Page 30 of Anti-Player

Chapter Nine

Paige

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I look at my phoneto confirm I'm at the right address. Most of the buildings downtown are forgettable mirrors of each other. Hulking towers of stone that I can't afford to live in, so I ignore them when I drive by. This one has big metal numbers braced into the wall at the bottom of the short stairs to the glass front doors.

Gotta be it, I think, tucking my phone away. A gust of wind that smells like the ocean throws my tied-back hair around my face. I brush it from my eyes, wishing I'd dressed in something a bit warmer. It's oddly chilly today, and being near the beach makes it worse.

There's a button beside the doors; I press it until it buzzes. The speaker near my head crackles, then instructs me to type the address of who I'm visiting. Mikel had told me it was 255. When I let go of the last number, the speaker beeps, then the dial tone vanishes.

“Hello?” a clean, frazzled, definitely female voice asks.

I stumble. “Uh, hi?”

“Who is this?”

“It's... I'm friends with Mikel Hause, do I have the wrong address?”

“Hang on—” there's some more crackling, and just as I debate turning and walking away with a thousand questions in my head about if I'd just called a random floor or why Mikel would have another girl in his home—the glass doors squeal, unlocking.

Considering my options, I make fists at my sides, gather my courage, and push into the building's lobby. There are walls of lock-boxes for mail, massive green plants in terracotta pots that extend over my head, and a glossy black and blue patterned floor lit by a skylight.

There's also a man at a desk who catches my eye pointedly. Security, I figure, approaching him. “Hi,” I begin nervously.

“Afternoon,” he says, tapping a paper book. “Just write your name down here and who you're visiting.”

“Why?” I ask.

He does a double-take. “Why?”

“Yeah, why do people do that? What about privacy laws and stuff?”

Sputtering, the man stands from his chair, his shiny face going purple as a beet. “Excuse me, Miss! But we have many important people living in the Rometto, and it's my job to keep a list in case something goes wrong! Now sign, please!”

I scribble my name next to the date, time, and then add Mikel at the end. I also take the chance to scroll the other names that have signed in recently. Part of me wonders if there are some celebrities living here, because if I could afford a personal security set-up like this, with my mini-level of fame, I sure would.

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