Corrupt - Douglas Penelope - Страница 10

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“And who’s this?”

I glanced over, seeing the young woman with chocolate hair and piercing eyes, polished like a movie star on premiere night.

Michael looked ahead, his lips twisting slightly. “My little brother’s girlfriend.”

“Aw…” she responded.

I averted my eyes, aggravated.

His little brother’s girlfriend. He couldn’t even say my name.

And I wasn’t Trevor’s girlfriend anymore. I wasn’t sure if he knew that, but it had been months. It had to have come up in conversation in his house.

“What did you hear?” he demanded, and I looked up to see him staring down at me.

I hesitated, not sure if I should I tell him about the noises or the woman’s cries. I didn’t feel safe up there now, and I wanted a manager, but Michael barely gave me the time of day. He probably wouldn’t hear anything I had to say.

“Nothing,” I finally said, letting out a sigh. “Forget it.”

He studied me for a moment and then reached out and swiped a white card in front of a sensor on the wall, his private elevator doors immediately opening. He turned to the girl. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’ll be up in a minute.”

She nodded, a slight smile playing on her lips as she walked into the elevator and pushed the button, the doors quickly closing before her.

Michael ignored me and walked over to the front desk, talking to the person on security. The man nodded and handed him what appeared to be keys, and then Michael sauntered back over to me, his height and athletic frame making my mouth go dry again.

God, he was beautiful.

After all these years, my entire life following him with my eyes, my body still warmed whenever he was close.

I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to dull the thud of my thrilled heart. I shouldn’t want to be close to him. Not after how he’d pushed me away nearly my entire life and treated me all those years ago.

I brought my hand up to my neck, absently running a finger over the jagged line.

“Simon is going to do a walk-through of the stairwell and your floor,” he told me. “Come on. I’ll take you up.”

“I said forget it,” I insisted, not budging. “I don’t need help.”

But he walked to the other elevator anyway, and I spotted the security guard opening the door to the stairwell and disappearing.

Reluctantly, I followed Michael, stepping into the elevator in my bare feet and watching him push twenty-one.

“You know what floor I live on?” I asked.

But he didn’t answer.

The elevator began ascending, and I stood there next to him, trying to remain still. I didn’t want to breathe too hard or fidget too much. I’d always been hyper-aware of Michael, and I was afraid he could tell. Maybe if I thought he saw me as anything other than trivial, I wouldn’t worry what he thought so much.

But as I dropped my arms and stared ahead, the slight flow of air coming through the vent making my hair dance across the skin of my chest and the tops of my breasts, I licked my lips, feeling the pull of him right there, only inches away. My chest rose and fell, heat cascading down my neck, and I felt my nipples tighten as the fire over my skin moved across my stomach and pooled between my thighs.

My sleep shorts felt too tight all of a sudden, and my stomach felt hollow, aching like I hadn’t eaten in days.

Jesus.

I reached up, brushing my hair behind my ear and feeling like he was looking at me.

But I wouldn’t dare a glance. After seeing the cover model he’d brought home for the night, all I could do was straighten my back, square my shoulders, and deal.

Like I had for years.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened, Michael stepping out first, clearly not the gentleman Mr. Patterson was. He walked directly for my apartment, and I followed, speaking to his back.

“When Mr. Patterson showed me around today, he told me that apartment was empty.” I glanced behind me at the door of the supposedly vacant apartment. “But I heard noises just a little while ago.”

He turned around, eyeing the door behind me. “What kinds of noises?”

Headboards banging the walls, cries, screams, pants, people going at it…

I shrugged, deciding to be vague. “Just noises.”

He exhaled a sigh through his nose, sounding annoyed. Walking around me, he made for the other apartment and jiggled the door handle, knocking several times when it didn’t work.

The door opened, and I widened my eyes in surprise, but then the same security guard from downstairs emerged.

“Nothing here, sir. I checked the stairwell, and there’s no sign of a disturbance.”

“Thank you,” Michael offered. “Make sure the apartment is locked, and head back downstairs.”

“Yes, sir.”

I watched the guard lock the front door and then wait at the elevator as Michael walked back over to me, keys out and his hazel eyes looking even more impatient.

He brushed past me and unlocked my front door.

“How did you know I locked myself out?” I followed him into the apartment.

“I didn’t.” He slid the keys into his pants pocket. “But I figured it was a safe bet. You didn’t have keys on you, and the rear apartment entrances leading to the stairwell always auto-lock. Remember that.”

I rolled my eyes, watching him charge through my apartment. Three years ago—hell, five days ago—I would’ve loved to have him in my space. Talking to me, watching out for me…

But that’s not what he was doing now. I was still as invisible to him as the air he breathed. And far less important.

One night. It still lived in my memory, vivid and wild, and I wished he’d remember it. But it had turned to shit, anyway, just like the way he treated me.

Crossing my arms over my chest and steeling myself, I stared off, just waiting for him to leave.

He checked the rooms, the rear entrance, and came back out, pushing on the glass doors to make sure they were secure.

“It’s not unusual for the staff to take breaks in one of the empty apartments,” he explained in a flat tone. “In any event, it’s quiet now.”

I nodded, forcing a defiant look. “Like I said, I don’t need help.”

I heard him breathe out a quiet laugh, and I looked up, seeing a condescending smile in his eyes.

“You don’t, huh?” he replied, sounding snide. “You got everything covered? You’re in control?”

I lifted my chin slightly, not answering him.

He strode back over, eyeing me with arrogant amusement. “It’s a nice apartment,” he commented, gazing around him. “You must’ve worked hard to earn the money to pay for it. As well as the bills to those credit cards in your wallet, and that nice, new car you just got.”

I ground my teeth together, a flood of emotions I wasn’t sure what to do with hitting me. I hated what he was saying. It wasn’t that simple, and it wasn’t fair.

He stepped up to me, narrowing his eyes. “You ran away from my brother, my family, your mother, and even your own friends,” he pointed out, “but what if one day you found that all of those securities you took for granted—your house, your money, and the people who love you—weren’t there anymore? Would you need help then? Would you finally realize how very brittle you are without those comforts you seem to think you don’t need?”

I stared up at him, hardening every muscle, so I wouldn’t give myself away.

Yeah, sure. I enjoyed the money. And maybe if I were really serious about being on my own, I’d have chucked it all. The credit cards, the car, and the tuition money.

So was I what he implied? A coward who talked a good talk but would never really know pain or the struggle of having to fight for anything?

“No, I think you’d be fine,” he said in a low, sultry voice as he took a lock of my hair, grinding it between his fingers. “Pretty girls always have something to trade in, right?”

I shot my eyes up, locking gazes with him as I knocked his hand away. What the fuck was the matter with him?

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