Chapter 7
Link
Is this the right address? Instead of the run-down motel room that has become mine and Phineas’s regular meeting spot, the place in front of me says "Mini Mansion." It’s the most expensive apartment building in town.
I’m pretty versatile when it comes to different spots, but this apartment building is not one of them. The carpeted floors bring out every dirty smudge and bit of mud on my boots. My plaid shirt and jeans, normal attire for me, make me feel like a plumber or a lower-class citizen surrounded by so much glamor.
The elevator takes only a couple of seconds to clear three floors. Phineas’s apartment is easy to find. I haven’t seen too many people walking up here, which makes me wonder if Phineas owns the whole building.
The door swings open, and Phineas stands there. I feel like I can see all thirty-two of his artificially whitened teeth in his smile. It reminds me of how a shark might smile rather than a friend, if that’s what he was going for.
“You pick the absolute worst times to call,” I grumble. “Where are we? What happened to keeping a low profile?”
“Is that what we were doing?” Phineas laughs. “I was making sure you were trustworthy before I brought you here.” He’s wearing a gray suit this time. Does this guy never wear ordinary clothes? I wonder what his pajamas look like. Does he wear a tie to bed?
“As if I have an option of whether to be trustworthy.” My teeth grind together, and I hold back all the other things on the tip of my tongue.
The apartment is the lap of luxury. Glass decorations are tastefully set around the place, and the furniture is top-of-the-line—sleek sofas, plush carpets, and marble counters. It’s all wrapped together with a chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
“It used to be a dump, but Lorraine got me on track, don't you think?” Phineas leads the way to a second living room with gray couches and a coffee table buried in documents. “So, the last place we were looking for Nathan turned out to be nothing. Do you have anything new for me?”
“Sort of.” I sink on the couch and take a look at the documents. They are all information on Nathan Thornton. Some of them are bank statements or credit card histories. Some of the things on the table are his personal letters and bills. Overdue. The big red stamps on the envelopes are hard to miss. Is Nathan in money trouble? His family is the wealthiest in town, so that doesn’t add up.
“What’s all this?” I skim through a few documents .
“More detailed information for you to go through.” Phineas sits in the recliner across from me.
“Okay, I’ll box it all up and look at it in my garage.” I watch his reaction. He tenses, his eyes darting around the apartment. The whole nonchalant appearance is an act he’s putting on for me. We don’t trust each other.
“Not a chance. Those documents aren't leaving this apartment. For all I know, you could take them straight to the police and try to get me in trouble. Everything on that table isn't legal, you know.”
“Of course it isn't.” Legalities and rules don’t hold back Phineas. What would that be like, never worrying about red tape?
Over the next four hours, I read over every paper on the table. My eyes blur, and my hands sting from the half-dozen paper cuts I’ve acquired since starting. Quinn’s a hero for all she does with the paperwork back at the office.
I don't bother protesting when Phineas makes pizza pockets and brings out two cold Cokes from the fridge. My stomach thanks me, and I keep working—anything to get out of Phineas’s apartment sooner.
At last, everything is separated into piles—the important stuff and the useless stuff. I've made notes of the main things on my phone to look up later when I have a computer and a bit of privacy. My efforts to be one step ahead of Phineas are renewed. I’m going to know what Phineas wants long before he does. There are lines I won’t cross, even if it costs me my future and reputation.
After writing one final note on my phone and finishing the last drops of my Coke, I stand up. Phineas is nowhere to be seen. He slipped out without my noticing. My eyes roam the room. Is there something in here I could use? Something he doesn’t want me to see?
It’s impeccable. There is probably some poor cleaner who comes and takes care of the place to save her family from kidnapping or something similar.
Phineas strolls back into the room with two suits on hangers. One is a dark blue with gold accents, and the other is a traditional black suit with deep blue cufflinks. Both costs more than I make in a year.
“Here's the other part of why I called you today. I need your opinion.” His million-watt smile is back.
“Are you serious?” My eyebrows shoot up. This has to be some sort of twisted test.
“Yes, I'm serious. I'm a suit guy, through and through. This wouldn't bother me, but I've never had a wedding in front of all my friends and family, and it's got me a bit nervous. I don't have anybody else I can ask, so I wanted to know: Which one would you wear?”
“You have friends?” My eyes bounce between the two suits. He’s not torn between the two. He’s likely already chosen and is trying to use little favors to gain my trust. Watching videos on psychological tips and tricks will make a person do something like that.
“Not all of us are so consumed with their work that we have no time for our real lives. Yes, I have friends.” Phineas holds his friendly mask in place. He’s a good actor. I’ll give him that.
I brush his insult off.
“Fine, wear the blue one.” I clench my jaw. He’s putting on such a harmless act. Deep under that facade, who he really is, lies waiting to strike.
“Was that so hard? I’m getting the feeling you don’t have a lot of experience with male friends and how to be supportive of them.” A conniving grin lights his face. What is his angle?
