Page 5
I blink. Is this a joke? “I’m sorry?”
She gestures vaguely at… Well, everything. The building. The courtyard. Me, standing here like a man who has just been personally insulted by the universe. “You’re the caretaker? Or something like that?”
I have been recognised in restaurants, bars, nightclubs, airports and bathrooms around the globe. I have also been followed, photographed, and dissected within an inch of my life. And yet this woman, this utterly random suitcase-wrangling woman thinks I am a caretaker? This has got to be a joke; there’s no way she doesn’t know who I am.
“Do I look like a caretaker,” I say, sharper than intended.
She considers me seriously. Arms crossed. Eyes narrowing slightly as if conducting a proper assessment. “I mean… You’re standing around outside in what looks like a caretaker’s uniform,” she says.
I look down at what I’m wearing self-consciously. She cannot be serious right now. Granted I’m wearing a t-shirt and jeans, but they’re designer for fuck’s sake. I let out a short, disbelieving breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I rub the back of my neck. “What do you need?”
“Oh right, sorry. I’m Brianna Wildblood, but everyone calls me Bri. I’m staying here this weekend and I’ve been trying to get into my room but the stupid keypad thing doesn’t work. I’m in number three according to the email confirmation, I’ve got the code for my door right here.” She holds up a crumbled… Tissue? With her code on it.
“Is that a tissue?” I am astounded, who the hell is this girl?
“Uhm. My phone died, well I forgot to charge it, anyway I scribbled down the code before it died, but it doesn’t work, can you help… I dunno check the code on your system or something?”
“I’m Jackson Shaw, but everyone calls me Jax,” I say, deliberately dropping my full name to see how she reacts. Yet there’s not a flicker of recognition. Seriously? What the hell is going on here?
“Ok, hi Jax, can you help? Or is someone else around that knows how to work the keypad cos it’s been a rough morning, rough week actually and I’d really like to get into my room now.”
I roll my eyes. “What’s your code?”
“You know what? Jax was it? It’s all good, I’ve got it, you can go back to staring at that wall and hating your life for all I care, maybe don’t work with the public if you hate them so much, just a thought.” She shoves past me, dragging her ridiculous suitcase at an odd angle, tripping as she hits the corner of the veranda.
“Oh, for god’s sake,” I huff, stepping forward, and grabbing the handle before she can do anymore damage.
“I’ve got it,” she snaps.
“You don’t got it.” I smirk, lifting her case easily over the courtyard towards her apartment. “What’s your code?”
She pauses, watching me. Properly watching me this time and I feel for sure she’s about to recognise me. Instead, she replies. “1037.”
I punch the code into the keypad by her door and it clicks open.
“Oh, wow, how’d you do that?”
“It wasn’t hard. You just have to actually press the buttons.”
“I was pressing the buttons,” she insists, raising one eyebrow at me.
“Obviously not hard enough.”
She steps past me grabbing her suitcase on her way in. “Thanks Captain Asshole, that will be all,” she mutters, slamming the door in my face.
“You’re welcome,” I shout at the now closed door. What a bitch.
Chapter 4
Saint
The first thing you learn, if you’re going to do something slightly questionable, is that timing is everything. Which is why I arrived here this Thursday morning—suspiciously early—and locked myself in my room immediately.
The best seat in the room is an absurdly oversized tartan sofa, which required some shuffling—inch by painful inch—until I had the perfect diagonal view of the entire courtyard. In my hand is a glass of wine. Rioja, obviously, I do have standards, and frankly, it being only eleven in the morning feels more like a technicality than a genuine obstacle. After all, five o’clock exists somewhere in the world.
