Page 4 of The Billionaire's Wife

I started the car. It coughed several times before rattling to life. Had she driven this piece of junk from Michigan? She was either brave or crazy.

Maybe both.

Nothing bad happened when I shifted into Reverse and backed out of the spot. I drove around to where my car was parked and pulled hers into the numbered spot beside mine. After parking and turning the engine off again, I hung the parking tag on the rearview mirror. I didn’t see the trunk release, so I pushed the button on the fob to pop it open.

I climbed out from behind the wheel, shut the door, and moved around to the back. There was only one suitcase. It looked like it was more tape than anything else at this point. I’d expected more. Boxes. A second case. Something.

I hauled out the bag. “Ooof.”

Heavier than I anticipated. I closed the trunk. It popped right back up. I pushed it down harder. Same result. Frowning, I slammed it. This time it stuck. I clicked the lock button, grabbed the suitcase handle, and started back toward the lobby.

The wheels on the bag kind of worked. Or maybe it was safer to say they worked well enough that I wasn’t tempted to just carry the thing. Not with as heavy as it was. I rolled the bag onto the elevator and held the door as another resident who I vaguely recognized dashed on.

She flashed a grin at me. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” I pushed the button for my floor and moved out of the way.

She pressed her floor—two below mine—and glanced at the bag. “Company in town?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s always nice. I’m hoping my parents can come out for Thanksgiving. Maybe if they do, I’ll finally get around to driving out to Skyline to see the leaves. Have you done that?”

“No. I never seem to make the time.”

“Right? That’s why company is good.” She laughed. “Hope you do something fun with yours while they’re in town.”

The elevator stopped at her floor and she got off before I could figure out what kind of response was appropriate. Thanks, probably. Or some kind of general and positive acknowledgment?

Didn’t matter.

My stomach tightened as the elevator stopped on my floor. For all that my neighbor was excited about company, I wasn’t. At least, not this particular guest.

I rolled the suitcase down the hall, unlocked my door, and went in. The water was running. So, good. That gave me a little time before I had to face Faith again and hear whatever story she had to share.

I moved the suitcase into the hallway and parked it by the bathroom door, then knocked. “Luggage delivery. I’ll be in the kitchen. Take your time.”

I didn’t wait for an answer, I just turned and headed for the kitchen. I got down a glass and filled it with water from the dispenser in the fridge door. At least the rain had stopped. Looking out the windows at the clouds, I was certain it would be back—probably storm off and on all night—but for the moment there was a reprieve.

I sipped the water and worked to organize my thoughts. I needed to figure out how to treat her like any other client. If I was going to help her—and that was still a big, undecided question mark in my mind—I couldn’t do it with all the hurt and anger currently frothing in my soul.

A knock startled me out of my thoughts. That was probably the food. A little faster than usual, but not outside the realm of possibility. I set my water down beside my unfinished ginger ale from earlier and padded to the front door. I checked through the peep before unlocking and opening the door.

“Evening.” The kid who didn’t look old enough to be driving deliveries around thrust the order at me.

“Thanks. Appreciate it.”

He nodded. “Have a good night.”

“You, too.” I shifted the order to one arm, then stepped back and shut the door. I flipped the lock, then took the food back to the kitchen and set it on the counter.

I cocked my head to the side and listened. The water was off. Faith should be out and ready to eat soon, then.

I tugged open the stapled paper bag that sat inside a plastic bag and lifted out the various boxes and containers holding the food. The spicy scents teased my nose and made my stomach growl.

I got down two plates, then dug out some forks and wooden chopsticks. I didn’t usually bother with the sticks. Forks were faster and less messy. But Faith had always been a purist. At least back when I knew her. So I’d give her the option.

I pried lids off the food and opened the paper containers, then dished some rice onto one of the plates. I went through adding little bits of this and that, then pulled out a stool at the island and sat. Normally, if I wasn’t eating at my desk, I’d eat on the couch, but that seemed too informal and friendly for today.

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