“Six?”
I’d been in the spa, what, seven hours? A whole workday, practically.
“Mrs. Valentine,” John said, making my head whip up.
“Hey. I’m so sorry,” I said, stepping toward him.
“What for?”
“For making you sit out here for seven hours! Who does that?”
“That’s the job,” he said, shrugging.
“Did you get to eat at least?”
“I took a few short breaks.”
“Well, why don’t you just tell me an address, and I can get myself there so you can go home?”
“I’ll bring you to the penthouse, Mrs. Valentine.”
“I can walk,” I insisted.
“It’s on the Upper East Side.”
“A cab then.”
“Mrs. Valentine,” he said, opening the back door.
That felt like the professional way of him saying, ‘get your ass in the car, Layna.’
I didn’t want to keep him from his life any longer, so I went ahead and slid in.
“Did you speak to Harrison?” I asked when the silence in the car stretched uncomfortably long.
“Twenty minutes ago. He was on his way home.”
The drive took nearly twice as long as it would have at any other time of day.
The building we pulled up to had slate cladding and large vertical windows with black frames and muntins. Except on the top floor, where several of the windows had rounded tops. The penthouse floor also appeared to have two large balconies at the front of the building. It was impossible to see to the back.
But I guess I would see for myself soon enough.
“Thanks for the ride, John,” I said. “Sorry that spa visit took so long.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me,” he insisted as I made my way toward the front door that was, yet again, manned by a man in a suit.
“Mrs. Valentine,” he greeted me.
“Hey,” I said, giving him a smile. It wasn’t these people’s fault that I didn’t want to be addressed like that. They were just doing the job they were told to do. By the person who likely tipped them very well.
The lobby was warm and lit in that way that made it glow.
When my step stuttered, someone was—of course—all too happy to direct me to the private penthouse elevator and provide me with the key to actually unlock it.
I was used to being around financially well-off people. Most of my family was very comfortable. Willa was, objectively, kind of rich.
But this world of Harrison’s? This was something completely different entirely.
