Page 13 of Denying Davis
“I had to see you again,” I tried. “That’s it. I didn’t want to let the wedding reception be the only time.” I shoved my hands in my trouser pockets. “So here I am.”
“How did you find out where I live?”
“I have my ways.” I gave her a wry smile. “And I stopped by Haute Holidays offices. Turns out, money talks.”
“It sure does.” She unlocked the security chain, stepped outside the apartment, and closed the door behind her. “But I’m not going to say I don’t find it weird that you paid someone to find out where I live.”
“You’re pretty hard to find. No Facebook, no Instagram. Nothing.” I spread a hand. “And that meant I had to get creative.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I might notwantto be found?” She frowned. “Besides, just because everyone else is on social media all the time doesn’t mean I have to be as well.”
“You’re right.” I stared at her for a moment, taking her in. God, even after ten years, she was still beautiful, in a fragile, delicate way. She had her long, dishwater-blonde hair tied in a low ponytail, and this accented her pointy nose and upturned sea-blue eyes. She was thin, but not athletic, and the white polo shirt she wore hung on her body, with the scripted words “Royal Palm” on the lapel. It was at about that time that I realized she was wearing a uniform.
“Are you about to leave for work?” I asked.
“Yes.” She looked at the black watch on her wrist. “In about fifteen minutes or so.”
“And you havetwojobs?” Something about this fact made my stomach sink into my knees.
“A lot of people do, Davis.”
“I know, but…” I wanted to say,you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t have two jobs, but I didn’t. Instead I said, “Where do you work besides Haute Holidays? Royal Palm something?”
“Why do you want to know?” She grinned. “So that you can stalk me there too?”
“Maybe.” I let out a nervous laugh. “I guess just to catch up. It’s been so long, and I—I keep thinking about the last time I saw you, that last night, when we drove to the turtle sanctuary in Jupiter and ended up at the beach house—”
“The night you stole your dad’s old Bentley and we used those fake IDs so we could get those bottles of cheap wine from the Quick and Go?”
“You remember it.” I didn’t hide the triumph in my voice, or the relief. Yes, this was still the person I knew, the one who was so different and refreshing from the Waspy, put-upon girls I knew at boarding school and through my family’s vast connections.
She nodded. “Good times.”
“That shit tasted so bad. Like moonshine.” I wrinkled my nose. “But, you know, what did we care, right? We were sixteen. Anything would have worked. We probably could have just taken the wine from my grandad’s butler pantry, but it wouldn’t have been as fun.”
“Someone would have probably noticed, anyway.”
“You’re right.”
She laughed again. “That was before—” Then her shoulders slumped. “It’s been a long ten years, Davis.”
“For me too.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I really can’t talk much longer. I have to get to work.”
“You never said where that is.” I stared at her, trying to take in every little detail as we talked in the apartment vestibule. The way the wisps of her hair fanned out from the part. The light blush in her cheeks. The hollow curve between her neck and her collarbone.
“I’m the front desk attendant at the Royal Palm building downtown. A glorified doorman, really, but it pays pretty well.”
I wondered what her definition of “paid well” was, but I decided not to ask. I already guessed time hadn’t been too kind to her. The apartment alone showed that. Whatever money she made, it probably only barely took care of her bills. Otherwise, she wouldn’t live in a dumpy complex like this one.
“Do you like working there? I’ve heard Royal Palm is nice. They do a lot of advertising.” I also decided to leave out where I’d seen the ads—magazines likePalm Beach Illustrated,Palm Beach The Island,New York Now, Ocean Drive.All of those catered to people with disposable incomes, and I didn’t want to sound like a typical rich asshole. Not that it wasn’t a known fact as the family name was synonymous with wealthy, but I didn’t want to seem like a rich asshole to Sam.
She shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. The people are nice, and it’s not that hard. It’s an upscale building, so not a lot of stuff happens.”
This was going better than I expected. She hadn’t ordered me to leave or called the cops. She didn’t seem too upset that I’d basically hunted her down and bribed my way to get to her. I decided to press my luck.
“When do you get off work?” I asked.
