Mal tipped his chin. “What?”
Anne waved at one and all. “Ignore my idiot husband and have a nice night.”
Without comment, Bon removed his hand, and the elevator doors started to close.
Then Mal grinned. He grinned like a man who found himself immensely amusing. I had to admit, he was kind of funny. “Mystery girl is smiling,” said Mal. “She likes me!”
His wife shushed him. “You’ll wake Tommy.”
“Sorry, sorry.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “By the way, it’s not called ‘whining’ when spies do it. It’s ‘working an asset.’”
And then they were gone.
“I’m not sure if he’s different than how I thought he’d be, or exactly how I thought he’d be.” I frowned in thought. “You live with actual rock stars. Wow.”
Adam frowned in annoyance. “I am a rock star.”
“Eh.”
“At least he got you to stop crying.”
Bon opened the apartment door and dealt with the security system before looking back to Adam with some unspoken request. Sure enough, he took over holding open the door so the bodyguard could move into the apartment, turning on lights as he went. There were wide wooden floorboards, tall arched windows, and an interesting color scheme. A long, pale blue plush-looking sofa, a grey rug, and a couple of white leather armchairs. A silver resonator guitar hung on the wall along with a collection of gold and platinum albums. The rest of his guitars would be somewhere close. Even before all of the money, he’d owned a minimum of three or four at any given time, including a Martin he’d won in a poker game. And then there were the amps, a veritable wall of them. Old valve amps that looked like they dated back to the ark, and gleaming new ones with enough buttons and knobs to intimidate an air traffic controller. It was a wonder we could move about in the tiny living room at my place with all of his stuff. For certain, he wouldn’t have the same issue here. The apartment was huge.
“How many records did you have to sell to get those?” I asked, looking at the framed records.
“Half a million for the gold, and a million for the platinum.”
“No wonder so many people try to friend me on social media to discuss you and how I ruined our perfect relationship.”
His brows went up. “People do that?”
“Yep.”
“I never told anyone your name.”
“Word got around anyway.”
The man did not look happy. He slipped a hand to my lower back, urging me into the apartment. “Bon will be finished with his security check in a minute. Come on in.”
“Has anyone ever actually been hiding out in your shower or under your bed?”
He shook his head, tucking his straggly long hair behind his ears. “This building’s secure. It’s why I bought the place. Along with Dave and Mal being here already.”
“You’re close to them, huh?”
“They’ve been good friends. Most of the time.” He glanced over at me, his forehead furrowed.
“What? What is that look for?”
“Nothing.” He paused. “It’s just strange seeing you again. You in this context is…interesting. Not bad, just unexpected.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I thought you hated me.”
My shoulders slumped. “Ignore what I said in the car. I was having a very small and probably long-overdue meltdown. But the truth is, I never hated you. It probably would have been easier if I had. You just disappointed me, big time.”
Bon wandered out of one of the back rooms, standing almost at attention. “Will you be in for the rest of the night, Mr. Dillon?”