“Meaning?”
“Well, let’s just say our buddy Wolfe likes to let his hair down. A lot. The girls in marketing love to dish about his wild, um, ‘social gatherings’ every weekend.”
My jaw slackens. “Seriously?”
“Allegedly.” He grins conspiratorially. “Legal’s up at all hours just to keep the rumors from making headlines. Can’t say I blame him though. If I had that villa, it’d be sex party central too. I mean, where’s my invite?”
It’s as if I’ve swallowed a stone.
For a silly, fleeting moment inside Mr. Wolfe’s office, I let myself entertain the notion that his interest in me was… well, more than professional.
Get a grip, Lucy.
I turn my attention back to the sprawling villa, blown away by the spaceone guyhas. It’s all glass, secluded up on a hilltop with a view of Vegas sparkling below. The pool looks as big as Central Park.
“His world is a universe apart from ours. By the sounds of it, he has homes all over the country.” I sigh. Batman versus the mere mortals of Gotham.
How unreasonable for him to demand everyone drop what they’re doing and follow his wishes at a moment’s notice? He says jump and we’re scrambling for a pogo stick.
I stare at the photo of Wolfe’s lounge area, frowning. It looks like we commandeered it for the hackathon. There’s a huge whiteboard littered with Post-it notes and a group photo of us. It’s so weird to think I’ve been here before.
I’ve got a silly grin on my face. What was I thinking?
Seeing myself somewhere I can’t remember gives me chills. It feels like I’m staring at a doppelgänger. Something about this photo makes me sad. Just like the Daredevil one. Maybe because I’ve got a real smile, not a pose-for-the-camera one. These pics look like proof of a new bit of my life. A bit that’s come and gone.
And maybe I’ll never remember why I was happy.
It’s fine. I’ll move on
It’s times like this when I remember my doc’s advice about living life in bite-sized chunks and moving forward one step at a time.
Today’s mission: survive the work day and get in touch with that real estate agent to plot out my next steps.
Tomorrow’s task: Convincing Spider my apartment’s not a B&B and I’m no laundry fairy. Every time he hoists a leg to scratch his butt on my couch, I grit my teeth and imagine my mortgage shrinking by the second.
I turn to Matty, swallowing hard. “I need to get my life together and sort my financial mess; I checked last night and my mortgage payments are sky-high. No wonder I have a Spider. Was I out of my mind with worry every day before the accident?”
He thinks for a minute. “It’s probably worse now since it’s all hitting at once. Before, you sort of got used to it gradually. But yeah, the weeks before your accident you seemed really on edge, like everything was piling up. I kinda thought you were pissed at me since we barely talked. You even snapped at me a couple times.”
Knowing I was stressed then adds to my stress now.
“Sorry,” I say, embarrassed. “I guess the whole apartment drama had me overwhelmed.”
He grins. “It’s cool. I had it coming.”
“Wish me luck, I’m calling my real estate guy now.” With a heavy sigh, I stand from my desk and find a quiet spot in the office to make the call. The last time I remember talking to this guy was about twelve months ago.
Just when I think he’s not going to answer, a voice booms down the line. “Dave Watson.”
“Hi, Dave. It’s Lucy Walsh.”
“Ah, Miss Walsh,” he says without missing a beat, though I can tell he’s trying to place me. “A pleasure to hear from you. How are you?”
I give him the shortened version of events. “Great. I have a little… bump on my head.”
“That’s terrible,” he replies in a well-rehearsed tone. I suspect I could have told him I had a head transplant and I would have received the same response. “What can I dofor you?” There’s a not-so-subtle hint of impatience in his voice.
“Just wanted to check in on how we’re doing with selling my apartment?”
