Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Veronica exhaled. “I doubt it, but I suppose it’s worth a try.”
Tony opened the door to the building, and we went inside. My first impression was that the place was fucking freezing. The thermostat had to be set at fifty-five—I couldn’t imagine how expensive it was to keep a place this size so cold. And it wasn’t just the air conditioning. The place looked cold too. Lots of glossy white tables and white marble surfaces and frosted lighting. There was something almost antiseptic or institutional about its cool, curated perfection. Even the white flowers in silver vases looked fake. Nothing about this place said home to me.
Not that I could afford it.
My second impression was that it must cost a fuck-ton of money to live here. This place probably had a rooftop swimming pool and an underground wine cellar. The parking garage was probably full of Land Rovers and Porsches. My pickup, proudly stating its affiliation with TWO BUCKLEYS HOME IMPROVEMENT, was parked in a garage up the street for an astronomical hourly rate. How anyone whose last name wasn’t Vanderhoof could afford to live like this was beyond me. I remembered what Veronica had said about wanting this kind of fairy tale life and wondered if she missed it.
She approached the older gentleman at the concierge desk while I hung back, and although he appeared to recognize her, he didn’t seem hopeful. “Mr. Vanderhoof’s instructions were very clear,” he said, “but I can make the call.”
He picked up a phone and spoke too quietly for me to hear, then held the phone slightly away from his ear. “Of course, Mr. Vanderhoof. Sorry to disturb you. I’ll be sure to—what’s that?” He looked at Veronica. “Well, yes, she’s right here in the lobby. Would you like to—very well. I’ll let her know.”
“Can I go up?” she asked hopefully.
“I’m afraid not,” he said as he replaced the receiver. “But Mr. Vanderhoof has agreed to come down and speak with you.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to talk to him. I just want my clothes.”
“It’s the best I can do,” the concierge said, his tone regretful. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks for trying, Walter.” Veronica turned toward me, her expression crestfallen. “He’s coming down.”
“I heard.” I wanted to put my arms around her, but I didn’t. Instead, I shoved my hands in my pockets.
“I’m just going to be rational and polite,” she said, more to herself than me. “I’m going to stay calm and be nice. My mom always said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“I’ll stay out of your way,” I told her. “But I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks.” She smiled at me. “If we didn’t have to get back tonight, I’d take you to my favorite steakhouse and treat you to dinner.”
It sounded so good, I was about to say I could call my dad and tell him I wouldn’t be at work tomorrow when the elevator opened and a trim, athletic-looking guy strode out, rudely elbowing other people aside. He had windblown blond hair, a chin that looked too big for his face, and an impressive suntan. He wore all white—white shorts, white Lacoste shirt, white socks, white tennis shoes, white sweatbands around both wrists and his head. The only thing missing was the racket. I might have laughed if I hadn’t been filled with so much animosity. He looked like a Saturday Night Live skit.
“Well, well, well.” He stood spraddle-legged, hands on his hips, and rocked back on his heels. “If it isn’t my little teacup. Change your mind, did you?”
The hell she did, I thought.
“Hello, Neil,” Veronica said evenly. “How are you?”
He tossed his head back and laughed too loud. “Me? Fantastic. Just played three sets at the club and won them all. My kick serve was practically unreturnable today. I had ten aces.”
“Right. Well, that sounds nice. I was wondering if—”
“I knew you’d be back.” Neil’s eyes gleamed with arrogance. “Miss me, did you?”
Veronica took a breath. “I’m only back for my things.”
“What things?”
“My clothes and the—”
“The clothes I bought?” He laughed derisively. “Those don’t belong to you.”
“Neil, come on. You didn’t buy all my clothes.”
“The things worth wearing, I did. The rest was garbage. I already threw it out.”
Her jaw dropped. “You threw out my clothes?”
“You don’t live here anymore.”
“Everything?” Her voice cracked.
“They were taking up space. I just ordered some new bespoke suits, so I’ll need that second bedroom closet.”
Veronica lowered her face into her hands, and I took a step toward her, torn between wanting to let her handle this, like she asked me to, or step in and mess up this guy’s tennis whites. But a second later, she picked up her head, and there were no tears. “Neil, how could you? I had things my mom gave me.”
“Your mom, who thought you’d be happily married right now? How do you think she would feel if she were here? Disappointed, that’s how!” He shook a finger in her face, like he was scolding a disobedient schoolgirl.