Part of the message flashes in my memory,“Can’t you visit him?”
Okay. That checks out. My annoyance dissipates and I walk across to return Warren’s phone, letting him know with a glance that this wasn’t acceptable if he didn’t know that already.
Turning back to Crimson, I ask, “Did your dresses arrive?”
While being driven around Christchurch, I’d gone online to order something suitable for tonight. I need to take her out and start showing her off around town. There’s also an outfit for tomorrow when I hope to introduce her to my mother. An encounter I’m not looking forward to one little bit.
“Some boxes arrived. I wasn’t sure if I should open them or not.”
Her hesitancy is admirable. “Anything that arrives at the apartment addressed to you is yours to open. Since you didn’t have a chance to pack your things, I added a selection of hair and makeup items.” I shrug; most of that was done by a store assistant desperate for the commission and based on no more than my vague description. “Once I’ve introduced you to my mother, you can shop together for anything else you need.”
She nods, chewing on her plump bottom lip until I want to grab her close and do the same.
“I need to shower and change. You’ve had lunch?” It’s four in the afternoon, so if she hasn’t it’s a bit late, but she nods. “We’ll head out at six.”
“And the lift code?”
I press my lips together. “It’s almost like you don’t want to be trapped inside the apartment all day long.”
“Yeah, funny that. I mean, it’s so welcoming.”
Crimson glares at the chair like it was her childhood bully and I laugh in agreement. “Anything you want to change, go ahead.”
She frowns, rubbing behind her ear. “What’s the budget?”
“There isn’t one. We’re not going to run out of money.”
I turn and leave before I offer her anything else just to brighten her mood. Inside my room, I lean back against the door. A phone? Really? Welcome to spending my days wondering who she’s calling when I’m not around.
At the horrific thought, I pull out my cell and dial through to my head of security. “Are you able to load something on a smartphone that enables me to see every call and text that goes in and out of it?”
If Montgomery is taken aback by my request, his voice hides it well. “Sure. I can install a program that syncs in real time to another mobile. It’ll take a few hours to arrange.”
“I’ll need it tomorrow.”
When I click off the call, I feel better. Not that I plan on monitoring every single conversation or text thread Crimson engages in, but it’s nice to know I can if the need arises. This way, she can prove her trust without knowing she’s being tested.
I set an alarm and take a powernap. After a night spent without sleep, the mental fog is hard to keep at bay. An hour later, I’m still not refreshed but it’s better. Nothing worse than a turf war would cause, and I’ve been through more of those than I care to count.
After showering and changing, I head into the kitchen and encounter Agnes, my cook and self-appointed life coach, in full-on glare mode. “What? I haven’t done anything.”
“You left that poor girl all alone today. She spent half of it trying not to cry.”
And I get another rush of shame in case my brief talk with Crimson didn’t bring enough. “That’s because her dad’s an arsehole. Nothing to do with me.”
“Yes, they say girls marry their fathers.” She stops chopping vegetables long enough to thrust the tip of her knife towards me. “And you didn’t even introduce her. Rude.”
“She’s old enough to introduce herself.” I ignore the niggle of unease that perhaps I haven’t been on my best behaviour. “Sorry. There was just something that needed sorting and she was fast asleep. I didn’t want to waste hours waiting for her to wake just to perform some pleasantries she could do herself.”
“Don’t say sorry to me. I’m not the one you pulled out of her life on a whim.” Agnes finishes the vegetables and adds them to a high temperature pot, making them pop and sizzle. “Since when were you looking for a wife?”
“I wasn’t looking. I just tripped over her while I was busy doing something else.”
“Hm.”
She might be giving me a look that could slice through steel but when I bend forward, she offers her cheek for me to kiss. “Don’t be an old nag. What’re you making?”
“Something horrible that’ll take overnight to cook properly. You’ll hate it but it can be heated whenever you like since you insist on keeping such inconsiderate hours.”
