Page 57 of A Little Too Late
Luckily, he’s not in a talkative mood. I follow his quick footsteps toward the front doors, where he asks Hardy to bring the car around. Then we reverse course and walk back toward the office wing.
“It’s really nice of you to lend them your car,” I say as we fall into step beside each other. “I don’t know why they’d want to go all the way to Denver for dinner, anyway.”
“Neither do I,” Reed says darkly. “But I intend to find out.”
“Wait.” I skid to a halt on the slate tiles in front of the office. “What do you mean? What are you up to?”
“I think these guys lie,” Reed says. “But maybe they’ll prove me wrong.”
“How will they do that?” I press.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, his dark eyes meeting mine. “Fuck, don’t answer that. Just please unlock the door. I promise to explain, but I’m in a hurry, here.”
We’re locked in a stare down, and my heart gives an unwelcome shimmy. He’s standing so close to me that I can smell his aftershave. I can sense the heat of his body through his cotton shirt.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. But every time Reed and I are near each other, I lose my head a little more.
With my skittish heart pounding, I unlock the door.
CHAPTER 22
YOU CONTROL THIS THING?
REED
As soon as Ava unlocks the offices, I pass her desk and enter my father’s office.
She follows me. “What could you possibly need in here?”
I don’t answer the question. Not yet, anyway. Dad’s laptop is on his desk, and on its underside, I find one of those stick-on tracking devices that help people retrieve lost items. I wedge my thumbnail under the tile-shaped tracker and peel it off the metal surface.
“Reed! What are you doing?”
“You control this thing, right?”
“I maintain the account, if that’s what you’re asking. But don’t steal that, Reed. We need that thing.”
“I’m not stealing it, I’m borrowing it. You’ll have it back tomorrow. Thanks,” I say as if it’s settled.
“Reed! Are you going to explain? I’m worried.”
“You’ll see. I just need to keep track of something. Will this thing run out of batteries?”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “Probably not.”
“Awesome.” I slip it into my pocket and head for the lobby.
“Hey, wait up,” she says.
“Let me just take care of this?” I beg. “I don’t want to implicate you.”
“What?” Ava hurries after me, as I feared she would. “Reed, you’re scaring me.”
“Don’t be scared.” I catch her hand in mine. “Hey, look at this crowd.” The lobby is filling up with travelers in ski jackets, snow in their hair. It’s Friday night on opening weekend, and the air that blows through the lobby doors smells like snow.
I’d forgotten this buzz of excitement that happens when the season begins. The hum of anticipation used to send me off to sharpen my skis on the workbench in the ski shop. The place would be full of seasonal workers tuning up the rental skis, blasting music, and arguing about whose turn it was to pay for beer.
Pushing those memories aside, I look for the bellhop who’d taken my keys. He’s not back yet. He must still be fetching my car or parking someone else’s.