“Gee, I wonder how you deduced that.” Stuffing my phone in my pocket, I grab my jacket, resting it over my arm. He’s right about the friends and wedding-planning thing. Friends haven’t been my priority these past few years. My one best friend died, and there was nothing I could do to help him.
“You should stay for dinner. Lorraine is out planning her bachelorette party with her friends, so it’s just me tonight.” Phineas is still examining the suits as if my assurances mean nothing, and he’s still split over the decision.
“Sorry, I already have plans.” Cassie’s face comes to mind. The blush in her cheeks, how her eyes lit up when she mentioned her father’s diner. My stomach flips. Nothing will happen, but an evening at a small booth in dim light and conversation is tantalizing.
“Right, with Cassie. You won’t want to be late.” Phineas’s expression turns mischievous. He watches me like a fox cornering a rabbit in the woods. He may be a fox, but I’m not a rabbit.
Spying on me, fine, but on Cassie too? Not so fine.
“You’ve been following me?” I take a step forward, and my voice lowers a notch. He’s not the only one with tricks up his sleeve. I may be on the line for what he has on me, but it extends to only me. Not Cassie or Quinn.
“You didn't suspect that?” His eyebrows shoot up, an innocent expression creasing his features. “Come on, Lincoln. You know how this works. Following you, tapping your phone, keeping an eye on your acquaintances—it's all part of my job description.”
“You don't have a real job.” If Phineas thought his little parlor trick worked to lower my guard, he’s wrong. It’s higher than ever.
“Fair enough.” He sets the two suits off to the side of the couch. “Another time, we'll catch dinner together.”
“Don't count on it. This new information should help me get a lead on Nathan, but I'll let you know as soon as I do. Try to be patient and not blow up my personal life while you wait.” I check the time. Getting back to the house for Cassie is all I can think about.
“No promises. I'm on a deadline, wedding, and everything, you know.” He shrugs.
“Don't call me tonight.” I don't give him a chance to reply and leave, out the door and into the elevator. Phineas is like a thousand bricks on my shoulders.
A night with Cassie is exactly what I need to distract myself.
Cassie
My fingers move to the curtain for the tenth time. Being so anxious about a night out with Lincoln is not one of my proudest moments. When the taxi pulls up in the driveway, my heart jumps.
I’m not running outside to meet him. He’s going to have to come knock on the door. He makes his way up the drive with a slight limp. His leg is still bothering him.
His knock on the door sounds.
One, two, three. I force myself to wait three seconds. No need to come off as desperate.
I swing it open. A soft smile is on his face, and his eyes stay on my face, though by the twitch of his lips, I wonder if he wants to see if I've dressed up for the occasion.
Dressing up was out of the question. This outing is already too close to a date. I even called Quinn to see if she could come, but she’s out on the town with her own date, which is convenient for her. Perhaps for me, too. My heart squeezes.
Stop it, Cassie, you know this doesn’t mean anything.
The scent of his cologne tickles my nose. Goodness, I’ve been staring into his eyes like a lovesick puppy.
“You’re five minutes late,” I say with a smile, walking past him toward the station wagon. He manages to catch up to me just as I reach the driver’s side.
“I’m driving, and yes, I’m late. The taxi took forever.”
“You shouldn’t be driving with your bum leg.” I clutch the keys protectively.
“Nonsense. I’ve been getting back to driving.” He reaches around me and takes the keys from my hand. As our fingers brush, a shot of electricity shoots down my arm.
“Fine.” I smile. The door still isn’t fixed, and I know what face he’ll make when I get over to it and open it for him before he can roll the window halfway down.
“This is nice; just the two of us are hanging out.” He looks over at me. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
I can’t help it as heat surges through me. How can his words and gaze turn my legs to jelly? Dumb crush. My sixteen-year-old self has ingrained reactions to Lincoln that are impossible to deprogram.
“Thank you.” I clear my throat. My voice comes out too breathy. We sit in comfortable silence until we pull into the diner’s parking lot, and he starts rolling down the window. I reach to undo my seatbelt. Getting around the car to his door becomes my mission. My seatbelt jerks once, twice. It’s stuck.
“No,” I mutter as he opens his door and approaches mine. He pops open the passenger door with a gloating grin.
“Need help with that?” He comes closer and then reaches around me toward the seatbelt. He’s at eye level with me and way too close. Visions of our kiss at the hospital bombard me.
He pulls the seatbelt, and it comes loose as if it were never stuck in the first place. Traitorous car. He holds out his hand, and I place mine in his, setting my entire arms on fire this time.
“Everything okay?” he asks as I jump from the car, nearly tumbling into him. His eyes twinkle with humor.
“Perfect,” I manage to say around the lump in my throat.
Get your head in the game, Cassie. Stop being silly. There’s no way he's affected around you. You’re making a fool of yourself.
My inner voice kicks me into gear, and I compose my expression and step back, but part of me can’t stop wishing he would have forgotten everything we agreed on and kissed me anyway.