KNOT: A Wake Family Novel (14 page)

She came from money, but worked her ass off, and that wasn’t something trust fund babies typically did. I respected that.

She could have bought the whole floor if she wanted to, but she hadn’t.

No. She didn’t even
buy
a unit, having only applied for a lease.

That troubled me.

Why not buy?

Was she only planning on being there temporarily?

Maybe she wanted to see if she liked living there first? I wasn’t sure yet, but those were things I wanted to dive deeper into. Things I needed to tread lightly around.

I passed Claudia on the way down the hall to my office.

“Good morning, Reggie,” she chimed. That woman never had a bad Monday. She was always positive and ready for the day. I was happy for it, too. We’d work well together.

Claudia was a new mother coming back into the workforce after staying home with her two little girls. She’d worked for Price-McClelland before, and it spoke well of her they wanted her back.

“Hi. Did you have a good weekend?” I replied, stopping at her desk.

“I did. We took the girls to the aquarium. They loved it.” She seemed like a person who was genuinely content, and the same smile she wore in the pictures on her desk spread across her face.

“Good. I remember my dad taking me and my brother when we were kids. We’d visited Chicago for a boy’s weekend to see a ball game or something.” I tapped my fingers on the counter in front of her that was slightly higher than her desk.

“Ready for the week?” she asked routinely.

That week I totally was. Ready to see what would happen. “Are you kidding? I’m always ready.”

Work went great, and for the most part, it was business as usual, but my mind was elsewhere.

Disappointingly, I didn’t see Nora in the hall or around the Lunar that whole week, but I heard her stomping around in her apartment on Friday as I walked past her door. I paused a few feet down the hall to listen, and I heard her scream. Then, I heard a blow against the door.

I could have kept going, but I was worried so I knocked.

The doors in the Lunar were solid. I could hear that she was shouting something, but wasn’t sure what. The metal deadbolt slid audibly on the other side, and I stepped back a bit.

Historically, she was feisty. She might come out swinging.

Oddly, she wasn’t swinging when she opened the door, but hopping instead.

She groaned as she saw me when she cracked the door open, but she remained bouncing.

“Reagan?” she asked but didn’t wait for me to reply. “What do you want?”

I shifted on my feet to see around her. “I heard something when I was walking by and wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Her face was pained, eyebrows drawn tightly together, lips puckered.

She squinted. “How did you know it was me? And
walking by
?” she asked through gritted teeth, then leaned on the door frame to peek past me down the hall.

She was sharp.

I was ready to see the blow-up. It was strange, but I’d kind of been looking forward to it. So I answered honestly, pointing to the door at the end of the hall. My door. “That one’s mine.”

She hung her head looking quite defeated. “Are you fucking serious? What are the odds? This is a gigantic building.”

Yes, it was a big building. Still, she didn’t know how great the odds had been stacked.
In my favor
. By me.

“It is,” I replied, but I was more concerned with why she looked injured than if she cared about where I lived at that point.

I could see that one of her feet still had a shoe on it—the one she was jumping with—and the other was crooked back behind her, barefoot.

“What happened?”

“Oh, this?” She kicked out her hurt foot and held herself steady with the door frame. “This
was
the big toe on my right foot. Now it’s just fucking junk.” I hadn’t remembered her swearing that much, but it was obvious she was having a rough time.

I looked past her into the apartment. There were boxes everywhere.

She looked behind herself and said, “Yeah, and I’m dealing with that. So you see, me and my nine remaining toes have a lot to do. We’re fine. Thanks for checking.” The skin around her eyes pinched, her lips remaining closed as she offered me a mocking smile. She was obviously in a shitty mood. Possibly overwhelmed.

I’d been overwhelmed before, and I didn’t much like it. “I’ll help and look at your foot.”

She blanched, my decision not interesting her, then as she thought, I could almost see her accepting it would be beneficial to have help.

“You don’t need to look at my foot. The toe can’t be saved anyway. I need to move forward. There’s no going back. It’s just me before the toe, and now me after.”

