Iris had pressed the button for the wrong floor but didn’t care. She began her usual routine, laying out her schematics. She refused to let Nick steal one more second of her time. Angry hard lines filled up her graph paper. He wasn’t worth it. The sex wasn’t even that good. That was a lie, but it made her feel better.

The glass doors down the hallway read, “Goldstein & Stack Attorneys at Law.” They must have rented the space from the bank. Column, wall, hall—she scratched them out in red ink. She walked the perimeter and came to a corner office. The door was closed. She kicked it open. Fuck Nick and his long, slow kisses.

She staggered back. Sitting on the thick shag carpet was a bedsheet and some rags piled together in the middle of the room. Empty food wrappers and debris surrounded the pile. The room reeked like a garbage can. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand. A door in the far corner stood open. Iris knew it led to a bathroom. Terror stabbed at her gut as it occurred to her that the person who slept on the floor might be lurking in there. Holding her breath, she listened for the sound of footsteps, rustling wrappers, or a switchblade snapping open.

“Hello?” she whispered into the room.

There was no response. She tentatively stepped onto the thick carpet, giving the pile of garbage in the middle a wide berth. As she edged closer to the bathroom door, her legs readied themselves to run the other way. She could see more wrappers in front of the toilet. She could just make out a muddy footprint on the tile in front of the shower stall.

A hand fell onto her shoulder.

Iris shrieked. She spun around, swinging her field bag as hard as she could. Five pounds of equipment went careening into her assailant’s head. The figure stumbled behind her as she scrambled out of the room, screaming. She ran to the service elevator and pounded the call button. The car was down at the basement. She couldn’t afford to wait for it. She ran down the hall to the emergency stairs. She threw her shoulder into the door and was about to fly down all eleven flights when she heard a voice coming from the hallway.

“Iris . . . Iris! It’s me, you friggin’ psycho!”

It was Nick. She had clocked Nick in the head. She turned and grimaced. His hand covered half his face.

“Nick?” She approached him cautiously. “Shit, are you okay? Come into the light so I can get a look at you.”

She led him back into the office clearing, where she could assess the damage. He wasn’t bleeding—she was relieved to see that—but she was pretty sure he was going to have a black eye.

“What the hell is the matter with you?”

“I’m sorry. You snuck up and scared the living shit out of me,” she tried to explain. “You don’t do that in an abandoned building, okay! It’s spooky as hell around here! And there was a bed. There’s some . . . person sleeping up here . . . Here, come look at this.”

She dragged him by the arm back to the room where she’d found the bed on the floor.

“It looks like the building has a squatter.”

“Yeah, I guess I thought you were him.” She examined his bruised face and looked away sheepishly. He had called her a friggin’ psycho. He was probably right.

“Hey.” He lifted her chin with his finger. His eyes were soft. They seemed to be saying he was sorry for not calling. Maybe he was and just couldn’t find a way to tell her. She held his gaze and found herself searching for a reason to forgive him.

She snapped her chin away and turned to leave. She was not giving in that easy. Not again.

“What the hell are you doing up here anyway?”

“I came looking for you.” He grabbed her arm. “Hey, what’s your problem?”

“Just leave me alone.” Iris yanked her arm back.

She marched toward the emergency stairs to pick up her field bag. He grabbed her wrist. She spun, ready to give him another black eye to match the first. He caught her other wrist and held them both firmly while he searched her face.

“Iris, you’re going to have to tell me what the hell is going on.”

“You know what’s going on! We had our fling. You don’t call. You’re with Amanda . . .” She trapped her tongue between her teeth to keep it from saying more.

“Amanda,” he said flatly. “What do you mean, I’m with Amanda?”

“Don’t give me that. I was in Tremont house hunting. I swung by. I saw her there with you.” She wrenched her hands free and stepped away from him.

“Amanda’s just a friend.”

“Bullshit! Just how many girls at the office are you screwing exactly?”

“She came by. We had a beer. I sent her home. I went to bed . . . I would have much rather seen you.” He smiled slyly and took a step toward her.

She recognized the carnal look and stepped back. “Well, then, why the hell didn’t you call me?”

He shrugged. “You never gave me your number. Besides, I thought I’d catch up with you today.”

“Well, I didn’t know that!” she yelled, feeling more and more foolish. She hadn’t given him her number. She’d been waiting by the phone, and he didn’t even have her number.

“Well, now you do. Jeez, Iris. I had no idea how much you cared.” His eyes fell to her lips and he leaned toward her.

Her stomach flipped. Iris ducked away before he could plant one on her. She knew what his kisses could do. “Not so fast.”

“Okay.” He chuckled. “Not so fast. How about dinner Friday night?”

Iris nodded in agreement and decided to flee before he managed to get her into another compromising position or noticed the big, stupid smile on her face. She scurried down the hall to get back to work.

“I’ve got a big deadline. Mr. Wheeler wants schematics for all fifteen floors by Friday. I’ll catch up with you later,” she called over her shoulder.

Nick stood in the empty hallway, holding a hand over his eye.

CHAPTER 38

Iris woke up with a start. She didn’t know where she was, but she wasn’t home. She was on a mattress on a strange floor. Her head was being crushed by a vise, and the whole room was pulsing. She blinked at the boxes and the blank walls and finally remembered. She was in her new apartment.

The previous night came pouring back. After Iris had slogged through the ninth and tenth floors at the old bank, Ellie and her boyfriend had helped her move off Random Road. They had celebrated with too many martinis at the Lava Lounge down the street. Iris could barely recall stumbling home. She lay back down on the floor to make the room stop spinning. It didn’t work. She pulled the blanket over her head and tried to fall back to sleep. Snippets of conversations from the last twelve hours replayed at warped volumes in her ears as her brain throbbed.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Capretta!” Iris had waved from the back of a pickup truck next to her ratty sofa.

“So you really think movin’ out of here’s gonna be better, huh? Just remember, Iris, no matter how many times you move or how big and fancy your house gets, you’re still stuck with yourself. You got me? You can’t buy your way outta that one, not with all the money in all . . .” The old woman’s voice trailed off as the truck pulled away.

Thanks for the parting wisdom, she had thought as she left Mrs. Capretta behind.

Later at the bar, Iris had blathered on about Nick. “He didn’t call all that time because I forgot to give him my number! I’m such an ass!”

Ellie had raised a newly pierced eyebrow. “What, this guy never heard of calling Information? He sounds like the ass to me.”

Iris wanted to protest, but she had nothing. Her friend was right. It wouldn’t have been that hard for Nick to find her number. She sucked down the cocktail in her hand and waved the notion away. “We’re going out Friday! Like a real date.”