“Did you?” The officer asks him. “You have a few blood spots on your shirt too.”
“Jesus Christ,” Saint groans. “Someone had a bleeding nose. I tried helping her, but she took off.”
The officer pulls a notepad out from her belt. “I’m going to need to ask you a few questions. We can do that at the station or in your apartment. Your choice.”
“My apartment?”
She nods. “Unless there’s something in there that you don’t want us to see?”
A few more people trail out of his apartment. A steady stream of partygoers has left since the police arrived ten minutes ago.
“Like what?” Saint snaps back. “A dead body?”
I’ve watched enough episodes of Dateline to know that’s not the correct answer.
Another officer stalks toward where I’m standing just outside of my apartment. He was the one who knocked on my door when they first arrived. “If we need anything more from you, we’ll let you know. Have a good night.”
I glance at the time display on my phone.
It’s the middle of the night, but if I crawl into bed now, I’ll get at least a couple of hours of solid sleep.
“Thank you,” I say with a smile. “I appreciate this.”
A rough sigh leaves Saint. “I don’t.”
The female officer shoots him a look. “The sooner we talk, the sooner we’ll get all of this sorted out.”
I take one last look at my neighbor with his hands cuffed behind his back.
I had no idea it would come to this, but from what the officer said to me when they first arrived, I wasn’t the only one in the building who made a noise complaint.
Maybe next time the inconsiderate jerk has people over, he’ll think twice about partying into the wee hours of the morning.
When I had my interview at Wells last week, I was too nervous to appreciate the beauty of their offices.
They inhabit the top three floors of a building in lower Manhattan.
I took the subway to work because I wanted to time the commute. Fortunately, I arrived twenty minutes early, so I had time to grab a small coffee at the café in the lobby of the building. Tomorrow, I can give myself an extra few minutes at home before I bolt out the door.
I scan the reception area of Wells, marveling at the modern style. The walls are painted white and decorated with abstract paintings.
My gaze shifts to the polished concrete floors and the curved reception desk. It looks like it’s crafted from recycled wooden boards. The blonde-haired woman sitting behind it is dressed in red.
Wells has mastered the sleek and sophisticated look.
Before applying for the job, I quickly scanned the company’s website to familiarize myself with the brand.
It was thin on details about the founders or anyone currently holding a corporate position.
The site was focused on their products and how they believe they are superior to other comparable brands.
The woman behind the reception desk glides to her feet and waves at me. “Callie, right? Delora told me to expect you.”
I approach her with steady even steps even though my knees are quaking.
Part of that is from first day nerves. The other part is from pure exhaustion.
As I was getting dressed today in a simple navy blue skirt and a white blouse, I had my eyes closed. When I popped them open, I realized I had incorrectly buttoned the blouse. It wasn’t surprising, given that I only snuck in two hours of sleep thanks to my asshole neighbor.
“I’m Dionne.” The receptionist smiles. “Delora is in a meeting, so Mr. Wells is on his way down to greet you.”
“Mr. Wells?” I question.
“He’s one of the owners of the company,” she explains, her voice quieter than it was. “His bark is worse than his bite. Don’t let him intimidate you.”
I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat.
I had a hard-ass boss at the party supplies company, and even though I handled him with ease, it didn’t make for the best work environment.
I glance over my shoulder when I hear footsteps approaching behind me. A handsome brown-haired man in a dark blue suit walks toward me.
He looks vaguely familiar to me.
“Good morning, Mr. Wells,” Dionne greets him. “How was your weekend, sir?”
“Fine.” He offers her a nod of his chin as he hurries past me.
As soon as he disappears around a corner, Dionne glances at me. “That’s not the Mr. Wells you’ll be meeting with. That was his older brother.”
Silently nodding, I try and place that man’s face.
I’ve seen him before.
Millions of men live in New York City, so I must have passed him on the street at some point.
“Here comes the other Mr. Wells.” Dionne plants both elbows on the reception desk as she leans forward. “It’s go time, Callie.”
I suck in a deep breath and turn slowly to face my new boss.
Shit. Double shit.