I punched the address Con had given me into my GPS. Less than five miles away, but I didn’t recognize it.
I followed the directions until I pulled up outside yet another warehouse type building. This one was rehabbed, and the lights and people all around made it feel safe—trendy, even.
I parked in the lot across the street in between a black Range Rover and a shiny red Corvette. It was certainly a higher-class place than I would have expected. What if I saw someone I knew while I was with Con?
What was he thinking?
He’d agreed this all had to be under the radar, so what was I doing here?
I crossed the street and followed a crowd up the stairs to the main entrance. Once inside the giant foyer, I was sucked into the crush of people. I pushed my way to the corner and pulled out my cell.
Another text from Con had appeared.
C: Take the elevator to the 7th floor.
Going on a date with Con was like going on a scavenger hunt. He doled out the clues one at a time, leaving me to guess at what the heck was going to happen next. For a woman with a carefully ordered, routine life, this was strangely… appealing.
I navigated the crowd to reach the elevator and took it up to the seventh floor. I exited into a lobby, and I could feel the music thumping from the club through the frosted glass doors to my right. My phone buzzed again.
C: Take the door to the roof.
Say what now?
I looked up and glanced around. Sure enough, there was a door marked ‘Roof Access—No Admittance’ in the left hand corner of the lobby.
I stood, unmoving for a moment, weighing my options. I jumped when my phone vibrated in my hand.
C: Trust me.
And I did.
I sucked in a deep breath as I pushed open the door of no return and saw a flight of stairs ahead of me. I climbed them and pushed through the next door with the same ‘No Admittance’ sign as the one below. I stepped out onto the roof and could see the lights of the city twinkling in every direction as I turned, surveying the view. The music from the club below pulsed all around me, as though someone had left the windows open.
“You came.”
I spun, spying Con sitting on a ledge that surrounded the rooftop.
“I said I would.”
“Thought you’d changed your mind when I told you to come up to the roof.”
“I considered it.”
“But you decided to go ahead and break the rules anyway?”
“Something like that.”
Con pushed off the ledge and came toward me. The music from the club shifted into a slower, lazier beat, and I wondered what Con’s plan was for tonight.
“So now that I’m here?” I twisted and looked out at the view. “What next?”
When I turned back toward Con, he was standing less than a foot away from me.
“What do you want next?”
That’s a loaded question. My good manners dictated that I tackle the elephant in the room—or on the roof—first.
“I apologize for yesterday. I shouldn’t have—”
Con held up a hand. “Don’t. I deserved it.”
“But—”
“It’s water under the bridge.”
I dropped my eyes to the tarred surface beneath my feet. “I can’t believe I did that. I’ve never…” I let my words trail off because I wasn’t sure what exactly I’d planned to say.
“Forget about it.”
I looked up at Con, and the easy sincerity in his expression was diametrically opposed to the anger and frustration that I’d seen there yesterday. I couldn’t help but tease him a little.
“I hope I didn’t do any permanent damage. When I… ummm… crushed them.”
His even, white teeth flashed with his smile. “You can say ‘balls,’ Van. It’s not going to kill you.”
I straightened. “Fine, how are your balls, Con?”
His grin widened. “How about you check for yourself?”
The laugh that escaped from my throat seemed to surprise us both. “I walked right into that one.”
“Sure did, sweetheart.” He shifted and thankfully dropped the subject. “Want a drink?”
“Wouldn’t be unwelcome.”
The giant neon sign perched on the edge of the roof glowed just brightly enough to illuminate the rooftop. “Beer okay? Or you need some Dom?”
I frowned. Every time, it was like one step forward, two steps back. “Are you ever going to lose that chip you’re carrying around? It must be getting heavy after all of these years.”
Con’s grin faded, and I mentally kicked myself for being the cause.
Instead of getting pissed, he just asked me, “You ever not going to be a rich girl, Vanessa?”
It was an odd question. “I suppose it’s possible that I could lose everything. But the likelihood of that is probably not very high.”
“And am I ever going to be anyone but the foster kid Joy and Andre Leahy adopted?”
“I don’t follow.”
“We can’t change who we’ve been and how it impacted who we became. So the short answer: that chip on my shoulder is probably there to stay, princess.”
“So you’re saying because I grew up rich and you didn’t, at least initially, you’re always going to resent that part of my life and the person I became because of it?”