Chapter 5 #2
Ella has to leave early in the morning. Sebastian’s still asleep, so I walk Ella to the elevator and kiss her goodbye.
“You’re going out with us tonight,” I say.
“Yes,” she says with a laugh. “Sebastian already asked.”
“Good. I’ll see you later, little girl.”
She stands on her tiptoes and tilts her head toward mine, and holy fuck if it doesn’t completely undo me. I brush a kiss against her sweet lips, wishing that every single day could start like this.
And then she’s in the elevator and I guess I may as well get ready for work. If I go in early, too, it’ll be easier to leave early. Today, I need to start looking over my roster of employees and see who might be best for taking over Joel’s responsibilities.
When I come out of the shower, Bash is pulling on his clothes. He’s looking away, but he meets my gaze briefly, as if to prove something.
There’s something off with him, but it’s subtle. I don’t think it has to do with Ella.
“Are you in a rush?” I ask.
“I gotta head out.”
“To do what?” As far as I know, he sits around composing songs he never plans to perform.
“To lean on Ella’s building manager,” he says.
Oh, right. Shit, I nearly forgot. “Let me know if you need me to make any calls.”
“Will do.”
“Hey,” I say. “Are you all right?”
“Yep.”
He leaves quickly, not even stopping at the espresso machine.
What the fuck is wrong with my friend?
Sebastian
It’s only when I finally escape King’s penthouse that I feel like I can take a breath. Trina has left three new text messages and a voicemail since last night. I’m glad I keep my phone on “do not disturb” during the late hours, because shit, the woman is relentless.
And every time I think about that phone call with her, where it sounded like she might not want to keep my secret anymore, well, I feel like fucking throwing up.
I’ve never felt less like myself.
Funnily enough, I don’t have any urge to turn to alcohol to soothe the troubling feelings inside of me. I’d rather just write lyrics, strum chords, make music. It feels healthy, that part of it.
But the twisting feeling in my gut every time I think about Trina—that’s not healthy.
The other thing that isn’t healthy is lying to my best friend.
And it’s definitely not healthy to keep secrets from the girl I’m falling in love with.
There’s work to be done, though. Ella doesn’t want to move in with one of us—fine. I mean, not fine, but I can deal with it because I’m an adult. But that means we really do have to get her apartment building up to an acceptable level of safety.
Kellan drops me off at Ella’s apartment building and then goes off to find a place to park.
I don’t have to get anyone to buzz me in, because as usual, the front door to the building isn’t closed all the way. Still, I ring for the manager. B. Crowley is his name, according to the label outside the door.
“What,” a low voice says through the speaker.
Real professional.
“I need to speak to the building manager,” I say.
“It’s too early.”
“Okay, I’ll find the landlord—”
“No, come in. Jeez. Apartment 1C.”
I go inside and find his door. As soon as I knock, he opens it and stares through the crack at me. “Who the hell are you?”
“A concerned friend of one of your residents,” I say. “Are you Crowley?”
“Yep. And I’m not letting you into anyone’s apartment.”
At least he’s doing something right.
“Not even for five hundred dollars?” I ask, testing him.
He squints. “Show me.”
Shit. Nope. We need to get rid of him.
“Let me in, we’ll talk,” I say.
Crowley steps back and opens the door. I look around his filthy apartment.
It reeks of stale marijuana and spilled beer.
Food wrappers and containers litter the coffee table and spill out onto the floor.
A door at the other end of the room is open.
As I move farther into the apartment, I catch sight of several computer monitors through that open door.
Weird. Doesn’t look like he should be able to afford that kind of equipment.
Crowley catches me staring and moves to get in front of me.
“Excuse me,” I say, cheerfully shoving him aside and stalking to the room.
Collapsing onto a pizza box-littered sofa cushion, he shouts in outrage, “Hey, that’s my bedroom.”
In his bedroom, there’s a bare mattress on the floor, a couple of scummy-looking blankets, and a bong. But the real attention-getter is the entertainment center, which bears three different computer screens lined up, one-two-three.
And each screen shows something similar, but different.
Each one shows a different room. A kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom.
The bedroom is similar to this one, but decorated differently.
It’s more feminine, with a floral-patterned comforter on the neatly-made bed.
It’s tidy, and clean. I switch my focus to the living room and see a piano stool.
A pair of headphones lies abandoned on the floor… like there used to be a keyboard here.
Is this Ella’s apartment?
“What the actual fuck is this?” I ask, pointing at the screens. “ What the fuck is this? ”