Page 134 of Bad for Me

“Well, if I picture my perfect life, I think I would like to run my own coffee shop bookstore. I really love working here, making the drinks and baking the treats. Adding a bookstore, surrounded by books and people reading, would be amazing. But I see the money that goes into running this place as it is, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that.” He shakes his head, the dreamy look disappearing in a blink. I know I could easily give him the money to do just that, but if he isn’t willing to live with me rent-free, there is no way he would accept a few hundred thousand dollars to buy and expand this place.

The bell over the door dings, and Atlas glances over his shoulder. “I better get back to work. I’ll see you after my shift. I get off around five if Meg is on time for her shift. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“No, I’ll order us a couple of pizzas, and I have plenty of snacks and drinks,” I say.

He smiles excitedly and has a little more bounce in his step as he wakes away. I drag my laptop over and pull up the program I created to do all my work. I settle into my seat, munching away on the delicious treat and overly sweet drink.

* * *

Atlas knockson my door at six thirty. The exhaustion from this morning has returned, and there is a large coffee stain on the front of his wrinkled white shirt.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Meg never showed, so I had to call in someone else, but they weren’t available until six, and then I had to run home and grab a bag.” He lifts the small pink duffle bag gripped in his hand. “I was going to shower and change, but I was already running so late I didn’t want to keep you waiting. Sorry I’m such a mess.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for. I’m just excited to have you over.” I motion for him to step inside, and he stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that line my living room.

“This view is amazing. I’ve always kind of hated living in the city. I felt trapped and claustrophobic. But this view always reminds me how beautiful it can be here.”

“Let me show you to your room so you can shower and get into comfier clothes.”

He nods and follows me as I walk him through the apartment.

We pass by the kitchen on the way. It’s large with the latest stainless-steel appliances that rarely get used unless my mother comes over to cook for me. I tend to stick to takeout or leftovers. My room and the other guest room are near the one he is staying in. The layouts are all very similar, but my room has the biggest closet and a much nicer bathroom setup.

“I set this room up for you,” I say, leading him into the spare room farthest from mine. I wanted him to have privacy, and this room has the second-best bathroom with a massive tub and walk-in shower with steamers. I may also try to sway him into moving in, but I’ll never say that.

“Fuck, Ash,” he says, setting his bag on the king-size bed and exploring the room. We usually stick to the living room or game room when he comes over.

Across from the bed is a flat-screen TV hanging over a gas fireplace. On either side are the doors that lead to the walk-in closet and the bathroom. To the left of the bed is a couch and two overstuffed chairs; to the right, the wall is lined with bookshelves. This room, like mine, also has a private balcony space with two chairs and a small table. “This room alone is nearly as big as my whole apartment.”

“Why don’t you shower while I order the pizza?”

He nods and disappears into the bathroom. I chuckle when his oohs and ahhs reach me.

Leaving his room, I stop inside the theater. A widescreen covers the entirety of one wall, and there are three rows of long, deep couches spaced out on risers like a real theater. To one side, I have my computer set up; on the other, I have a bar stocked with drinks, snacks, candy and a popcorn machine. I know it’s a lot for just one person, but this room is my safe space, the place I go to forget about the fact that the love of my life abandoned me. I turn on the popcorn machine so that the buttery treat will be ready by the time we come to watch our movie and head back to the living room.

I order pizza and settle on the couch to flick through channels. After only thirty minutes, my phone chimes, letting me know the delivery driver is approaching the building. I yell to let Atlas know I’m heading down and hear him moving through his room, singing along to the music filtering out. Usually, deliveries would come up to the room, but after years with Vince, I learned it was always safer to come down and get my food than to let strangers get that close. Allowing strangers to get that close isn’t safe. Especially when I don’t have personal guards or staff to answer the door like he has at the estate.

That strange feeling like I’m being watched that I felt this morning washes over me again when I reach the lobby. I take a moment to look at all the people. I recognize each of them, but I can’t shake the growing unease. Matthew, the front desk attendant looks surprised when I walk up.

“Hey, I got a notification that my pizza was arriving. Did you see the delivery person come in?” I ask, trying to shake the weird sensation still prickling over my skin. I look over the counter and realize there aren't any boxes waiting.

Matthew frowns, and my gut clenches. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ashby, I sent them up to your condo. He had a note saying the order was to be delivered to your door when it arrived.”

Fuck. Without alerting him to my pounding heart rate and bubbling anxiety, I smile at Matthew. “Oh, I must have forgotten. I’m so used to coming down here to get my orders.”

Matthew nods stiffly, his brow pinched oddly, and I turn away, walking as calmly as I can to the elevator. Once the doors close, I pull out my phone and immediately call Vince. I can hear the phone ringing, but the elevator doors ding open on my floor, and the sight in front of me stops my heart.

“Hello, Ashby. What’s going on? Is everything okay?” I hear Vince asking.

“Oh fuck,” I whisper, my hands starting to shake, and a cold sweat breaks out over my skin. I exit the elevator and walk as quietly as possible towards my front door. The wood hangs on its hinges, a large black boot print near the handle.

“Oh fuck,” I whimper when I step inside and see splatters of blood and broken glass on the floor.

Vaguely, I hear Vince yelling, trying to get my attention.

“Oh fuck.”

Fear pounds through me, and I race for the spare room. Atlas’s bag is still on the bed, his pretty clothes folded neatly beside it.

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