20
Thad managed to keep up with her in traffic after all, due to running at least one red light and cutting off a delivery truck. Ashanti had called Ridley to let her know that they would be arriving at her place within ten minutes so she could put their names on her condo’s visitors’ list.
She pulled just beyond the parking gate after being let into the condo building’s garage and idled while the attendant checked Thad’s credentials. She waited until the arm of the gate rose before she drove forward and made a right, parking in one of the open visitors’ slots.
She stood next to Thad’s back bumper as he hooked Puddin’ to his leash and guided him out of the truck, keeping her eyes averted as he approached, praying he wouldn’t revive his aborted question from just before they left his grandmother. She wasn’t sure how she would answer—how she wouldwantto answer—if he did.
Okay, so she knew how she wanted to answer. But what she wanted and what was best for where she was in this stageof her life were on opposite ends of a very long, very complicated spectrum.
“This way,” Ashanti said, gesturing to the smoke-gray glass door that led to the building’s lobby. She had only visited Ridley’s condo a couple of times since she’d moved here, mainly because they were all so used to hanging out at the daycare and at her house since she’d started baking the Duchess Delights treats.
They walked up to a podium just to the right of a bank of elevators.
“Afternoon,” the doorman said.
Ashanti couldn’t help but wonder if this was the doorman who had spent time blowing Ridley’s back out. Goodness, she hoped not. He couldn’t be more than twenty-three years old.
“We’re here to see Ridley King in 1210.”
His ears and neck immediately became flushed.
Good Lord, he was the one.
“She’s expecting us,” Ashanti said.
As they waited for the doorman to confirm their arrival, Thad looked around the sleek lobby. Everything was glass and chrome, a departure from most of the structures around here, which leaned into the city’s old-world French architecture.
“What exactly does your friend do for a living?” he asked. “A one-bedroom in a place like this must run four thousand a month.”
“She’s tried to explain it, but I honestly have no idea what Ridley does for a living,” Ashanti said. “She has a doctoral degree in marketing from Wharton and a huge corner office that overlooks the Mississippi River, if that helps.”
“Explains a lot,” Thad said.
“You can go up now,” the doorman said.
“Dogs are allowed, right?” Thad asked, pointing to Puddin’.
“Of course,” the doorman said. “Wait. Is that—?”
“The poodle from the viral video,” Ashanti said. “Yes.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Do you mind if I take a photo?”
She had to stifle a laugh at the look of repugnance on Thad’s face as he watched the doorman snap a selfie with Puddin’. He then directed them to an elevator and pressed the button. It took mere seconds to reach the twelfth floor. Ridley’s two-bedroom condo was at the end of the hallway. She opened the door before Ashanti could knock.
“Finally,” Ridley said. She pointed at Puddin’. “What’s this?”
“Standard poodle,” Thad said. “I’m Thad, by the way.”
“I don’t do dogs.”
“Me neither.”
“Cute,” she said. She blew out an exasperated breath and opened the door wider. “I’ll make an exception this time, but keep him away from me and the furniture.”
Puddin’ barked at her as they entered the condo.
Ridley jabbed her finger at him. “I will turn you into a rug.”