I chuckled. She was pissed, but cute at the same time. Additionally, she wasn’t too cross with me, merely aggravated in general, and her candor improved when I laughed.

“My condolences on your loss,” I teased, humoring her as I scratched my eye. Trying to hide my amusement at her expense.

She tapped her foot against the ground and flinched, quietly sucking air through her teeth from the discomfort. “It’s not that funny. It really hurts, Reagan.”

I don’t know if it was the use of my name, or the fact that she was in pain, which I didn’t appreciate at all, but I stepped forward, and on cue, she hopped backward into her apartment.

She limped beside me as she repeated, “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.”

I tugged her hand to get her attention.

“Stop. Sit down,” I told her, and then I walked into the kitchen. I began searching for a dish towel, but her cabinets were all bare.

I pulled my handkerchief out of the pocket beside my lapel and opened the door on the freezer. It was also empty except for a cold bottle of wine, and not wanting it to freeze on her, I moved it to the refrigerator. Then, I plucked a few ice cubes out of the bin.

I dropped them into the cloth and walked back into the living area. She’d perched herself on the arm of a chair since the seat was full of boxes.

You are capable of listening to me.

Wide-eyed, she watched and waited for me. No arguing. No fighting.

I knelt down and lifted her leg by the calf. She wasn’t over exaggerating. It was a nasty stub.

“What did you kick?”

“I accidently kicked the foot of the love seat over there,” she said nodding in the direction of the bastard furniture and winced as I pressed the ice to her toe. It was already turning purple, and the smallest amount of blood pooled around her already painted, red toenail. I placed my hand over the silk so it wouldn’t slide off.

I was between her legs, and I think we both realized it at the same time.

If only.

Never the less, she had enough to deal with at the moment, I wasn’t going to add to her stress. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. “You should be more careful.”

Both her volume and tone regulated, and she calmly admitted, “I usually take my shoes off first thing in the door, but as you can see, my boxes arrived today, and I’ve been trying to make a path to my closet. I hadn’t even paid any attention.”

I scanned the room. It appeared that whoever she’d hired to move her belongings only came into the living room and piled everything. Boxes on top of more boxes.

My thumb rubbed along her instep. “How does that feel?”

She gave me that small smile I’d replayed over and over since we met. “I’m going to miss that toe. My shoes might never fit the same again.” Her silver eyes confessed she was only half serious.

“I’m sure,” I said to be agreeable. It was hard not to humor her.

She wore tan dress pants and a neatly tucked, black silk top. I glanced down at the uninjured foot and saw her black shoes. The heel was at least four inches high.

“I don’t see how you get around in those things.” Then, I thought to myself,
but I sure fucking love the way they look.

“I only wear them to work, or if I go out.” She readjusted herself like she was uncomfortable on the edge of the chair.

I looked under the make-shift ice pack, and she tried to wiggle it, but then quickly shook her head. Too soon for that.

“Do you think you broke it?” I asked.

“What? My old toe? No, it’s dead. Beyond broken.”

I set that foot on the ground and made sure the compress would stay, then lifted the other and removed the last shoe.

She took a deep breath and shifted a little more.

“Listen, I need to keep working. At this pace, it’s going to take me all night.”

I didn’t have anything to do, and I wasn’t going to let her tackle it alone.

“I’m helping. Tell me what rooms they go into.”

She looked somewhat relieved, but that didn’t last long. Soon her expression transformed into
that
look. The skeptical one I didn’t like. The mistrust. The assuming. The annoyance.

“Reagan,” she accused.

“Nora,” I defended.

She slumped and let out a huff. “Don’t start, okay?”

I tried to look innocent and offered her a big toothy grin. “Start what? I’m simply helping a neighbor.”

She saw right through me, but I didn’t give a fuck. I’d get to ask her more questions. Moving boxes was a small price to pay for her time.

She conceded, “Okay then, I could use the help.” Then, she pulled her foot out of my hand and stood, without tipping the handkerchief off her injury.

