Page 120 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
Shrugging off Karma’s firm bite of my backside, I continue down the street. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been on a run, but it’s like riding a bike, you never forget how to do it. Before I know it, familiar strides increase the flow of blood through my body. In no time at all, my shirt is damp with sweat, and my heart rate has accelerated to a steady, pounding rhythm. Running is nearly as good as dancing when I need a boost of adrenaline. Both activities are exhausting, but my body thrums with adrenaline hours after. It’s similar to how my body reacts after having sexual contact with the incredibly alluring Mr. Isaac Holt.
“Jesus, Isabelle, you're supposed to be running out your sexual frustration, not increasing it,” I reprimand to myself.
Annoyed, I brave the grueling St. Thomas Street hill. It’s the steepest and longest hill in town. By the time I make it to the peak, my brain is too busy demanding my lungs to breathe, and it can’t think about the many other ways I’ve become breathless the past month.
Raising my arms above my head, I fight in vain to replenish my lungs with the crisp morning air. My hair is drenched from the roots to the tips. Even my socks are soaked through. While removing my jacket to relieve my overheated body, I yank out my earbuds. Birds chirping in the distance are barely heard over the heavy flow of traffic. When I glance around at my surroundings, it dawns on me that I’ve been running a lot longer than I realized. If the steady stream of traffic is anything to go by, it would be close to seven o’clock. That means I’ve been running for over an hour and a half. No wonder my muscles are screaming.
On the pleas of my aching joints, I stroll back down St. Thomas Street. It’s a nice morning, and I’ve got nowhere important to be, so I may as well take my time.
My leisurely pace slackens even more when I turn down the street my building is on. There’s a dark blue sedan parked half a block down. Although it could be a coincidence, my intuition is warning me not to be gullible.
After swallowing the lump in my throat, I continue with my journey, pricking my ears so I can hear if the stationary vehicle commences following me. When an engine roars to life, I pivot back around. Relief passes through me when a white Range Rover pulls out from behind the suspicious vehicle. My relieved sigh turns into a squeal when my abrupt turn around has me crashing into a well-defined chest. My nose stings as moisture clusters in my eyes.
“Shit, Izzy, are you okay?”
Lifting my tear-welling eyes, I'm met with the concerned gaze of Hugo. “I think your pec broke my nose,” I murmur through the hand that shot up to soothe my throbbing nose.
When his chest heaves with laughter, I glare at him. He can laugh. He didn’t run into the equivalent of a brick wall.
After mouthing a silent apology, he removes my hand from my nose so that he can inspect it. “I don’t think it’s broken.” He pinches the bridge, ensuring everything is in place. “But a nasty bump is forming. We should put some ice on it.” After peering at someone behind my shoulder, he jerks his head to my building. “Come on, let’s get it taken care of.”
Suspicion makes itself known with my gut when he guides me into the elevator car of my building without needing to show ID. Although he's with me, the security officers of my building are usually more stringent.
“Why were you outside my building so early?” Even with my nose plugged, suspicion still runs rife in my voice.
Hugo coughs before selecting my floor on the elevator panel. “I live here.”
My eyes snap to his. “What? For how long?”
“Since I started working for Isaac.” He notches up his shoulder like it’s no big deal. It is. It’s huge. “Isaac doesn’t just own your apartment, Izzy, he owns the whole building.”
Oh.
As the elevator ascends to my floor, I contemplate how I can ask Hugo something without sounding like I’m interrogating him.
When I fail to find a way, I try straight-up honesty. “Can I ask you something?”
Hugo nods, approving my request without pause for consideration.
“How much rent do you pay for your apartment?”
Smiling, his blue eyes drop to mine. “The same amount as you.”
I nearly fist pump the air. I knew Theresa was full of crap.
My inner monologue trails off when Hugo adds on, “Nothing.”
When my eyes rocket back to his, he winks at the astonished look on my face.
“I’ll have you know, I pay rent for my apartment every month. It may not be quite the same amount as other tenants, but it's debited out of my account on the first of every month, thank you very much.”
My last four words are full of sass, but they do little to stop amusement from slipping over Hugo’s face. Annoyed at his wrong assumption I’m living rent-free, when the elevator arrives at my floor, I storm out. Hugo shadows me, but not a word oozes from his lips. After kicking off my running shoes, I rush into my bedroom to yank my iPhone from its charging pod.
Hugo’s eyes float down to mine when I re-enter the living room. “I’ll prove it.”
I log into my bank app, ignoring my surprise at discovering I have more money in my account than expected, then complete a search for the past three months by adding the agreed rent amount into the search criteria. My heart stops beating when my search comes up empty. It’s not showing any payments to Colt Enterprises, let alone my measly twelve hundred a month.
I stop glaring at my phone, willing for it to back me up when Hugo says, “You may have filled out a direct debit request, but that doesn’t mean Isaac’s real estate agent filed your paperwork.”
