Brookie:Yeah, assault on a district attorney.LOL
Try. It.Night!
She addsa smiley face with its tongue stickingout.
Rayna:Is this about Claudia’s bacheloretteweekend?
Ilook awayfrom my phone long enough to make it up the front steps without eating shit on the worn marble. I key into my building then stop at the mailboxes before Irespond.
Yeah. She said no toVegas.
She wants somewhere with less flashinglights.
No!aaa:Cruise!!
Brookie:No!
Rayna:No.
Yeah,no.
I think we should take her to aspa.
Rayna:I’m on it. I’ll look for a placetomorrow.
While Nan isnapping.
Guys I might see Langdontomorrow.
Ifeelmy whole body cringe as I unlock my mailbox and grab my mail. I don’t know Rayna’s ex, but their breakup sounded messy. She’s pretty sure he cheated. He wouldn’t fess up to it. There was family drama. Their grandmas were friends. They aren’t anymore. He continued to be a prick. She split for a new life in the City, only to have go right back to the middle of nowhere to care for her grandmother when she got sick. I think about how I want to respond so I don’t hurt herfeelings.
She misses New York. She misses us. There’s nothing for her to do in Oklahoma. She’s with an eighty-year-old woman all day who seems to have a penchant for biting. I’m sure seeing her ex probably sounds like a great idea, a perfect distraction. I stop at the elevator and press the button, wait for it to come down from five. I unlock my phone and stare at the chat box. None of the girls areresponding.
It’s possible they are all busy and they’ve all looked away from their phones at once. It’s more than likely they are all trying to think of what to say. None of us have met Langdon, but we all hate him. The elevator dings. I lock my phone and wait for my neighbor’s teen girls whose names I haven’t learned yet to step off the elevator. They smile at me and say hello as they squeeze by with their freshly applied makeup and cut off shorts and high top sneakers. Damn, I miss the days when summer actually meant something. I step inside and hit the button forthree.
I’ll ask Rayna how she feels about seeing him. I’ll tell her not to see him again if seeing him this time makes her feel crappy. I’ll definitely tell her not to bang him. As soon as I get inside. The door dings open. I make it a few steps down the hall before my phone starts vibrating in my hand again. Someone’s responded in the group chat. I glance back at the screen as I unlock my apartmentdoor.
Brookie:For fun or forfingerbanging?
Isnortas I turn on the lights and drop my stuff on my kitchen counter. I lean down and pop off my stilettos. I grab one in each hand. I’m going to put them back on their rack. Then pajamas and wine. So much frosty wine ’cause I deserve it after the day I’ve had. I’ll let Rayna say what she needs to say about how long it’s been since she’s been properly fingerbanged and then I’ll give the best friend response I can give. I take three, maybe four steps and then Ifreeze.
There are moments in your life, split seconds, when a part of your brain processes more than you ever thought possible. Where your senses pick up details that they normally wouldn’t, but those details are all there, in stark clarity. Still that moment is always too short and your realization of those details always comes toolate.
I’m not alone in myapartment.
I spin around and he's standing there, between me and my door. A white guy. I can’t gauge how old he is. Drugs and/or alcohol or the stress of breaking and entering have weathered his features. He’s wearing a thermal hoodie and he’s sweating. Not shocking considering how hot it is outside. His dark hair is shaved close to his head. Both of his ears are pierced with small diamond studs. There’s nothing in his hands, but it looks like there’s stuff weighing down the pockets of his dark cargo pants. This is the stuff I notice when I finally realize I am not alone in myapartment.
“Liz Lewis,” he says. He's about my height, maybe a little taller since I’m not wearing my heelsanymore.
“Get out of here,” I hear myselfsay.
“Afraid I can't do that. You and I have a date tonight.” I don't know this man. I know he doesn't really know me, but he's in my fucking apartment. He takes a few steps toward me. I glance down at his hands, clasped together in front of him. His knuckles are turningwhite.
A heat settles over me. A calm. I'm going to have to fight this guy. “Get the fuck out of my apartment,” I say evenlouder.
He shakes his head. “Dorrit Junior sent me. He told me to take my time, sick fuck that guy. Man.” He laughs, this sick laugh like I totally understand why he’s in my apartment. “Always the rich ones. Such sick fucks. He actually told me to use my hands. We’re gonna have some fun. And then I'm going to put you tosleep.”
David Dorrit Jr.. I know the name better than I’d prefer. He’s the king of rich assholes and he has his whole family in on the game. Hotels. TV. Cosmetics. The works. He hired our firm. Hired me and my associate, Kelsey. Hired us and we lost. Kelsey quit after that case. Quit being a lawyer. I think she quit New York altogether. I haven’t heard from her in months. Did he break into her placetoo?
