Then finally we were crossing the street to reach the main entrance for the Ulta. The signs of renovation were more obvious now. Scaffolding lined the structure on the lower levels, and two huge green Dumpsters were filled to overflowing with chunks of drywall and other debris.
“Okay,” she said, as we headed toward the doors. “Just follow my lead.”
“Uh…” Before I could ask what that meant, she was crossing the threshold into the lobby.
Then, to my surprise, she grabbed my hand and beamed up at me.
I started to respond, smiling reflexively, before I noticed the flatness in her gaze. That’s what people talk about when they say someone is (or isn’t) smiling with their eyes. She was faking it.
“It’s not that expensive? Daddy will get it for me?” she said in a singsongy voice that pitched upward at the end of the sentence, like a question.
Ariane was, as always, an amazing mimic when she wanted to be, thanks to all those years of observing the people around her, and right now she sounded exactly like Cassi Andrews from our school. Cassi had never, in all my years of knowing her, stated anything with confidence. She was like a contestant on a perpetual game of Jeopardy!, where everything must be phrased as a question in a breathless surprised voice. A flake, in short, and the furthest thing from Ariane’s true nature.
I struggled to play my part equally well, though I wasn’t exactly sure what, or who, I was supposed to be. “Okay, if you say so.”
Lame. Very.
But no one, including the staff behind the oversized registration desk, paid us much attention beyond a polite nod, acknowledging our existence.
She headed to the elevators, moving excruciatingly casually when I wanted to run. “The only question is blue or green? I mean, I know that blue totally sets off my eyes better, but you know it can’t always be about that, right? Sometimes I’ve got to consider my hair, which, I think, means green?”
I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. A car, a dress? Possibly jewelry. Or maybe she was just talking, prattling to fill the space with talk that would fit the part she was trying to play. “Uh-huh,” I said. “Of course.”
She pushed the up button for the elevator and turned to face me with an excited squeak that was entirely phony. “Obvious solution! I’ll just get one of each!” She clapped her hands excitedly, and I almost laughed in spite of everything because it was just so not her.
Inside the elevator, faster than I could blink, she pushed the buttons for the first seven floors. Roughly the same floors that, from the outside, appeared to be under construction. That much I had figured out. Beyond that, I had no idea.
“Oops, more time alone with you!” She caught my hand and pulled herself closer to me, rising up on her tiptoes. “Just go with it,” she said in a whisper I could barely hear a second before she pulled my head down toward hers and she kissed me.
Uh, okay.
But she wasn’t entirely with me. When I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her up and helping to support her weight so she wasn’t wobbling on her toes, I could feel the tightness in her whole body. Usually she sort of went soft and boneless—not bragging, just reporting the details—but right now, it was like trying to cuddle with a metal support beam. She was still on high alert, no matter how convincing her performance of “relaxed and flirty,” and her body was giving her away.
Not to mention that every time the doors opened, she was distracted enough that her tongue stopped, which was driving me crazy in an entirely different way.
She was paying attention to the levels we were passing, perhaps counting off floors without turning around to check. I wasn’t sure what she was looking, or listening, for. But I was more than happy to help her in this way.
“I think this is us,” she said brightly, and turned to peer out onto a floor that reeked of new carpet and paint. The light fixtures gleamed so brightly, they were almost blinding.
“Nope, guess not.” She smiled up at me, her cheeks flushed and her mouth pink and slightly swollen.
“Too bad,” I murmured, and pulled her back to me.
Three floors later—or possibly four—Ariane paused again and glanced over her shoulder when the door opened.
I followed her gaze. From what I could see, the left side of the hall looked normal, if a bit dusty. Footprints and wheel marks from a luggage cart were outlined in white in the dark-green patterned carpet, with larger crumbs of drywall sprinkled throughout.
The right side, though, was sectioned off in plastic, and faint sounds of hammering and sawing came from that direction. This floor was definitely under construction.
She tugged my hand and led me off the elevator to the left, just as the doors started to close.
The hall split again and she took us right, down a dim corridor with glossy wooden doors and plaques bearing suite numbers above what appeared to be…Yep, those were doorbells.
“Stay close to me, and keep your eyes down,” she said quietly.
The first light overhead blew before I had a chance to ask what she meant.