4. Amelie
4
AMELIE
I wake up with the remote pressed to my cheek and a blanket wrapped around my neck.
It’s morning, I think. The TV is still on and a phone is ringing somewhere. I had no intentions of falling asleep on the couch, but after housing half of a pizza and an extra - large Dr. Pepper, it was inevitable.
I sit up and paw around the table for my phone, but all I manage to do is knock my mug onto the ground and crack the rim.
“Come on !” I huff, picking the thing up. Now I’m annoyed, which is not a good start to my day. It’s only ten in the morning. That leaves me a lot more hours to get more annoyed.
I find my phone wedged between the couch cushions, and Jensen’s name is flashing on the screen when I answer. “What do you want?”
“Hello. That’s mean.”
“I said?—”
“Just thought I’d see if you were awake. It’s pretty late in the day.”
“It’s ten o’clock,” I say, but then I look around the apartment. Now that my brain is registering things, I’m realizing that he isn’t here . I never heard him come inside last night, either. “Did you stay with Meg?”
“No, I came home,” he says, just as I’m looking for him under the kitchen table. “I’m out getting groceries.”
I frown. “That means you slept in my bed.”
“I did. Did you get new sheets?”
“TELL ME YOU DIDN’T.”
“I did,” he says again. “And I rolled alllll over them.”
I gag and set my mug in the sink. “You’re horrible!”
“You took the couch. What choice did I have?”
“The floor ?” I sigh. “Whatever. Did everything go well last night?”
“Yeah, we’re good. Tonight will be fine.”
“Good.” His tone isn’t convincing, but I know not to question it. If anyone can start something back up, it’s me. Some would consider it a talent. “When are you coming back? I’m bored.”
“Soon enough. Do something in the meantime.”
“Like?”
Jensen gives his signature sigh of annoyance. “Wash your mountain of laundry, cook something, clean the apartment. I don’t know.”
“How very progressive of you.”
He laughs. “I’m hanging up.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Love ya.”
“Mhm.”
The line goes dead, and I check my other notifications. There’s a call and a few texts from my parents, but I don’t open them right now. If I do, I’ll have to respond, and I’m not ready to be social yet, even if just over the phone.
I toss my phone onto the couch and look around the apartment, hands on my hips. Much as I hate to admit it, Jensen is right—I need to do my laundry and eat something, and we have maybe three clean forks. Washing dishes wouldn’t hurt.
But instead of doing any of that, I bake a cake, because baking cakes is the only way to avoid responsibilities.
The kitchen is clean enough that I can navigate because we aren’t pigs. Dirty dishes are set aside on the counter, so I wash them while the cake bakes. I’m scrubbing an old blue plate when a heavy knock comes to the front door.
A mischievous grin curls on my lips. It appears that Jensen forgot his key after giving me grief about losing mine. I could have fun with this, really. Open the door and slam it back. Get his hand caught near the lock. The possibilities are endless.
“Coming!” I sing, peeling my dish gloves off. I’m still in my pajamas, and my hair is bunched up on top of my head, but I don’t care. I fling the door wide open, because it’s Jensen. The poor guy has seen me looking much worse than I do right now.
Except…it’s not Jensen.
It’s Henry Arlington.
I make an inhuman squealing noise and duck behind the door. First of all, he doesn’t need to see me like this, and second , I don’t want to see him! How did he even find me? What is going on?
“I’m not here!” I squeak, yanking my hair down from its knot. I drag my fingers through the tangled mess, trying to look presentable, though I have no intention of opening this door again. I will die here, and they will say that I died with dignity.
“Amelie,” Henry says, and just the sound of his voice sends chills over my arms. “Please open the door.”
My heart is racing so fast that I’m shocked I can hear him over the blood pumping in my ears. “No. I said, I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Okay. I want to talk to you.”
I wish that didn’t pique my curiosity. I wish that I was stronger, that I had more resistance. But I’m not, so I open the door wider and look at him.
And that is my first mistake.
I should’ve kept talking to him through the door, because looking at him makes this ten times worse. I’m focusing on things that are not of utmost importance, as in, his entire face.
“How did you find my apartment?” I ask, incredulous. “How…”
He clears his throat. Works his jaw. “I just…I had to see you.”
“That doesn’t answer?—”
“I think I need your help.”
My jaw drops.
The correct response is to decline, obviously. To laugh in his face and close the door. But instead, I’m frozen, because that wasn’t what I expected. What did I expect? An apology? An explanation?
I think I need your help.
Well, that’s not happening.
“No, I don’t think so.” I cross my arms, suddenly aware of the state that I’m in. My pajama shorts are twisted, and I didn’t take my makeup off last night, so I probably look like a raccoon. “I don’t even…what do you want?”
“Your help,” he says again, as if that’s an answer.
I nod once. “Yeah, I got that. What do you want help with ?”
Henry looks over his shoulder once, the motion frantic. He’s nervous, and it’s painfully obvious, so much that it starts rubbing off on me. The back of my neck stings with sweat, and I fist my hands at my sides to keep them from shaking. My heart is doing very irregular things as I study his actions, trying to determine what on Earth he’s checking for.
