Page 13 of Old Money

“I’m in the stairwell in my building,” she says. I picture her curled in a ball all alone on those damn stairs. I should have gone with her.

“What building?” I ask, putting her on speaker so that Russ can hear.

“Lex Hall,” she says. Russ nods in the mirror, plugging it into his GPS and peeling out of our parking spot.

“Just stay on the phone with me, Sawyer,” I say. “I’m coming.”

After breaking several traffic laws and ignoring several stop signs, Russ has us on campus in thirteen minutes.

“There aren’t any spots, boss,” he says. I look up, and there are still cop cars all along the perimeter of the lot.

“Just stop here,” I say. He looks at me.

“Boss…”

“Just stop the car, Russ,” I say. He does, and I jump out. “We’ll be out in a second.”

I run toward Lex Hall, waiting for a student to scan their badge and then jumping in behind them—which, in hindsight, probably isn’t the best thing to do, considering this campus just had a very unwelcome visitor less than a week ago. But Sawyer needs me. I walk to the stairwell. “Which floor are you on?” I ask.

“Third.”

JULIAN

Ihang up the phone so she doesn’t hear me huffing and puffing then take the stairs two by two until I get to the third floor. The hallways are filled with students and families, talking, hugging, crying. But she just sits in the corner of the stairwell, all by herself. I reach a hand out and pull her up off the ground then pull her into my chest. I don’t know how to get past this feeling of never wanting to leave this girl by herself again. But every time I show up, it only gets stronger.

“Is there anything you need from your room?” I ask her once she’s calmed down. I look around. No one has seemed to notice me yet, but I’d rather not wear out my welcome. She thinks for a minute.

“My laptop and maybe some clothes. Fuck,” she says. “How am I going to do this? I need to be able to come back here.” I put a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out. One step at a time,” I say. “Give me your badge.” She does. “Wait here.”

I slip down the hallway to the room that matches the number of the key—302. I tap her badge to the reader and step inside, closing the door behind me. I see the desk with a picture of her and Emily on it, and I take the computer from it. I grab a duffel bag from under the bed, opening the dresser and emptying a few drawers into it. When I see her underwear, I freeze. I close my eyes as I palm a handful of them, throwing them into the bag. Then I zip it up and walk back out of the door. I take her hand as I walk by, leading her down the stairs. Then we hurriedly get into the back of the car where Russ is waiting.

“To the apartment, please, Russ,” I say, handing her her things. She looks at me. “One step at a time.”

She’s silent on the ride, staring out over the lights as we finally pull back into Manhattan. She goes to grab her bag as Russ parks in the garage, but I yank it up from the seat before she can grab it. Russ opens her door and helps her out, and then we’re on the elevator back up to my apartment. Where she can breathe. Where I can keep an eye on her.

Where she feels like mine.

Fuck. Why am I letting this happen?

I know this is all just stemming from the trauma of the last week, but I can’t ignore the pull I feel toward her, thinking about how alone she must feel with no family on this side of the country. Her closest friend here was gunned down by a maniac. She had to watch students like herself get blown to shit while she was just trying to get back to her goddamn dorm room.

I’m infuriated all over again just thinking about it. But I don’t have time to dwell on it right now. She needs me.

As we make our way into the apartment, I let Russ know he can lock up and head out. The night guard will switch out with him and post up outside the door. My security team is not one to reckon with, and I’m thankful for them every single day.

Emily has shut down the kitchen, and the penthouse is quiet. I set her bag down on the island and then lead her to the living room. She sits down on the couch, and I fight off a smile as she settles in, looking comfortable. Like she feels safe here.

I grab the remote and press a few buttons, and my eighty-inch television lowers down from the ceiling. I press another button, and the lights dim.

“How about something to drink?” I ask. She looks up at me and raises an eyebrow.

“Do you have beer?” she asks. I smirk.

“Yes, I have beer,” I say, walking to the wine fridge and pulling out two bottles. I pop the tops then walk back to the living room, sitting down next to her. I grab the remote and putCheerson, then I put my feet up on the coffee table.

“So,” I say, casually taking a sip of my beer, “we gonna talk about it, or are we just gonna watch?”

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