“Or, it means that she isn’t working alone,” I go on, my gaze still fixed on the street, “and that your daughters getting away was all just part of her plan.”
I glance over. James has that look on his chubby face, the one where he feels stupid and regrets saying anything.
“I’m sorry, James,” I say. “I know you’re trying to be positive and I appreciate that. I really do”—I sigh long and deep and change the subject—“I really hate that woman. I’ve said it a hundred times, to Victor, to myself, but I feel like I can’t say it enough. I hate her but at the same time, I wish I was more like her.”
“Why?” He seems shocked by such a ridiculous confession. “She’s just a manipulative, wicked leech, Izabel. She gets off on messing with people’s heads. You’re so much more woman than she is. And I think you’re sexier, too.”
I glance over again and he’s grinning dopily.
I allow him a faint smile, just enough to let him know that I appreciate that, but it fades just as quickly.
“She’s almost everything I want to be,” I admit, looking out at the dark, quiet city again. “She knows what she’s doing. And she’s good at it—I wish Victor had more time to train me. To be better. I thought I was doing all right for a long time, but with Nora being here, pulling out every single fucking one of my flaws—even ones I didn’t know I had—and flashing them around, I just don’t feel so good about myself anymore. I feel like I’ve taken ten steps backward.”
“Then do something about it,” he says. “At least you can fix your flaws. You’re young and beautiful and healthy. Me”—he points at himself with both chunky hands—“I’m not so easy to fix. I’m a disgusting fat fucker who gets winded going up three flights of stairs. And I’m too old and too unhealthy to lose weight or better myself at all, really. My hair is almost gone. I’m unfaithful to the only woman who has ever really put up with my shit. It’d take more than a treadmill and hair implants to help me.”
“First of all,” I say, pointing my finger at him, “don’t call yourself a disgusting fat fucker. I admit you’re not exactly my type, but you’re a good guy, James. A little creepy sometimes and you need to work on your dependent personality, and, Jesus Christ lose that choke-the-fuck-out-of-me cologne, but otherwise there’s nothing wrong with you—and you must be doing something right with the ladies—you have enough kids.” A grin sneaks over my lips briefly. He blushes. “You’re a good father—I never had one. And you’re an asset to Victor. He wouldn’t have you here involved in this business, trusting you with top secret information, if he didn’t think you were important and had something worthwhile to contribute. So, don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Hmmm,” he says, “sounds like somebody should take her own advice.”
I look at him and hold my gaze this time.
“You think someone like Victor Faust would keep a woman around just because he was sleeping with her, or had feelings for her?” he says, making a point that I easily get. “He’s too careful, and has way too much invested in this to make mistakes like that. If he didn’t think you were an asset, he may still be in love with you, but you’d be more like a Tessa than an Izabel.”
My gaze drifts as I sit in thought.
“So, whatever you’re unhappy with about yourself,” he goes on, “just fix it.”
A black car pulls up in front of the building below and the headlights shut off. Pushing myself to my feet, I look down from the roof of the building to see a tall, dark-haired devil getting out of the driver’s side door.
“Holy shit…it’s Fredrik.” I’m so shocked all I can do for a long moment is stare from the rooftop at the top of Fredrik’s head until he disappears from my sight heading into the building.
James gets to his feet with difficulty.
“Are you sure?” he asks once he’s standing upright.
We’re five-stories up and it’s dark, but I know that’s Fredrik. I just know it.
“Definitely. Let’s go!”
I walk briskly toward the rooftop door. James follows closely behind, the sound of his dress pants shuffling over the concrete as he tries to keep up. Placing both hands on the lever handle running horizontally across the door, I give it a heavy shove and it swings open, hitting the brick wall behind it with a bang that echoes through the stairwell far out ahead of us.
“Wow, I…didn’t really think he was…gonna show!” James says from behind, winded.
I take the steps one at a time, but quickly, until we reach the industrial-sized elevator.
“I didn’t either,” I say once James is inside with me.
The door slides closed and the elevator moves with a slight jolt. The light above us flickers for a moment until the elevator settles.