Finally, once he’s decided he’s not being hunted, he steps inside my apartment uninvited. The doorway is extremely narrow, and Henry is not a small man, so he bumps into my shoulder in the process. It’s brief, so faint that I shouldn’t notice it. But I do. And all at once, my focus shifts from the floor to the scent of his cologne surrounding me.
I should want to bash his head against the wall. I do want to bash his head against the wall. Yet something is stopping me from doing so, whether morals or curiosity, I’m unsure.
“I had a piece stolen recently,” Henry starts, wringing his hands in front of him. “Yesterday. It was taken from my apartment, and I’d like you to help me find it.”
Warning signals start flashing in my brain.
No.
No.
No.
If he thinks—if he’s even asking for my help—then he knows.
He knows what I do. There’s not even any point in lying.
I was never able to lie to him, anyways.
“What makes you think I could do that?” I ask, hoping I can at least evade the question. “Why would I have anything?—”
“Come on, Amelie. I know. You know that I do.”
Well, that’s just great.
I bite my lip, keeping my arms crossed over my chest. Henry glances around my apartment, eyes landing anywhere but me. What do I even say? If he knows, why hasn’t he gone to the police? Why hasn’t he gotten me caught?
Unless…maybe he doesn’t have proof .
“I’m not helping you,” I tell him again. “I’m not a detective.”
“You’re the closest thing I’ve got, Ames.”
“Okay, one, don’t call me that.” Knowing it’s a mistake, I meet his eyes. “And two, I’m saying no . Why would I help you?”
Henry sighs and pockets his hand, and for just a moment, I imagine that I’ve won. That he’s going to leave in defeat. I’ll spend the next week trying to forget this conversation, and then BAM! He’ll be caught in a money laundering scandal. It’ll be all over the news. His face will be on wanted posters, like they have in old western movies, and I’ll draw mustaches on it.
But Henry doesn’t start toward the door. He doesn’t even flinch as he pulls his hand out of his pocket, holding a tiny black chip.
My heart drops to my feet.
“A memory card ?” I ask, voice pathetically weak. Those things are my nemesis, as one would expect. Why is he holding one?
“I have proof of your job.” Henry clears his throat. “On this card. It’s the only copy of the footage.”
I gape at him. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”
He has the decency to look embarrassed. “Not…in so many words?”
The timer for my cake rings as he finishes his sentence, and we both jump. I look into the kitchen and contemplate my current options. Honestly, I don’t have many, but I have enough that it’s reasonable to think through them.
1. I help Henry find his piece, then leave the country.
2. I wrestle him to the ground and snatch that SD card.
3. I jump out my window and pray that I don’t break any bones.
But no, the last two would never work. He’s stronger than me, and I would definitely break my bones. I live on the sixteenth floor and I despise milk.
“You’ll destroy that if I help you,” I say, nodding to the chip. “Actually, no. You’ll give it to me.”
“I’ll give it to you,” he says. “Promise.”
I shouldn’t believe him, but I don’t have a choice. There’s no other way out of this. He’s the one dragging me into this situation, and he’s the only way out.
Ironic, isn’t it?
“Give me ten minutes,” I mumble. “We’ll go to the bakery on the corner and talk.”
He gives me a stiff smile. His pity smile. It makes me want to break something. “Perfect.”
“Go wait in the hallway.”
He does, without question.
Once he closes the door behind him, I let out a breath and yank at my hair. Embarrassment turns my face hot when I realize my ponytail holder was tangled in the ends through that entire conversation.
This can’t be happening. I am not truly getting blackmailed by my ex-boyfriend.
Maybe I’m believing all this too easily. That could be an empty memory card, and he could be doing this to get a rise out of me. But ultimately, that just…doesn’t add up. Him bluffing is somehow less believable than this whole thing. No matter how much I’d deny it, I do know Henry. Used to, anyways, though it doesn’t seem like he’s changed all that much.
He wouldn’t threaten something he couldn’t follow through with.
Sighing, I take the cake out of the oven and put it on a cooling rack. I turn the oven off, then triple check it, because I don’t trust myself at all. Then I bolt to my room and fling open the closet. My blue sweater is the first one to catch my eye, but I really want something with a bit more lace. It’s cold today, though, so I reluctantly tug it over my head. I find a white mini skirt and pair it with some sheer tights and boots.
I brush my teeth—I cannot believe I hadn’t done that yet—then dab a little makeup on before opening the front door.
Henry is leaned against the wall with a book between his palms. He doesn’t look at me for a considerable amount of time, but when he does, he swallows hard. “Are you ready?”
“Why not.”
With a nod, he shoves the book in his coat pocket. “Okay. I walked, so?—”
“We’ll walk,” I say stiffly, stepping behind him. I reach into his other pocket and yank the wallet out with ease. He turns around, brows drawn together, and I wave it in his face. “You’re paying.”
“How did you?—”
“A true gentleman.” I grin—though it would be more accurately classified as baring my teeth—and walk to the elevator.
Henry just sighs and follows.