Page 29 of Jaked

"I am not!" I said.

Trey returned his gaze to the keyboard. "Yeah, right."

I sank down in my seat. "I give up," I said.

Out my car window, I watched as our surroundings changed with virtually every block, sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better. Soon, we were travelling the outskirts of downtown Detroit.

"Don't tell me we're going to Detroit," I said.

"Yup," Jake said.

"Why there?" I asked.

"Because," he said, "it's where I live."

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. From what I'd seen with my own eyes, some parts of the city were on a definite upswing. Others, not so much. Since graduating from college, I'd been mostly living in the suburbs, sometimes one city, sometimes another, but never right downtown.

The nice areas were way too pricey, and the not-so-nice areas made Maddie's apartment look like a slice of heaven.

Before I knew it, we were pulling up to a stately building, maybe twenty stories high. I glanced around. Surprisingly, the area looked pretty nice. Too nice.

"Why are we stopping?" I asked.

"Because this," Jake said, flicking his head toward the nearby building, "is home."

"Really?"

His voice was deadpan. "Don't look so surprised."

We were parked in a circular turnaround near a pair of double-glass doors. In front of those doors stood a uniformed doorman.

Jake pushed open the driver's side door. "Come on," he said.

I glanced at his shirt, still a bloody, torn mess. Sometime during the drive, the blood stains had changed from a vivid red to a dull brown. Was it an improvement? I wasn't sure.

I glanced down at my own clothes. They were clean, but I still looked ridiculous. The shirt was huge, my skirt was tiny, and I was still wearing those stupid high heels. Reluctantly, I pushed open my door and stepped out, shivering in the cool morning air.

Trey climbed out of the back and into the driver's seat.

"Aren't you coming with us?" I asked.

Trey glanced at Jake.

"Nope," Jake said. "He's gonna park the car, and then he's gonna head to the office. Right?"

Trey nodded. "Right."

A moment later, Trey drove off, leaving me and Jake standing alone, except for the doorman, who said, "Welcome home, Mister Bishop."

I turned to Jake. "MisterBishop?"

"I've been called worse," Jake said.

I heard myself laugh. It was true. Hehadbeen called worse. Recently, in fact.

As the doormen held the door, Jake and I walked past him, entering an ornate lobby with high ceilings and clusters of expensive-looking furniture, artfully arranged into semi-private seating areas.

"What is this place?' I asked.