Page 88 of Unromance

Mission: (un)Romance

She smiled down at the list, the original version on the back where she’d crossed out multiple ideas, rewriting the approved items on the front. There, at the bottom, where she’d hastily added “end date???”

As she reread the list, her attention snagged on the final two items. She wasn’t going to ruin them for Mason. She was going to spoil him with them.

Sawyer’s grand gesture was off to a dismal start.

Blasting eighties music outside someone’s window doesn’t hit the same when they’re on the eighteenth floor and you’re on the sidewalk.

She eyed the apartment’s doorman warily. The sweet old man who manned the door when she’d been here before was gone. Which was a shame, because she’d been counting on Luther recognizing her. And even if he hadn’t, she knew she could outrun him. The elevators weren’t that far from the front door. This new guy, however. Whew. He was built like a truck. That salt-and-pepper hair was a misdirect. He’d already thwarted her once, but she wasn’t going to give up that easy.

Sawyer mustered all her acting prowess, tucking her giant note cards under her arm and strolling up to the front door like she owned the place.

“Ma’am,” the doorman called as she approached. “Ma’am,” he said more sternly when she ignored him and kept walking. He stepped in front of the door, wholly blocking it with his broad frame.

She looked up in feigned bewilderment, surveying the building like she’d never seen it before. “Oh, sorry,” she simpered in her best airhead voice. “Wrong building!”

Not buying her shit one bit, he watched her suspiciously as she retreated half a block to replan her attack.

A businessman exited the apartment building, waving cheerily to the doorman she was now certain would become a crucial player in her villain origin story.

As luck would have it, however, the businessman paused right in front of her, patting his pockets in concern before turning on his heel and heading back the way he came. Sawyer followed half a step behind him, euphoric that being short was finally going to come in handy as she slipped into the building behind him. She only had onefoot through the door when a hand grabbed her coat, jerking her back outside into the cold Chicago winter air.

“Ma’am,” the doorman said again, a shiny gold name tag on his breast declaring his name to be Stan.

God, what a quintessential doorman name. It was so perfect, she nearly missed the scowl he gave her. “This is the third time,” he sighed. “At least try to be inconspicuous.”

She leaned closer. “Okay, I’m listening. How do I do that?”

He rolled his dark eyes. “For starters, don’t carry giant poster boards and a boom box.”

The man had a point. But she—she had a mission.

“For the last time,” Stan said wearily. “If you’re not a resident, you cannot enter the building without a resident’s explicit permission.”

“What if,” she whispered conspiratorially, her stomach swooping when he leaned in automatically. “I told you I knew someone in the building, and I’m trying to surprise them?” She gestured to the aforementioned posters and boom box.

“I can call up and confirm that they want to be surprised,” he offered.

“I don’t know if we have the same definition of ‘surprise,’” she countered. “Mason will be okay with it,I promise.”

The doorman’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re here to see Mr. West?”

Hope ballooned in her chest for the briefest of moments before wheezing out like a whoopee cushion. That had not been the right thing to say. Stan definitely thought she was an overzealous fan, and this level of security was probably why Mason picked this apartment in the first place. How inconvenient for her.

“I know him,” she pleaded. “I promise. And maybe you’re saving me a lifetime of embarrassment, but I am here to get the shit kicked out of me by love, and I really need you to let me.”

Stan stared at her for a long moment, his eyes darting from hers, welling with tears, to the posters and boom box, and back again. “What in the world are you up to?”

She took a step back, setting the boom box down on the sidewalk and hitting play. Propping the posters against her chest, she waited for his eyes to scan the words before flipping to the next poster. Once finished, he frowned, screwing up his face. The cautious optimism that had been growing steadily inside her with each card guttered out.

“What in the Hallmark hell?” he muttered.

“Exactly,” Sawyer said emphatically, as if that clarified everything. Though, judging by his expression, it clarified exactly nothing. “Mason and I have this list—maybe I should start at the beginning?”

He studied her for a long moment before stooping over and pausing “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel. “Alright, but we’re doing this inside, and I need my popcorn.”

“Whatever you say,” she agreed heartily. She’d run down to the corner store and buy him whatever snack he wanted if he’d consider letting her through. Though she was inside the building now.Progress.She contemplated making a run for the elevator—

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