If she didn’t answer, he’d assume she’d fainted or some shit and let himself in.
He was only checking on her because she was a tenant. Making sure she hadn’t hurt herself was his job. The fact that she’d climbed up a tree to save a cat, and bantered with him in a weird, stuck-up, posh-girl kind of way, meant absolutely nothing. She was an unrepentant snob who’d possibly spied on him last night. He didn’t give a fuck about her sarcastic sense of humor, or the cute little cardigans she wore, or her fantastic bloody face. But on a regular human-concerned-about-another-human level, he really wished she’d answer the door.
He knocked one more time, raked a hand through his hair, and started worrying. When she’d left, her mouth had been tight, her skin gray beneath a sheen of sweat. Her words had grown rushed, strained, even sharper than usual. She’d moved stiffly, her body hunched with something more than cold. It was obvious she had some tree-related injury and didn’t want to admit it, but Red was not above bullying it out of her. He had plenty of practice bullying his mother, after all.
He was reaching for his key when the door finally opened a crack. A large, dark eye peered suspiciously out at him.
Red arched an eyebrow. “Where are your glasses?”
“You’re a very nosy man,” she said. “What do you want?”
“Word on the street is, you’ve got a cat in there.”
She looked him right in the eye and said, “Mr. Morgan. Would I ever?”
His lips twitched into a smile he didn’t want to give. “I think I’ll check, if you don’t mind.”
“I mind awfully.”
“Still, though.”
With a sigh gustier than a hurricane, she let him in.
Chloe was one of those women who always looked tidy. Even up a tree, she’d been in color-coordinated walking gear that could only be called appropriate. So the state of her home made him stop in his tracks.
She didn’t appear to notice. She was too busy shuffling down the hall, dodging empty bottles of water lined up like bowling skittles and what seemed to be countless Amazon Prime delivery boxes. He picked his way through the chaos and followed her into an equally disordered living room, where fancy furniture was covered with pillows, books, empty mugs, and video-game cases that said PS4 on the front.
Oh, and then there was the cat.
It lay stretched across the glass coffee table, surrounded by a rainbow of prescription medication. Chloe picked up the boxes of pills, ignored the cat, and asked, “Happy?”
He stared. “The cat’s right there.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She hesitated, then took a nervous little breath. He wondered if she was about to confess to murder. Instead, she said, “I don’t suppose you’d make some tea? Lavender for me, please.”
He stared. Had she just—? Did she really think he would—? Well, holy fuck. The balls on this woman. “Used to servants, are you?”
“Oh, yes,” she said.
It took him three solid seconds and one aborted scowl to realize that she was joking. Chloe Brown had just made yet another joke in that deadpan, oddly self-deprecating way of hers, which she really had to stop doing because he was starting to enjoy it.
She turned to leave the room while he questioned his grip on reality. “If you hear any ominous bangs,” she called, “knock. If I don’t respond, you can rush in to my rescue.”
“. . . Knock?” he echoed blankly.
“On the bathroom door,” she told him, as if he was being particularly thick. “I’ve decided to use your presence as supervision.”
“Super—?” Too late. She’d disappeared, mountain of medication in hand. “All right then,” Red said to the empty living room.
The cat miaowed.
“Shut it, you. If she’s hurt herself, you’re to blame.”
The cat was blatantly unrepentant.
Red went to make the tea.
The kitchen was comparatively tidy and reasonably clean. It had a few additions to the standard outfit, too: most notably a dishwasher, sleek and quietly efficient, which he had not authorized. She also had a plush little seat, the kind found at fancy bars, placed randomly by the oven. Odd. She had countless different flavors of tea, plus some PG Tips—thank Christ—all in the usual place. No milk in the fridge, but there was an army of juice cartons in there, plus a ton of stacked-up Tupperware boxes. Those boxes were filled with salad, chicken, tuna, sliced cheese, and more. Like a little pre-chopped buffet.
Someone was looking after her. Or she did all this herself because she was proper anal. Red looked out at her tornado of a living room and decided that the first option seemed more likely. Now, why would someone look after Chloe Brown? Maybe she was a spoiled brat. Maybe she needed the help sometimes. Maybe he should mind his own business and make the fucking tea.
He made it, helped himself to the biscuit tin as payment, enjoyed what appeared to be a homemade gingersnap, and grabbed a couple more. In the living room, he spotted empty packets of fancy chocolate among all the rubble. If he was going to bring Chloe Brown food, which he would never do, he’d bring something sweet. She seemed like a sweet sort of woman.
And he seemed like he’d lost his mind.
He made space for the tea on the table, between rubbish and cats, and perched on the sofa beside a PlayStation controller and a spray of shiny business cards. The cat didn’t seem particularly interested in the tea, but Red kept half an eye out even as he studied the cards.
Sublime Design Online
Web design, SEO, social media branding, and more
Chloe’s details were on the back.
Huh. Fancy that. He needed a website; apparently, she made them. Not that he’d ever hire her. Ideally, he’d prefer a web designer he didn’t want to strangle.
“Nosy, nosy, nosy,” Chloe said.
He looked up to find her leaning against the doorway, not in a casually charming sort of way, but in a can’t-stand-up-straight sort of way. He leaped to his feet. “Are you all right?”
“Absolutely. Are you eating my biscuits?”
He shoved the last one in his mouth and mumbled, “Nah.”
“I saw you.”
“I see the cat.”
“Point taken.” Her walk toward him was slow and painful to watch. She moved like someone who’d taken a beating. If he hadn’t helped her safely down that tree himself, he’d assume she’d fallen. She was wearing her glasses now, at least, along with an enormous pink dressing gown and a pair of equally enormous bunny-ear slippers. The slippers surprised him until he remembered that Chloe used cuteness to disguise her inner evil. Sort of like Professor Umbridge.