āHowād you know Iād be here today?ā I asked.
āEducated guess. This bar has seen its fair share of comfort drinking.ā He nodded at the glittering display of expensive bottles and crystal glasses. āI may have also asked security to alert me if and when you check in.ā
I snorted. āIām flattered you went to the trouble.ā
āDonāt be. I didnāt do this for you,ā Kai said dryly. āI did this for my reputation and for Isa. I was the one who connected you with the people on my list, and itāll reflect poorly on me if the club doesnāt succeed. Plusā¦ā His gaze flicked to his phone. āIsa would never let me hear the end of it if I didnāt get you to pull your head out of the sand.ā
Sloane.
My hand flexed around my glass as another wave of regret crashed into me. Sheād tried to help, and Iād driven her away. Then I couldnāt be bothered to say a simple Iām sorry, not even on Christmas, because Iād been too wrapped up in my own mental bullshit.
God, I was an idiot.
I stood abruptly and grabbed my coat from the hook beneath the counter. āListen, this was a good talk, butāā
āGo.ā Kai returned to his drink. āAnd if anyone other than Isa asks, this conversation never happened.ā
I didnāt need him to tell me twice.
I sprinted out of the club and into one of Valhallaās chauffeured town cars. I gave the driver Sloaneās address.
Itād been eight days, two hours, and thirty-six minutes since we last spoke.
I only hoped I wasnāt too late.
CHAPTER 40
Xavier
āIām sorry, sir, but I canāt let you go up,ā the concierge said with zero traces of sympathy. āYou donāt have authorized access.ā
āIāve been coming here for weeks.ā I tamped down my frustration in favor of a smile. Catch more flies with honey than vinegar and all that. āApartment 14C. Call her. Please.ā
āIām sorry, sir.ā This concierge was different from the one whoād let me up when I thought something had happened to Sloane, and he proved remarkably resistant to my powers of persuasion. āMs. Kensington specifically left instructions stating that no guests are to be admitted without her explicit written approval.ā
āSheās my girlfriend. I have written approval,ā I said. I wasnāt technically lying. We were dating, and I didnāt know for sure that she hadnāt added my name to her list of approved guests. āPerhaps you lost it.ā
āI didnāt.ā
āPerhaps another concierge lost it.ā
āThey didnāt.ā
I gritted my teeth. Fuck honey. I wanted to shove this guyās head in a bucket full of raw vinegar, but I didnāt have the time for petty violence or arguments.
āLet me up, and this is yours.ā I slid a hundred-dollar bill across the counter.
The concierge stared at me, stone-faced. He didnāt touch the money.
I added another hundred to the pile. Nothing.
Three hundred. Four hundred.
Goddammit. What was wrong with him? No one said no to Benjamin.
āTen thousand cash.ā That was all I had in my wallet. āThatās tax-free money if you let me up for just a few minutes.ā
I could bypass him physically, but without a resident key card, the elevator wouldnāt budge, and I wouldnāt be able to open the door to the stairwell.
āSir, this is unnecessary and inappropriate,ā he said calmly. āI do not accept bribes. Now, I must insist you vacate the premises, or security will have to escort you out.ā
He nodded at the pair of Hulk-sized security guards whoād seemingly popped up out of nowhere.
Sloaneās building would be guarded by two stone mountains and the only incorruptible concierge in Manhattan.
However, I wasnāt leaving without seeing her, which meant I needed a plan C. I scanned the lobby, searching for another plausible avenue when my eyes fell on a small plaque mounted on the wall.
The Lexington: An Archer Group Property.
My pulse jumped. Archer Group.
There was only one person who could help me in that moment. Asking him for a favor wasnāt the smartest idea considering Iād just burned down one of his properties, but beggars couldnāt be choosers.
One call to an annoyed Alex Volkov and one very bitter concierge later, I stepped out into Sloaneās hall.
Surprisingly, Alex hadnāt given me a hard time, though I suspected he was saving that for our meeting. But Iād worry about that tomorrow; I had something more urgent to attend to.
I rapped my knuckles against Sloaneās door. No answer, but she was in there. I could feel it.
Another knock, my gut contorting into more and more knots as the minutes passed. It wasnāt like her not to answer the door. Perhaps the concierge called up to warn her I was coming?
I was about to call her just to see if I could hear her phone ring when I heard itāa tiny rustle of movement that cut off as quickly as itād started. If Iād shifted, or if the elevator had dinged in that moment, I wouldnāt have heard it, but I did, and it was enough to pour fresh energy into my efforts.
A third, harder knock. āOpen the door, sweetheart. Please.ā
I wasnāt sure if she heard me, but an eternity later, footsteps approached and the door swung open.
My heart stuttered beneath the blow of seeing Sloane again. The past week had felt like months, and I drank her in like a lost wanderer stumbling onto a desert oasis. She was bare-faced and in silk pajamas, her hair twisted into a bun, her eyes wary as she kept a hand on the doorknob.
āHi,ā I said.
āHi.ā
The seconds ticked by, tainted by the bitterness of our last conversation.
āCan I come in?ā I finally asked. Itād been a long time since we were this uncomfortable around each other, and the tension cast a shadow over the entire hall.