6. Will
6
Will
I stand on the balcony of my apartment, looking out at the water. The evening air has dropped to a crisp fifty degrees, but I don’t mind it. The cooler nights make me feel like I’m breathing—really, truly breathing. When I’m out here, alone, I just feel like me, no expectations, no run arounds.
The humming of a vehicle pulls up, and I peer down. These are private apartments—I know that because Billy owns them. It’s late, and I’m not sure who’d be visiting this time of night. I peer down from the top floor of the Echo Ridge Apartments.
A silver Jeep slides into an empty space, and a blonde head hops out. I can make out black leggings, an oversized top, and sneakers. She bends at the waist, touching her toes and twisting her hips. Like she’s about to start Jazzercizing.
I don’t recognize that car or that head. This woman isn’t someone who lives here.
I knit my brows and lean against the railing of my balcony. That blonde head rolls back, peering up at the six floors in front of her.
Wait—I do know that face. Put that face in a puffy purple dress, and I’d know that woman without the face.
Alice Taylor.
Zoe’s friend.
What is she doing here? She turned down Zoe’s job offer, to my relief. Zoe and I are friends. She’s smart. Her instincts are good. She tells it like it is. And I normally agree with her. I know she wants what’s best for me and the company—she’s proved that in the years she’s been with me. But this girl? This Alice? She’s never lived outside of Idaho. She doesn’t know soccer. She probably hasn’t watched anything more than a thirty-second reel of a game.
This time, Zoe got it wrong.
So, what is Alice doing here? She’s more than eight hundred miles from home.
She stands straight, hands on hips, staring at the back of her Jeep. Did she just happen to break down in my gated community? But then how did she get the gate code? How did she get past Veronica?
Alice Taylor opens the back of her Jeep, first the back door and then the rear glass window. She stands there staring for another second. The back of her Jeep looks like a solid wall—it’s packed from top to bottom with bags, boxes, and totes. It’s like a full Tetris wall—not one gaping hole.
I’m not sure how she fit so much inside. Where does one gain packing skills like that?
She tilts herself to the side, studying something, then reaches for the handle of a bag, square in the middle of her Tetris wall.
“Don’t do it,” I say to myself.
She does do it. She tugs, and while the bag she’s got both hands around doesn’t seem to budge, it does begin to rain down random Tetris contents all around her. Boxes, loose clothing, books. Is that a stuffed giraffe? A laundry basket filled with mystery contents all rains down on top of Alice Taylor. She covers her head, saving herself from the storm. With hands on hips, she looks at the mess around her. And then—she goes for the bag again.
Geez Louise.
I charge inside and hurry for my apartment door. I skip the elevator and trot down the six flights of stairs to the bottom floor. I step out into the quiet Tesoro night and hurry over to the empty parking lot. Alice tugs at the unmoving bag yet again. More random contents rain down on her.
“Whoa,” I call. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’ve almost got it,” she huffs. With both hands on the handle of a pale blue suitcase and one foot on the back bumper of her Jeep, she prepares to wrench.
“Stop.” I huff out a grunt. “You’re just making a mess.”
Alice puffs, her breathing haggard. She whirls to finally face me, her pale blonde hair back in a long ponytail flying outward. I hadn’t realized how long her hair was. The night of the wedding, she’d pulled it up in some fancy twist. This girl standing in front of me isn’t fluff and frills. She’s sweats and ponytails. She’s zero makeup and freckles. I narrow my gaze on her—she’s natural and beautiful, and I shouldn’t be noticing any of that. I’m not exactly happy she’s here.
I focus on that and scowl.
“Oh, it’s you.” She tilts her head to the side. “Will, right?”
“Will Henley,” I say, stepping over the stuffed giraffe lying on the asphalt. “And you’re Alice.”
She turns back to her packed Jeep—how are there still so many things inside? The ground is littered with her possessions.
“I’m trying to get one bag out. One . I just need one thing for the night, and then I can sleep.”
