When it rains, it fucking pours!
Elodie glanced down at her desk. The small slip of paper was sticking out under the inventory worksheets. She knew exactly what it was. Reaching across her desk, she grabbed it before settling back in her seat.
It was the worst timing. Her life was basically in shambles. She was months away from losing her business, she owed money she didn’t have, and her imminent homelessness was a major concern. The last thing she should be thinking about was calling a man.
Or maybe this was just what she needed.
“Fuck it.”
****
The SUV pulled up to the front entrance of the apartment building. Oz waited while security got out and surrounded the perimeter. He rolled his neck, feeling the tension in his shoulders. This was not a meeting he’d been looking forward to.
“Can’t believe she still lives here.” Nash muttered.
Oz shared the same sentiment. In its glory days, the high-rise hadn’t been much more than affordable housing, though it had never been fully occupied. The owner was strict about who she allowed residency. It could accommodate over two hundred tenants. Last time he’d inquired, there were twelve.
He glanced across the street. The Bowery. The line was out the door with massive crowds. They’d be waiting for hours, he assumed. Rogue and Trey’s club brought in a lot of people. The only club bigger than theirs was Oz’s.
“Are you expecting her cooperation?” Nash asked.
Oz resisted the urge to snort, and he looked up at the seventh floor. Inez had lived in the same apartment for as long as he’d known her. The woman had enough money to own multiple million-dollar properties. Yet, she’d never left. But why should she? She owned it.
“No.”
Security was still lining up when Nash’s phone rang. He slid his hand into his chest pocket and pulled it out. “Yeah?”
He was about to get out when Nash swiftly jerked his head toward Oz.
“Elle, yes, I remember. This is Nash. How can I help you?” He paused, furrowing his brows. “Let me see if he’s available.” Nash tapped the mute bottom.
“You gave her your number?” Oz growled.
All calls coming from any member of the Underground showed up as an unknown caller. They each had a separate phone for personal contacts, but this was Nash’s business phone.
“No, sir. I hadn’t even gotten around to contacting her to set up Thursday night.”
Oz stilled, staring at the phone. How the hell did she get his number? It wasn’t Oz’s direct line, but it was the next closest thing. Nash’s number was available to most of their associates, but only to people who worked with the Underground. It seemed she’d done her research. There were only a handful of people who’d give her access, and they were all connected.
Oz gestured for the phone. Nash handed it to him, and Oz got out of the truck. “Yes?”
There was a small stretch of silence.
“Hi, this is Elle Martin. Not sure if you remember, but I…”
“I remember.”
Elodie was proving to be a woman he couldn’t forget.
“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
He glanced up at the building. “You did.”
“Oh, well, my apologies.” Her voice hitched followed by a nervous laugh. “I got your number from a friend and wanted to thank you for comping the night at your club. It was very generous.” There line went silent for a moment, and then she cleared her throat. “I’ll let you go. Have a nice night.”
It was obvious that thanking him wasn’t the only reason for her call. Again, Oz was intrigued. He also wanted to know the identity of her friend. He wouldn’t push for that just yet and risk scaring her off.
“You owe me,” Oz said.