“Of course, sir.”
I wish she’d call me Hudson, but she refuses. She used to work for my father, and he insisted on a more formal address. I guess she’s just used to that because I’m certainly not my father.
I don’t have to wait long. Brenton saunters into my office and plops down into the chair directly in front of my desk. “You rang?”
“I didn’t ring. I asked Karen to see if you were available.”
“Well, here’s your answer.”
“Good.” I lean back in my chair. “What are you and Harmony doing on Saturday afternoon?”
“Why?”
He’s gotten smart. Not long ago, he’d volunteer his plans before knowing what I was going to ask of him.
“I’m taking Willa to Mac and Barb McAllister’s anniversary party.”
“Why in the hell would you do that to her? I thought you liked her.”
His words make me laugh. “That’s why I was hoping you two would come along. There’s power in numbers.”
“No way, Hud. Sorry, man. Those people treated Harmony like shit last time I attended one of their pretentious-as-fuck parties. I’m not doing that to her again.”
“I get it.”
“Do you?” Brent arches his brow. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t put your girl through that. You said she was normal, right? Average upbringing?”
“Yes.”
“Then, skip that shit and take her out to dinner instead. Hell, show her your condo so she can see how Hudson Adler lives, man.”
“I’ve got to accompany her to this thing. We won’t stay long.”
Brent stands running a hand through his curly hair. “You’d better be prepared for her to make a run for it. That’s what Harmony did. It took me a week to talk her down off the ledge.”
“I hear you.” There’s just nothing I can do about it now. Besides, how bad can it be?
* * *
I’mat her apartment building early so I could scope out her neighborhood to see what it was like. I know Rogers Park is an up-and-coming neighborhood. There are lots of residents here just like Willa. You know, young, single, and renters. Interestingly, after a little bit of research, I now know Willa’s building is owned by a guy I went to college with.
After parking my car at the curb, I turn off my vehicle, then push open the door to my black roadster. The sun is shining, it’s a beautiful day. Perfect for a ride in a convertible. On the stoop, I search for the button to her apartment, 2A. Pressing it, it makes no sound, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t buzzing in her apartment. I wait. And wait. When she doesn’t answer, I press it again.
Still nothing until a guy about Willa’s age comes up the steps and opens the front door. “Those don’t work, dude.”
I notice he didn’t use a key to pull the door open. “No lock on the door?” I grasp the door handle before it closes, just as the guy starts to take the stairs. “Hey, man?”
He stops his ascent and looks back at me.
“The front door isn’t secure?”
“Nah. The elevator doesn’t work either.”
What the hell?
I follow him up until I reach the second floor. Spotting her door, I step close, ready to knock, the B is upside down but still attached. When I move it back into place, I see a missing screw on the top of the B. Easy fix. Knocking, I hold my breath, hoping she’s home.
Why wouldn’t she be here? She knows I’m picking her up.
