CHAPTER SEVEN

"Are you sure this is the place?"

I read the address that Jerry slipped under the door for the third time, and look up at the building in front of us again.

It cannot be.

But this is the address that he wrote.

I hand Sammy the note and she too reads the address again and then looks up at the building.

We supposedly had to evacuate our building, which is not in the best part of the city and even though it was clean, was a bit run down.

The building in front of us speaks of old, rich architecture that only people with trust funds can afford to stay in. Which we are clearly not.

"Should we maybe go in and check?" Sammy continues, looking just as confused as I feel.

"It's not like we have any other choice right now." I shrug.

Jerry took our keys when we left, so we can't go back there either. We don't have a lot of stuff, our clothes are in three suitcases and we have four boxes with our books and miscellaneous stuff, all sitting on the curb where the cab dropped us off.

"Okay, go find out and I'll wait with our stuff." Sammy says and I nod.

I walk up to the building and open the very fancy door, and lo and behold, there's a concierge.

"Good evening miss." He tips his hat at me and all I can do is stare at him dumbfounded. "You must be Miss Simpson, it's our pleasure to have you here."

I must have been transported into another universe where I mean something. That is the only explanation.

Also, I'm not dumb. My brain is probably the best thing I have going for me. It took me out of my hometown, so I trust and rely on it.

The ten grand. The alleged rats. This building.

None of this is a coincidence.

Because in the twenty-one years I've been alive, shit like this simply doesn't happen to people like Sammy and me.

"Uhm." I'm completely speechless, looking from the concierge to the front door and back.

"No worries miss." The concierge continues. "I have been waiting for you. Are your stuff outside, I'll have someone get it for you and take it up to your apartment. You're on the fifth floor, right?"

I look at the keys in my hand, there's a keyring with the number 512 on it. I nod at the concierge, who must think I'm some sort of insane person.

"Uhm, I'll just get my friend."

"Yes." He smiles brightly. "Miss Jones, right?"

I nod again. What the hell is even happening? I have to be in another universe.

A man dressed in a security uniform enters through the door behind the front desk.

"This is Clarke, he'll make sure your things get up to your apartment, miss." The concierge tips his hat at me. "I hope you enjoy your stay with us."

Whereas I'm completely dumbfounded and confused, Sammy has entered the excitement stage. She oohs and aahs at everything as we walk through the lobby to a set of elevators. Even the elevator looks like it belongs in the movies.

"This is so awesome!" She gushes as we take the elevator to the fifth floor. "Mom is never going to believe this! How long do you think we get to stay?"

"I don't know, Jerry didn't say." I answer absentmindedly.

I hold my breath as I unlock the door to number 512 and Sammy gives an excited squeal as we enter.

The apartment is fully furnished in creams and beiges, straight out of a home decorating magazine. Sammy twirls in the open space living room and kitchen.

"Oh my god!" She rushes to the kitchen. "How are we even supposed to only make ramen noodles in here? I want to stay forever!"

I pinch myself to make sure I'm not in a dream. This is a far cry from the house I grew up in, or the dorms we stayed in, or our small apartment. There is no way Jerry has connections to a place like this.

So what is this?

Is this Alessandro Moretti? Who is M. Holdings?

Surely no guy would go to these lengths for a girl he doesn't even know apart from two encounters.

No logical explanation is making sense to me right now.

I keep my mouth shut about my suspicions as I follow Sammy into the bedrooms. I make her choose which one she wants,  because it doesn't really matter anyway. 

This apartment is a smokescreen. Like I said, there's always a price to pay. And the price is always sex. 

The problem with sex is, is that it gets old quickly. I know that for a fact from looking at my mother's track record. 

A guy is interested because you look pretty, but as soon as the going gets tough, the tough gets going. And I don't mean that in a positive way. 

I'm lying on my new, soft bed, just staring up at the ceiling when Sammy enters my bedroom. 

"I'm going to the grocery store." She's still full of smiles. "I'm going to cook a proper dinner, with wine to celebrate. Do you want anything?" 

Yes, I want a dose of reality. 

"No thanks." 

"See you later!" She announces energetically and a few minutes later I hear the opening and closing of the front door. 

She's so happy, she thinks we won the jackpot. Maybe I should be happy with her, even if it's only for tonight. 

My cell phone rings on the bedside table and I pick it up, frowning at the unknown number. 

"Hello?" I answer reluctantly. 

"Farrah Simpson." 

Chills run up and down my spine at the unmistakable voice of Alessandro Moretti. 

"How did you get my number?" 

"I have my ways." He chuckles softly and God forbid, that sound makes me want to offer myself to him on a silver platter. 

"Did you have your way sending money to my bank account as well? What about the snazzy apartment?" I sit up straight, suddenly extremely pissed off that another human being has this power over me. 

"Easy kitty cat." His voice is somewhat soothing, and if he was in front of me right now, I would have kicked him in the shin. "Save this number." 

With those words, he disconnects the call. I could call him back, but I won't give him that satisfaction. 

The question remains, what the hell does he want with me?