He Will be My Ruin

“You just moaned the old lady’s name.”

“Oh, God! Ruby!” he moans again with exaggeration.

I can’t help but laugh. It helps me let go of a bit of the anger I’ve been holding inside. “What’s the story with her, anyway? How can she even afford a place like this at her age? She can’t be making very much.” How could Celine afford it, for that matter? I found a raise letter in her work documents, announcing that she was getting bumped to forty thousand dollars a year. At $40K, she’d have little money for anything but rent in this neighborhood. I guess that would be another reason for her to start selling her prized possessions.

He slips the joint from my fingertips with a wink. “It’s called ‘rent control.’ Ruby moved into her apartment in the seventies.” Rings of smoke float up into the night sky as Grady’s jaw works to puff them out. “If people around here knew how little she was paying, they’d revolt. But don’t say anything because these cookies are fucking dynamite and we won’t have anything to eat while we get high up here if she cuts us off.”

I chuckle. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. This is a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of night for me.”

“Of course. Same here.” He smirks, like he doesn’t believe me. “They’ll never taste better than they will right now.”

I grab one and take a bite. And moan just like Grady, as the buttery cookie melts in my mouth, hints of curry and parmesan sparking my taste buds.

He nudges my leg with his. “See?”

“You’re right, this is the best damn shortbread I’ve ever had. And it’s not just because I’m high.”

“She makes a batch every week. Right around the time that her kitchen drain gets clogged or a screw somehow goes missing from her cabinet hinges.”

“You think it’s a ploy to get the strapping young super into her apartment?”

He smiles, scratching at the light stubble along his jawline. “The screwdriver she uses to take them out is usually sitting on the counter.”

For some reason—because I’m high—I find that hysterically funny and I burst out in a fit of giggles.

“You have a nice laugh,” Grady says through his own chuckles. “Did she tell you what she used to do for a living?”

“No, but if I had to guess, I’d say part-time librarian, full-time hoarder.”

“Close. Ask her next time you see her.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “It’s pretty cool.”

I roll my head to face him. “You know, you’re pretty cool, Grady.”

Golden eyes, more hazel than green and richer than before, stare back at me from only inches away. “This is out,” he finally says, taking one last haul off the roach until the tiny spark dies. Leaning over until his upper body weight presses against my chest, he flicks the evidence into the fire.

I hold my breath as he shifts back to lie next to me, adjusting the thick wool blanket that traps our body heat as if he has no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. “Warm enough?”

“Warm enough.” Staring up at the sky where I know stars blanket us, though I can’t see them beyond the city lights, I silently thank the little old lady for steering me to the roof tonight. I needed this escape. And some human connection.

The question is, what should I do tomorrow? What can I do besides sell a thousand-plus antiques and slowly dismantle all that was Celine’s life?

I know what I’m inevitably going to do. Dwell on the tiny voice in the back of my mind that tells me something isn’t right here.

If Celine was dating Jace Everett, why keep it secret?

Maybe it’s like Dani said—maybe Jace didn’t want to bring a lowly administrative assistant home to meet his governor dad. Or maybe the issue wasn’t her day job. Maybe it was something else. Something he won’t want to admit to.

“I need some advice, Grady, and I have no one else to ask.”

“Shoot.”

“If you needed answers and the only person to give those to you was a person you didn’t know, had never met, and who might not like the questions you have to ask, what would you do?”

He twists his lips in thought. “I’d create a situation to meet this person and make it hard for them to refuse me.”

Simple in theory . . . “But how?”

He exhales heavily, his warm breath grazing my cheek telling me that he’s facing me. “Find common ground. A location, a purpose, an acquaintance. Force the meet and then work your questions around the real ones that you want to ask. You can get a lot of information out of a person just by treading too close to what they don’t want to talk about. The look in their eye, their facial expressions, the way they react to the mention of a name, or a place.”

Grady seems more intelligent than what I’d expect of a pot-smoking building super. “You sound like you’ve been in my situation before.”

“Once or twice. Maybe.” I hear the smile in his voice.

Find common ground. Force the meet. The only common ground I have with this guy is now six feet underground in a San Diego cemetery.

Unless . . .

There is something that we’re both very familiar with.

I pull out my phone and scroll through my emails to find the one with her phone number. I know this is beyond inappropriate, but once I get something in my head, there’s no dislodging it. Plus, I’m high.

“Hello?”

“Hey Dani. It’s Maggie Sparkes.”

“Hi . . . Is everything okay?” She definitely sounds shocked to hear from me.

Grady watches me quietly. “I’m sorry to be calling so late. You know how you offered help with anything I needed? Well, I need a favor.” I hesitate. “I need a meeting with Jace Everett.”

CHAPTER 7

Maggie

December 2, 2015

I step into the building, taking a second to smooth the skirt down over my hips once more.

“Wow. You look . . .” Dani’s sapphire eyes skim me from head to toe, stalling first on my freshly cut and styled hair and then on the coating of mascara and liner rimming my eyes. “. . . different.”

I do look different from yesterday. Almost unrecognizable, actually. That was my full intention when I finagled an eight a.m. appointment with my mother’s New York stylist—after a call from my mother to him at midnight, while I was still curled up next to Grady—and told them to make me look good.