“Oh no,” I say, kicking myself for giving him that opening, and growing more uncomfortable by the moment. “Thank you, but ‘soon’ for me translates to the next hour or so.”
He studies me for several more of those creepy moments in which I contemplate the heel of my shoe as a weapon, before he finally gives a quick nod and says, “Be careful on your way down.” He disappears out of the door, and I have no idea what possesses me, considering he freaks me out, but I dart forward, catching him as he’s about to exit the office.
“Excuse me,” I call out.
He faces me, and I ask, “What strange happenings?”
“For tenant privacy reasons, I’m not at liberty to say.”
“I understand. What’s your name?”
“Randy,” he says.
“Randy,” I repeat. “Thank you, again.”
He inclines his head and exits, and I quickly dart forward, locking the door that apparently won’t keep “Randy” out anyway, his name nagging at my gut for some reason. Shaking off the feeling I can’t place, I return to Brandon Senior’s office, and start refiling the folders I’d taken, when I pause with realization. The guard who’d helped me with my lost phone my first night in the building had been Randy. Of course, they could share the name. Obviously, they do share the name, but something, no, everything, about this new “Randy” is bothering me.
Turning off the light and shutting Mr. Brandon’s doors, and, fighting a nagging sense of uneasiness, I sit down at my desk and retrieve a large interoffice envelope from a drawer. I’m about to insert all the documents I’ve copied inside it, when my gaze catches on a list of proposed investments for the hedge fund. “Brandon Transportation,” I murmur, and then, “Rogers Athletics,” a company famously owned by Mike Rogers. Those companies seem like curious choices, considering this particular hedge fund is brokered by Brandon Senior, but I don’t pretend to know if that is a problem or not. This is Shane’s expertise, not mine.
Stuffing all the documents in the folder and stand, one more task to complete before I say adios to this place. Trying not to think about Randy’s potential return, I will away my nerves, and start walking, my path leading me down the dark hallway to Derek’s door. Inhaling for courage, I reach for the knob, turn it, and find it locked. A sudden roaring sound from near the front of the offices has me whirling around toward the lobby, my heart thundering in my ears right along with the air conditioner that just kicked in. Okay. That’s it. I’m done and I all but run to the front door, turn out the lights, and hesitate in the doorway. Wait. I never turned on the lights in this part of the offices. Did I? No. I did not and they weren’t on when Randy left either.
Officially freaked out, adrenaline surges through me, and I flip the light switch off, lock the door, and cross to the elevator panel, where I punch the button over and over, until finally a car arrives. Stepping inside, I dig out my phone, holding it like the weapon I wish it was, and watch the hallway every second until the doors shut. Another thirty seconds that feel like thirty years later I exit into the downstairs corridor. I start walking for the front exit, glancing toward the security desk to discover the first Randy at the desk. More unease rolls through me, and as much as I want to confirm the other man really works here, I want out of this building more.
A few dozen fast steps, and I am outside, a chilly breeze lifting my hair, and without hesitation, I start walking toward the Four Seasons, punching in Shane’s number as I do. It rings once and goes to voice mail, and in the short two-block walk, I try twice more, with no success. Arriving at the entrance of the hotel, I wave at Tai as he helps another visitor, and enter the lobby to make a beeline for the elevators.
Once inside, I key in the security code, and watch the floors tick by, certain this knot in my belly will disappear when I see Shane. So much so that I am out of the car the minute the doors open, and double-stepping for his door. Once I’m there, I resist the urge to just go in, forcing myself to punch the doorbell. Seconds tick by and he doesn’t answer, and I finally dig out the key he’d given me. I’m reaching for the lock when the door opens and I come face-to-face with a stunning brunette.
“Oh,” she says. “Hello.” Her lips curving in a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. “He’s all yours.” She steps around me and starts walking.
My stomach rolls, at the same moment Shane appears in the doorway, his Burberry tie I’d put so much meaning behind gone, along with his jacket. “Emily,” he says, and before he can utter a lie I don’t want to remember him by, I try to turn away.