Sleep? She wants to sleep here. Does she think this is a hotel? “What are you doing here?” I ask, my tone harsh. I swallow down the rudeness. I swallow down the fact that she’s a beautiful girl. I’m good at getting down to business. I can do that. I can hear her out and then lead her in the right direction. Maybe she got lost. Or maybe she’s passing through and decided to stay with Zoe for a night. That makes sense. They’re old friends.
She huffs, hands on hips, and stares at the back of her car, not paying me much attention. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why are you here , Alice? Are you lost?”
“Lost?” She pulls out her phone, peers at the screen, and then up at the numbers on my building. “No. I’m not lost.”
“I’m confused, then,” I say.
She flicks her glance my way, brows cinched as if I’m the one who isn’t making sense. “I’m here for the job you offered me.” She gives that harsh tone right back to me—I’m pretty sure hers is served with a side of duh .
“I didn’t offer you a job.” I shake my head, then scoff. “I suppose Zoe did. But you didn’t accept the offer. I heard you decline.”
Alice sets one hand on her hip and fixes her stare right on me. “You aren’t the owner of this organization, right?”
Right out of the gate—oh, the irony. I ignore the question and jump to the facts. “You said no to the job. I was there.”
She blinks. “I said I didn’t think it would work at the wedding reception.”
“Right,” I say. We’re saying the same thing. Why is she arguing? “You said no.”
“I was in a situation,” she says. “One that changed.”
“And that means?—”
“That means now I’m available for the job.”
I scrub a hand down my face. “ Great .”
“Clearly you aren’t the one in charge.” She blows a raspberry between her lips and her long bangs ruffle in the air. Her gaze returns to the bag that might be Gorilla Glued into her car. She latches hold of the handle once more?—
“Bah,” I bark. “It’s not coming out like that.”
“What do you suggest?” Alice crosses her arms, her blue eyes boring into me.
“Why don’t you start taking these things in,” I say, motioning to her laundry basket, loose clothing, giraffe, and… roller skates that litter the ground. Seriously? Roller skates? Do they even make those anymore?
“I was just going to bring in the one bag tonight. I drove over thirteen hours today. I’m ready for sleep, not unpacking.”
“Great idea, except that you’ve trapped that one bag beneath a million other things and now it’s raining clothing, giraffes, and—” I lean down and pick up something pink and lacy.
“Hey!” she spouts, snagging the bra from my hands. “I didn’t have enough boxes, okay? My dad would have bought some for me. But they’re just boxes. He doesn’t need to be buying boxes. Not when I’m an adult and he’s?—”
“Okay, I got it!” I don’t have it. At all. But do I need to? “You take that”—I nod to the lace brazier in her hand—“and your tiara upstairs while I work on getting your bag out.”
She glowers at me but doesn’t argue. Alice fills her empty laundry basket with items scattered all over the ground to the brim and walks it to the front doors.
Dang. She types in a code—she needs no help at all getting inside. Fine, but let’s see if she really has an apartment. I refuse to be convinced just yet.
It takes some time. I remove more than half the boxes, baskets, luggage, and loose ends from Alice’s Jeep before sliding out her one blue suitcase. She’s run in and out twice with loads. For one minute, I consider waking Garrett for help but decide against it. The whole reason I love Echo Ridge is the quiet, the remoteness of it. Garrett is our building attendant, not a bellhop. He deserves sleep and quiet as much as anyone else.
“Hey!” Alice squeals on her third trip back down. “You got it.”
“I did. We might as well get all this inside while it’s all over the ground.”
She rolls her head back but surprisingly doesn’t argue. “Fine. I’m getting my second wind as it is.”
“Which apartment?” I ask, lifting her blue bag that might weigh more than my soccer coach in high school. Big Joe was not a small man.
“602.”
“602? That’s right across from 601.” My apartment.
Alice smirks. She is pretty, naturally pretty. She was bogged down with makeup the night of that wedding, so I couldn’t see her actual face. I like her better without her freckles covered up. She has an honest face. That doesn’t mean I want her living right next to me. That doesn’t mean she’ll be right for this job.
Zoe and I are going to have words tomorrow.
With Alice’s blue bag in one hand and a small clear tote in the other, I follow her inside. She doesn’t seem worried about her belongings strewn about. We have security cameras, but she doesn’t know that.
