If her front is half as sexy as her behind, she’s totally hot. Pangs of hurt and jealousy stab at me.
JP lets her in without a second thought.
Admin my ass.
I move away from the peephole, not breathing in case they hear me, until his door closes with both of them on the other side.
Together.
Fuck.
A lead weight drops in my stomach. I slink back from the door, questions screaming in my mind. I don’t want to think about who she is and what she’s doing at his place on a Saturday night.
Looks like I’ve been relegated to Miss Sunday.
I want to believe there’s an innocent explanation. That JP wouldn’t deceive me.
He wouldn’t, whispers a hopeful part of me.
But reality drowns out those naive hopes. One—JP said he was tied up in admin tonight. On a Saturday. Really? Even I don’t deal with paperwork on weekends, and I’m not the one with a personal assistant.
And two—a glamorous brunette shows up while he’s supposedly working.
My eyes fill with tears, threatening to overflow. I retreat to the sofa, unable to leave yet. God forbid JP sees me.
