Chapter 6
He didn't touch me to move me across the threshold. He just stepped back and left the door open, and I understood that was the test.
The suite wasn't a hotel room. It smelled like no one had ever cooked in it. That kind of clean you only get from money and housekeeping that comes when you're not there.
It was an apartment that happened to be forty floors up. Same dark walnut as the boardroom table, same warm tungsten light. Same decanters.
That was the first thing I saw. On a low bar against the far wall, two cut crystal decanters with amber liquid, and two glasses. One had been used. A faint ring on the polished wood, a smear on the crystal where someone's lips had been. The other glass was untouched, perfectly placed on a square napkin, waiting.
"I had them bring you water too," he said behind me. "Bathroom's to the left if you want it."
I didn't answer. My shoes sank into the rug. I could still hear the guards in the hall, low voices, then the soft chime of the elevator leaving.
He hung his suit jacket over the back of a chair. Same deliberate movement as in the boardroom. Slow. Controlled. He poured himself whiskey from one of the decanters and didn't pour anything for me.
"This is yours while you're here," he said. "Don't check the clock. We're not on a schedule."
I walked toward the window because I didn't know where else to stand. The snow was still coming down over the city, blurring the lights. From here the skyline looked quiet, like a picture not a place.
On the kitchen island there was a small black tray. The kind that holds keys and mail in a real apartment. On it sat a single key card in a paper sleeve, and under it, a printed sheet.
I didn't mean to look. I just stopped because my hand needed something to do.
It was a housekeeping log. Or a key card log. Printed on heavy stock with the building's logo at the top. Dates and times in a simple table.
Room 40B - Entry - 11/14 - 22:41 - GUEST
Room 40B - Entry - 11/02 - 01:14 - GUEST
Room 40B - Entry - 10/18 - 23:08 - GUEST
Room 40B - Entry - 09/29 - 00:47 - GUEST
Different dates. Same room. Same tag. GUEST.
Next to the tray was a folded dry cleaning bag. Inside it, a white button-up shirt. Not mine. Smaller. The tag still pinned to the collar. Size 4. The plastic had been opened.
My breath caught. I didn't mean for it to, but it did, and I heard it in the quiet.
He came up beside me, not close enough to touch, and looked down at what I was looking at.
"You're careful," I said. My voice was quieter than I wanted it to be. "You keep things ready."
He picked up the paper and slid it back under the key card without reading it.
"Building management leaves paperwork around," he said. "I wouldn't read into it."
That was his evasion. One line, even tone, eyes already moving back to his glass.
I felt my hand tighten on the edge of the island. The wood was cold and polished, exactly like the table downstairs.
"Has someone else stood here before?" I asked. I kept my eyes on the second glass by the decanters. The clean one.
He took a slow sip. Swallowed.
"Someone always stands somewhere," he said. "You're here now."
It wasn't a no.
I looked at the second glass again. The untouched one. The napkin sharp under it. I thought about how easy it was to make a room look untouched if you just replaced the napkin.
I wasn't special. That was what the paper said. I wasn't the first woman he'd brought up here after clearing a room, and the shirt told me I wouldn't be the last if I walked out.
My throat went dry. I realized I'd been holding still the way I had in the boardroom, restrained breathing, shoulders tight. I let out a breath I hadn't meant to hold.
He set his glass down. The crystal made the same soft sound it had downstairs.
"You can leave the shirt," I said, finally looking at him. "I don't want someone else's."
For the first time since we'd walked in, his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.
"Then you won't need it," he said.
May you like
He left the paper where it was. He didn't throw it away. He didn't need to.
I stood at that island with the log burning behind my eyes, and I understood the price had changed. Downstairs it had been about tonight. Up here it was about whether I was willing to be one more line on that list and pretend the list didn't exist.
