Page 34 of The Arrangement

So why is Chloe?

The buildings on both sides of the road have seen better days. Chain-link fences separate lots and grass and weeds run rampant through broken sidewalks. Litter and debris have accumulated in dusty front lawns and empty spaces between complexes.

Heads turn as I crawl through the neighborhood, searching for address numbers on the buildings. Most have no numbers at all. Some have a few. But only one building—8901—has all four.

Even if I didn’t recognize it as the infamous Pliny Building, the faded block letters on the top, minus half of theL, would be my first clue.

“You have reached your destination,” the car chirps as I stop in front of the large brick structure.

“Hey, fucker. Move it or lose it,” a man shouts from the sidewalk. He holds his arms to the sides of his dingy white tank top as if he owns the space.

I hold up a hand in a semblance of a wave and press down the street.

My jaw clenches, and I rub it absentmindedly while taking in the neighborhood. Every block, every turn, is more of the same. Car alarms. Windowless buildings. Doors boarded with plywood and covered in spray paint.

Logic says to return to the expressway and head to the Brewer Group for my meeting with Gannon. I’m already behind schedule, and there’s work to be done. Instead, I whip a left and circle the block, finding a parking spot a short distance from Chloe’s building.

Chloe’s building.

Why in the world does she live here?

I rack my brain, wondering how much we pay her. Surely, it’s enough that she doesn’t have to live in this neighborhood. If it’s not, I just added another task to my to-do list.Pay people better.

I grab my phone and leave Gannon a message. “Hey, it’s Jason. I’m not going to make it over there this morning. Something came up. Have your assistant send me notes, and I’ll respond by the end of the day. Thanks.”

My breath is measured as I stare at the building. I give myself a final chance to back out. But even as I consider it, I know my decision’s already made.

I must make sure she’s okay.

Warm air hits my flesh as I step out of the car. I press the remote on my keychain, and the lock's beep catches the attention of a small group of men gathered around the back of a blue pickup truck. They cast glances at me and then at my vehicle as I pass.

Please don’t be ballsy enough to try to break into my car. I don’t want to kick your asses today.

I make eye contact as I walk by, giving them the slightest nod. It’s enough to acknowledge their presence and not enough to warrant a conversation. The look should be sufficiently pointed to keep them from getting too bold while I’m gone.

I’m bold enough for all of us, it seems.

What am I doing? I have enough problems on my hands. I need to get out of here.

Yet, I keep walking toward the Pliny Building.

My jaw sets as I correct myself.

I’m not walking toward the Pliny Building. I’m walking toward Chloe … because there isn’t any other choice.

Chapter 9

Jason

Despite its bleakness, the Pliny Building is a sensory overload.

Whiffs of stale cigarettes and burnt food overtake me as I enter the foyer. Canned sitcom laughter pours through the walls, drowning out the meows of the cat darting through my legs. Trash spills onto the floor from the bin in the corner.

I stand in a mixture of shock and awe at my surroundings—and at the fact that Chloe lives here.

This isn’t safe.

What the actual fuck?