“So,” I say with a grunt as I drop her bag onto the elevator floor, “are you sure you want to work for Billy Baxter?” I wait for a comment—any comment. People love gossiping about Billy.
“I do,” she says, pushing the sixth-floor button. I wait for more, for the comments or the questions, but they don’t come. “What’s your job again?”
“I’m Billy’s executive assistant. Anything you want to share with him goes through me. He likes his privacy.”
“Huh.” She bobs her blonde head in a nod.
“Huh? What does that mean?” I ask, clutching her tote to my side.
“I’d just worry that something would get lost in translation, you know?” Zoe was right about one thing: Alice isn’t shy about speaking her mind.
My brows lift. She can speak her mind all she wants. I’m not afraid of assertiveness. “Nothing gets lost. I am very clear.”
“That’s good,” she says, but her eyes say she doesn’t believe it.
“It is.”
Our lift stops, a straight shot to the sixth floor. My floor. And now, Alice’s. Until today, I had this floor all to myself. Yep, I’m gonna kill Zoe.
The elevator doors open, and Alice steps out into the hall. “When do I get to meet him?”
I shake my head and haul her bag that must be filled with rocks down the hall and over to her temporary apartment. “You don’t,” I say. “Privacy—remember?”
The things Alice brought up without me are stacked next to apartment 602. Maybe she doesn’t have the code for 602. That’s right, princess, let’s move you downstairs.
But then, she punches in her passkey, and the lock mechanism sounds on the other side of the door.
“Like never ever? I’ll never meet my boss?” Her nose scrunches, her hand on the knob. “That’s weird.”
My eyes lock on her fingers—willing them to not turn that knob. “Who cares as long as you’re getting paid?”
Her door doesn’t magically stay locked, though. She twists the knob to her apartment and steps inside. Stopping just five feet in, a nervous giggle bubbles from Alice’s lips.
“What?” I say, right behind her.
“Nothing. It’s… nice . That’s all.”
I peer around at the empty living room; it opens up to a small kitchen. It’s a nice space, but far from grand. The entire apartment is seven hundred square feet. Half the size of mine. It is nice, though, with its open beam ceiling and tiled floor.
“When is your furniture coming?”
“Oh.” She shakes her head as if she’s telling me to hold the onions on her burger. “I don’t have furniture.”
“You don’t have furniture? Where are you planning on sleeping?” I peer down at the bag in my hand. “Did I just carry up your king-sized blow-up mattress?”
Alice laughs like I’m joking. “You sound like my dad.”
“It’s a valid question.”
She grins—she’s actually smiling as she says, “I’ll camp out on the floor.”
“But the ground is tiled,” I say, tapping one toe. “It’s hard as a rock.”
“I brought a quilt. And stuff!”
Stuff? I blink. What do I care if she’s sleeping on the ground? She doesn’t seem to care. So, I don’t care.
My heart thrums in my ears.
I do not care , I tell myself. But my insides say otherwise. I don’t like this.
“If I’m being honest,” she says, “I was secretly hoping the place would be furnished.” She shrugs. “But it’s fine.” And she looks sincere. In fact, she’s beaming. “It’s more beautiful than I imagined.”
“You’re pretty happy for a girl who will be camping like a boy scout tonight.”
She laughs. “I am happy.” Her nose wrinkles. “I’ve never had my own place. I grew up with my dad, and for the past several years I’ve been living with my mom, trying to help support her. This is an adventure.”
An adventure—she’s making it difficult to kick her out. I’d bet money she’s doing it on purpose. I swallow. “Where is your mom now?” Tell me the girl’s mother didn’t just die—that’s not how her plans changed, right? I won’t be able to fire her if that’s how her plans changed.
“She moved in with a boyfriend.” Her chest deflates with a sigh, and I study her, attempting to gauge how she feels about this. Honest Alice offers up her feelings though. I don’t even have to ask. “I was worried at first. But she’s having fun. And I’m finding that I’m okay with our… separation. For a long time, it was like our roles were reversed, you know?” She blinks, peering about the room before locking her eyes on mine.
