The women’s shelter was a few blocks away on a narrow street. Outside several children were playing with Pokémon cards. I shifted the box I was carrying.
“You guys like Pokémon?”
The kids were immediately suspicious of me.
Good.
“I’ve got some here,” I told them, “to donate. You can ask the staff if you can have first pick.”
The kids perked up and raced ahead of me inside the shelter, talking excitedly about the cards they hoped they’d get.
“Just here with a donation,” I told the harried staff member who was trying to calm a sobbing woman. I set the box on the counter. “Some toys and games for the kids.”
Small ones that a child could keep safe in a modest bag and protect so the toys wouldn’t get left behind or broken.
“Also have Visa gift cards,” I said gruffly, “for anyone who needs one.” I handed her another, smaller box filled with plastic cards.
“Look at all of this!” the staff member exclaimed as she opened the larger box for the bouncing kids.
They dug in the box while the younger woman lifted the lid off of the smaller box and pulled out one of the prepaid Visa cards, five hundred dollars each, and sucked in a breath.
“This is… this is very generous. Are you sure?”
Her eyes searched mine, probably wondering why anyone would randomly donate that much money outside of Christmas or Thanksgiving.
“I just like to give back,” I said with a shrug.
“Can I get your name so I can give you a receipt for taxes?” she called. “If you wait a minute, I can get the form filled out.”
“I don’t need it,” I said, already leaving, scarf still in place obscuring my features.
The children were laughing in delight behind me as I left the building.
The car smelled like chocolate when I climbed back in. I cruised through the narrow city streets, taking the long way back to my penthouse, feeling like I was having to return to prison, wishing something, anything, would happen to keep me from having to go back to that glass cage.
“Better than a concrete cell,” I reminded myself. “Turn that frown upside down.”
I waited a beat then snarled.
That was what had been written on one of the notes I had found over the last few months in my penthouse. They were festooned with stickers, covered in glitter that got all over my clothes, and smelled like a teenage girl’s perfume.
Figures that the messy, obnoxious redhead on my payroll had written them.
I needed to make her quit. It was too much for a man to have to endure. Anyone who had that positive of an outlook onlife could not be trusted. Life was endless suffering. At least for people like me.
I swung the black sedan around a corner then cursed the distracting thoughts. I had turned on Colonial Street, where people sold all sorts of knockoff goods, like clothes, purses, and hats. It was teeming with people even though it was quickly getting dark.
Most people were dressed like true New Yorkers in blacks, charcoals, and navy jackets, heads down, steely eyes, wary body language. Except for one young woman wearing a bright-yellow jacket, chunky pink sneakers, and a sparkly blue sequined purse.
I slowed the car to a crawl, scowl setting in my face, tensing my forehead, the back of my shoulders tight.
She had no sense of self-preservation.
And yet, I couldn’t stop staring at Lexi, the bright yellow of her coat like a flower poking through the ashes of a wildfire. I was very aware that I was in dangerous territory, especially since she worked for me. But it was like when my father first took me outside. Before then, my whole world had been underground—crowded and smelly, rotting plywood boards over clerestory windows—then one day, I’d seen the sun, so bright my eyes watered. I could still remember the way it had warmed my pale skin. It hurt to look at it, but I couldn’t turn away.
I wasn’t the only one.
There was a man hovering near one of the stalls, and he seemed too interested in Lexi.
