Page 80 of Gluttony
The man was different to the one who’d parked her car yesterday. This guy was white, looked about the age of the kids at Hudson House, and had blemishes on his new growth stubble chin. His crooked name tag said Angus.
She smiled at him as she approached the desk. “Hi Angus, I have a car parked here since yesterday.”
“Do you have a ticket?”
“No.” She hid her apprehension and folded her arms when his gaze dropped to her chest. There was no way for her to even pay the man, but perhaps she could bill it. She added, “It’s listed under Nightingale Securities. I lost the ticket yesterday.”
“ID?”
Nowthatshe could do. She pulled out her security license from her pocket. Being on a clip, it was the one thing on her body yesterday that hadn’t disappeared into the sewer. She handed it to the man. While he searched on the computer system, she asked, “Could you bill it to Nightingale?”
He nodded. “It’s all paid.”
“Nightingale paid it?” Wow. Max was onto it.
“Um…” he frowned, scanning the screen. “Cardinal Studios paid.”
“Oh.” She’d not even considered the studio had validated her ticket. Who would have arranged that?
“I’ll be right back,” Angus said as he retrieved her keys from the rack.
Casting a nervous glance down the driveway, she checked on the paparazzi. The group had failed to notice her. Thank God for small mercies.
When Angus drove her car up the driveway, a cold feeling settled in her bones. He got out, slammed his door and sauntered over to her with the keys held out, completely oblivious to the state of her car.
“Um,” she said through gritted teeth, barely containing her anger. “What the fuck happened?”
He gaped at her, and then back to the car.
The word “Slut” had been keyed repetitively into the side panel.
“Wasn’t that there before?”
“Are you insane?” she snapped, voice raising. “Do you think I’d willingly drive around in that thing? No, it wasn’t there before.”
“I… um,” he spluttered.
“How in hell did a car in five-star valet protection get keyed?” She tapped her foot. “I’m waiting.”
He went pale. “I can get my manager.”
“I don’t want you to get your manager. I want you to explain!”
The poor kid took the brunt of her temper. She’d been calmed all day by Tony’s soft words and seductive tongue, but now everything wanted to come out, and he was the focus. She opened her mouth to say more, but noticed the paparazzi coming to attention. One of them squinted at her and slowly raised his camera with the large telescopic lens.
“Never mind,” she growled. “I’ll call the manager later.”
As quickly as her feet could carry her without raising more suspicion, she collected the keys from him and got into the car. She planted her foot on the gas and drove away, hiding her face as she passed the cluster of attentive photographers.
She fumed the entire drive to her apartment, cursing Tony’s stalker—it had to be her—before she finally cooled her jets enough to realize that she’d received a vital clue as to the perpetrator’s identity. The stalker was someone with access to the studio expense account. Must be. If they’d been able to pay her bill and get close to her car, then surely, they were part of the staff. Nobody else would have been allowed to get down to the garage, unless someone asked to check on it.
Once Bailey had returned to her condo, she quickly showered and dressed in a Nightingale Securities uniform. It reassured her to wear the dark, familiar attire. She wasn’t due back at work, but she felt as though, if Tony was going to be out protecting the city, it was the least she could do to find his stalker. She packed an overnight bag with essential items, and maybe a set of lingerie or two, and then headed to her small kitchenette.
Looking around, she took stock. The wooden cupboards and stainless steel appliances were modest, but new. She opened a cupboard. One lone martini glass sat next to a stainless steel cocktail shaker.
The accident that cost her friend’s life happened years ago. So long ago that she’d lived the same amount of years since the accident than before. She was sixteen then, now she was thirty-two. How long was she going to keep this ruse up for? It was time to either accept the fact she’d made her own decisions that fated day and not blame the alcohol, or keep using it as an excuse.
She slumped. Deep down inside, she’d always known the alcohol wasn’t to blame; she was. All these years she had pretended it was the other way around so she could live with herself, but the truth was,shehad made the choice to get drunk.Shehad ignored her intuition to not get into the car whilst intoxicated.Shehad chosen to do as her friend asked, even when she knew it was wrong.