I don’t know. I didn’t have my parents long enough for any role reversal. “Yeah,” I say because I’m not sure what else to say. Because somehow this conversation just got heavy. And I don’t do heavy. I clear my throat and murmur out a nervous jab. “That Billy’s a piece of work, eh?” Yep, ragging on Billy is so much easier than talking about other things .
“Excuse me?” She doesn’t jab back. In fact, she looks a little disgusted with me.
Curious .
So, I explain myself—maybe by some miracle, she hasn’t heard. “I’m just saying, the guy inherited all of his money, pretty spoiled if you ask me.”
“Aren’t you his friend?”
“I’m his assistant.”
“You can’t be both?” Her arms cross over her chest. “I’m just saying,” she says, mocking my words and tone. “He trusts you to keep his privacy. To relay all his messages. He’s paying you.” She looks me over. “And you seem to be doing all right. Maybe you should give him a little respect.”
My lips twitch, and I rein back my grin. Had I insulted Billy to anyone else, they would have laughed. They would have happily added something to my dig. Billy the billionaire is an easy target.
“Did you know he bought a circus?” I say, unsure why I keep going. Her responses are surprising me, and strangely they make me want to keep talking. What will this girl say next?
“He was sixteen, you know ?” she says, again with that mocking tone.
This time, I do laugh—she’s just so amusing. I lean against the wall of Alice Taylor’s very empty living room. “It really doesn’t bother you?”
“It’s not my job to judge Billy’s past.” She shrugs and starts back out of the apartment—that’s right, her things are still all over the asphalt outside.
“Are you sure?” I say, taking two quick steps to meet up with her. “Everyone else is sure that’s part of their job.”
She grunts. “Well, it’s not.”
“And it doesn’t worry you? He’s hired you to help him reboot this soccer team, but you don’t know anything about soccer. What if he’s leading you down a destructive path? He has a history of that.”
“No one is leading me anywhere. I make my own choices. Besides, Billy’s grown up. That history you’re talking about was a long time ago.” She leans against the wall of the elevator, her eyes on me. “My question is, why in the world would he hire you ?”
“Me?” I laugh again—Zoe was right. The girl is honest, like the open book of all open books. It almost makes me want to keep her on the payroll.
“Yeah. You . You stand here and criticize him to a brand-new employee. That’s low. He’s put a lot of trust in you. You said so yourself.”
“Maybe I’m testing you.”
Her eyes flutter with a roll, and I wonder if her eyelashes are real. They’re long and dark, while her hair is gold and pale. “Or maybe you’re a weasel,” she says.
“A weasel?” I laugh. “You realize I’m the only person helping you with your things, right? It’s the dead of night, and I’m packing in your giraffes and roller skates.”
A grin swells her cheeks. “That’s true. Fine. I take it back. You aren’t a weasel. But no more Billy talk. And I didn’t know what to do with the skates. They were a gift.”
“One you kept?”
She shrugs.
I sigh contentedly. Alice might be growing on me—a little. “Are you sure you don’t even want to know about the circus catastrophe he caused by insisting on being a part of the chimp act? It’s quite the story.”
“I read about it. Now be quiet.”
“He’s responsible for losing an elephant,” I say, my tone teasing. Have I ever spoken about that day with so much nonchalance?
“I know,” she sings, refusing to look at me.
“For three days,” I say.
The elevator door opens, and so does Alice’s mouth. Her bright blue eyes—a similar hue to Lake Tesoro—find mine. “Really? Three days?”
“The city couldn’t find it.”
“An elephant?” She takes two long blinks. “How do you lose an elephant?”
“It’s a Billy Baxter specialty. By the time they rounded up the animal, it had eaten and destroyed a community garden and an entire neighborhood of fences and lawns.”
“And yet, no one caught him?”
I shrug, loving the cool air of the outdoors as it washes over my skin. “Maybe he was an invisible elephant?”
Her laugh is sweet and loud in the open parking lot. “No wonder poor Billy has trust issues.”
My next snicker comes out with a cough. Trust issues? Am I that transparent?
Because she’s right.
I do have trust issues, but I’m not telling her that.