Page 97 of Puck with Karma
“Okay, good. You’re going to ring the doorbell, and, when he opens the door, you can say,Brandon, you’ve been an asshole to me, your only sister. And I am here to collect.”
I let out a hearty laugh. “It sounds like I’m from the mafia and I’m about to off him. Make him sleep with the fishes.”
“Yes. You have to assert domination,” Hannah explains. “If not, he won’t take you seriously.”
The smile disappears from my face. I feel like no one has ever taken me seriously. My parents just wanted to use me in their quest for power. Laura, my boss at the Cats organization, treated me like I was a little kid despite my degree and eagerness to learn. Xander…
The thought of Xander makes me want to drop to the ground, curl into a ball and cry.
“I wish my life was not this complicated,” I whisper into the phone. “And I wish Xander would call me.”
“You know what, that just shows you that you’re not missing out on anything. If he really cared about you, he’d have been blowing up your phone, girl.”
Hannah goes on a rant about Xander and all the ways he is an asshole. I agree with her, for the most part. What I disagree with, but don’t tell her, is when she says he didn’t care about me. I really think he does. Or he did at the time. But he chose to believe bad things about me. He chose to hurt me instead.
By now, I am once again standing in front of Brandon’s building. I stare at it, waiting for Hannah to finish her tirade in my ear.
I watch as the doorman walks to the back, leaving the front desk unattended. I take that as my sign that I should try and get upstairs to Brandon’s apartment.
“I’m gonna do it,” I whisper into the phone, scared that someone’s going to hear. “Right now,” I make sure to add. “I’ll call you after, okay?”
“Oh my gosh, be careful.” She sounds worried. “If you forget to call me in a few minutes, I’m calling the police!” And I have no doubt she would.
I disconnect the call and walk into the apartment building. I try to look casual and like I belong, like I’ve been coming in like this for my entire life. I am almost past the front desk, when I hear the doorman walking back from around the corner. My own steps echo against the pristine marble floors, making it impossible for him not to know someone is here.
“Excuse me, miss,” he calls out to me. “Who are you here to see?”
I stop and take a deep breath in, remaining with my back at him for a few more seconds until I feel strong enough to speak.
“Hi,” I give him my most charming smile. “I’m here to see Brandon Karlsberg.” I point toward the elevators. “He should be expecting me.”
I’m not exactly lying, I suppose. My brother should expect a sign from the family at some point. It just comes in the shape of, well, me.
The doorman gives me a polite smile, but it is obvious that he doesn’t believe a word from what I just said.
“If you don’t mind waiting,” he picks up the phone on his desk, “I will just call upstairs and ask for Mr. Karlsberg’s permission to let you up there.”
I return his fake smile. “Of course.”
With my stomach in knots and a lot more confidence than I feel, I watch him dialing Bran’s number. He looks down at something on his desk just as I notice the light on the elevator signaling the car is on this floor. All I’d have to do is hit the button, and the doors would open.
I take a small step backward, ready to throw up all over the pristine floor under my feet. Deciding it is now or never, I turn around and walk toward the elevators.
The doorman gets distracted for a second when Bran must be answering the call. I can hear them talking, with the man at the desk in front of me explaining to Bran that he has a visitor.
I turn around and rush toward the closest car from where I was standing.
“Miss,” the doorman calls behind me.
I ignore him and continue walking.
“Miss!”
He picks up his pace, but I do the same. I am so close to the elevators, and I pray that I was right, and that the car really is on this floor. I slap the button, and, as if on cue, the doors slide open, quiet in their motion. I rush in, my hands shaking when I press on the button that closes them, then push the one to Bran’s floor.
The elevator moves way too slow for my liking, crawling its way up. My eyes never leave the panel of buttons to the side, scared that somehow, the doorman will be able to stop it and keep me prisoner inside of it until the police come to haul me to jail.
When the doors open to where I need to be, I feel so weak in the knees, I have to stop and lean against the wall for a few seconds. My stomach is rumbling from the nerves, and I am about to lose it altogether.
