Somehow, I don’t believe her. There’s too much fire in this girl. Too much need for confrontation and proving her worth. She won’t make my life easy.
Ten minutes later, I park outside Bianca’s apartment building. Years of working the job push my skills to the forefront as I exit the car. Swinging my head every which way, I scan the street, locating city security cameras, then count the shops lining both sides of the road, which might have their own.
“Is this where you work?” I ask, pointing at a florist right beneath Bianca’s apartment. It’s closed, the sign above the door spelling outBloom.
“I own this place,” she corrects, asserting her independence.
One heartbeat later, she smiles. Her features soften, summoning back that alluring innocence.
It twists my gut.
She marches right up to the window and her smile slips, leaving her face hard and cold when she spots the rows of dead plants lining the shelves inside.
“I guess I should’ve known nothing would survive three months without water.” She sighs, turning around. She looks almost sad, that arousing softness returning for a few seconds.
“Lead the way,” I say, grabbing two duffel bags full of equipment from the trunk.
It took as little as me opening my mouth for her to mask all emotions save for cold calculation.
Arthur can run himself breathless up and down the stairs with the rest of the luggage. It’s almost one in the afternoon, which means time for work if I want to secure the apartment, at least with basic measures, by sundown.
Bianca pulls a set of keys from her small clutch bag while we climb the stairs to the second floor, then navigate a narrow corridor, doors on both sides, until she stops before number eleven, shoving the key in the lock.
One step over the threshold, she glances around as if making sure her home is clean before she steps aside, letting us in. She shouldn’t have worried. The place is spotless, cozy, and claustrophobic.
The living room, kitchen, and dining area would all comfortably fit inside my bedroom. Her furniture is crammed in so tight there’s little floor space. Two open doors on the left lead into the bedrooms, so the one on the right must be the bathroom.
Bianca turns on her heel once she reaches the kitchenette. Her weary eyes jump between me and Arthur while we pile the luggage by the wall, further cramming the space.
“There are only two bedrooms,” she says, twisting her fingers in the hem of her sweater. “How—?”
“I’ll take the couch,” Arthur offers, pointing at the loveseat.
I doubt even half of his body would fit. Even if he could somehow fold himself in half, he’ll be sleeping during the day.We’ll either disrupt his rest while moving about or be forced to tiptoe around him for hours on end.
Neither scenario works.
Good job I anticipated this and packed accordingly. “No, you’re taking the bedroom.”
“You’re sleeping on the loveseat?” Bianca asks, raising a skeptical brow. “Don’t be ridiculous, you can—”
“I packed an inflatable bed.”
“I’ll take that,” Arthur offers, keen to sacrifice his comfort as if it’ll help him climb the ladder.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.” I open the first duffel bag on the coffee table. “Go grab the rest of our stuff.”
He bobs his head, marching out of the apartment, his footsteps echoing down the corridor long after the door’s closed behind him.
Bianca saunters over to the kitchen, huffing and puffing into the empty cabinets. She doesn’t say a word until Arthur returns. Looks like she feels more comfortable around him.
“We should go grocery shopping.” She throws a load of expired food into the trashcan while I fetch a wad of cash from my wallet, handing it to Arthur.
“You drive, don’t you?”
He eyes the money and my car keys, his glee unmistakable. I wonder if I looked the same when I started in Carter’s ranks.
It’s possible, the man became a legend as Dante’s right-hand man, and I was all too keen to be part of his team.
