“Nonsense. It’s no trouble.”
The doors close, and we ascend higher. My mind races.
The realtor. Calling me suddenly to say the apartment I’d signed for was no longer available. But he had a better one to show me. It was perfect, he said.
But five hundred dollars a month for a penthouse that should cost twelve thousand? I should have known. I should have questioned why it seemed too good to be true.
But I’ve never rented an apartment before. Never lived alone. Never had to worry about these things. Five hundred seemed reasonable for what I thought was simply a nice apartment.
God, I’m so stupid.
“How much is your rent?” I force the question out. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Twenty-five hundred. But it’s a small one-bedroom.” She shrugs. “Still expensive, but that’s city living.”
I shove my trembling hands into my coat pockets.
Twenty-five hundred for a one-bedroom. And I’m in the penthouse for five hundred.
The elevator reaches the top floor. We grab all the bags and step out intothe hallway.
“This way.” My voice sounds distant to my own ears.
We walk down the hall to my new place. I fumble with my keys, nearly dropping them twice before I get the door open.
We step inside, and she stops dead in the entryway.
“Holy…” A low whistle escapes her. “This is beautiful. How did you manage to get all this furniture? These pieces look expensive.”
My stomach churns. “It was on sale. At Marks and Woodsons.”
She laughs. Actually laughs. “Are you sure? That store has been open for ten years and has never had a sale. Not once. It’s one of the top luxury furniture stores in the country.”
The room spins slightly.
“What about”—I try to remember the other stores I visited—“Ashford Home Goods?”
“Also luxury. No sales.”
“Bennett’s Kitchen Supply?”
“Same. High-end, exclusive.” She sets my bags on the kitchen counter, concern etched in her features. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”
“Yes. I’m fine.” The lie comes automatically. “Thank you so much for helping with the groceries.”
“Anytime, honey.” She moves toward the door, then pauses. “I’m Emma, by the way. Emma Fitzgerald. 3B.”
“Nice to meet you, Emma. I’m Violet.”
“Come by for coffee sometime,” she says with a warm smile. “I’d love to get to know you better.”
“I’d like that.”
She leaves, and I sink onto the couch. The beautiful, expensive couch that I thought I got for seventy percent off.
My hands shake as I pull out my phone.
I start with Marks and Woodsons. Pull up their website. Scroll through their inventory, looking for any mention of sales.