“All of the boxes are labeled with what room they go into. That’s my room over there,” she said and pointed to the one across the living area. “The spare is down the hall off the kitchen, down by the laundry and other bathroom. Two bath boxes, mine and guest. Kitchen is kitchen. Dining over there. We’re in the living room. Pick a pile and start moving them, I guess.”

A plan. I worked well with instruction.

She bent over and looked at her toe, then took a deep breath and wobbled around to start with the boxes she was closest to on the chair.

I decided to walk to the other side of the room and see what I could find.

The first one was spare bed.
Easy enough.
I liked how all of the boxes were not only labeled by locations but also what number out of how many went in that room.

Organized
.

I walked through the kitchen down the hall and found the spare room easily. I’d been in the smaller units, but the model I’d walked through had been a mirror of hers, and it felt different because last I’d been in one they were empty and still being painted.

The room had a bed frame and a king sized mattress leaning against the wall opposite the closet. At least the movers put the big things where they belonged. I made a note to find out who they were, and therefore if they should have sorted the boxes. I didn’t want her to be taken advantage of. I’d see what they should have done and make sure it was right.

I set the box down inside the closet, out of the way, and headed back to get the next. I took my suit coat off on the way and placed it on the small kitchen island. As I walked around it, I unbuttoned my collar and tucked my tie into my shirt. Then proceeded to unbutton and roll up my sleeves.

When I finished, I caught her staring at me. Stopped where she was, holding a box.

Hello. Like what you see?

“Do you need help with that?” I asked. There hadn’t been many moments where I’d had the upper hand so far with her, and I was happy for the one I received. “You’re staring at me. It’s making me uncomfortable,” I said using her words, trying to tease her because she looked a little lost. A little distracted.

“No, I’m not,” she argued and shook her head, then kept moving closer to the kitchen. “I suppose I’ll be wearing flats for a few days. I was just trying to remember what box I put them all in. I wasn’t staring at
you
. I was concentrating.”

Then, she smiled brightly. I knew that smile from the party.

Bullshit
smile.

“If you only wear heels to work, and when you go out, like you said, you should be fine. Unless you have to work tomorrow, or you’re going out.” Both, equally possible and none of my business. I was prying, but I didn’t try to hide it, and frankly, she should have been used to it by then. It was my second nature.

She warned, “I told you not to start.”

She noticed.

My hands went up in defense. She
had
said that, but I’d never agreed to it. She’d warned me not to
start,
which was vague. I’d made no promises.

She pressed, “I’m off the weekend, but if I
were
going out, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

I wished she’d quit doing that; she was always trying to pick a fight. Then I thought, to hell with it and gave her one.

“Listen, I’m here to help. If you don’t need my help, I’ll go. I assume you don’t know that many people in the city, so I’m being friendly. How in the fuck do you expect me to be friends with you if I don’t ask questions? Please, tell me where I’ve been so offensive.”

There
.

“You know what you’re asking, and I’m not stupid. First the long cab ride. Then the e-vite to dinner. Now this with the apartment down the hall. I’m not a fool, Reagan. I see what you’re doing.”

She limped up the single stair that separated the living area from the dining and kitchen—putting us on even ground—then set her box down on the counter next to my jacket.

“You agreed to the cab ride. You emailed the building I live in.” I left off the apartment thing. That wouldn’t help me.

She fired back, “I can tell you’re attracted to me. Okay? I can tell. Your signals aren’t all that covert. But I’m not interested in a relationship. Not one with you or anyone else.” She felt my attraction, and that didn’t bother me. What did grate on my nerves was how she automatically assumed she knew what I wanted. I wasn’t even sure about that yet.

I fired back. “But if I had a girlfriend, you’d be on board? You’d be attracted to me—or
us
?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Maybe I would.”

I thought she’d kick me out, but she didn’t so I pressed on. “What do you get out of it?”

Her frustration grew, and she threw her hands up into the air, aggravation spraying onto every molecule in the room. “It’s none of your business,” she huffed. “Now start moving boxes or go.” There it was. I hit her limit.