Page 35 of The Arrangement

My anxiety level rises, and my instincts kick in. I want to check for threats and secure the premises. Then I want to get my target out of here.

I rarely fight my instincts. But, today, I must.

The door swings shut in the distance, the sound rattling through the empty lobby. A long hallway extends before me, and another lies to my right. A front staircase splits the middle but is blocked off by yellow caution tape.

I spy a laminated map of the building tacked to the bulletin board by the stairs.

4A. Down the hallway and then up the back stairwell.

My senses heighten as adrenaline pulses through my veins.

Nothing about this feels right—the building, the man with a mustache watching me through an open door on my left, or the fact that I’m showing up to Chloe’s uninvited.

But the idea of Chloe being here feels wrong, too. And that propels me down the hall and up the rickety stairs until I’m standing in front of apartment 4A.

A wreath wrapped with pink flowers and vines hangs in the center of the door. It’s a startling contrast to the surrounding gray walls. It’s so Chloe.

Before I can decide my next move—something I should’ve already done—the door opens, and a woman with short, unnaturally black hair is staring at me.

“Oh.” She looks me up and down. “Who are you?”

Fuck. “I was just, uh …”

“Are ya lookin’ for Chloe?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“Because who else is a man like you coming around here to see?” She chuckles, aiming her head into the apartment. “Heya, Mabel. There’s a man here to see Chloe.”

“A man? What kind of man?” a voice calls from somewhere in the distance.

“A cute one.”

“Well, what are you waiting on, Greta? Send him in.”

“All right. I’m heading out now. See you tomorrow. Call if you need me.” Greta holds the door wide open. “Go on.”

I start to object and blurt out that I am leaving but stop short of it.I’ve come this far. I have to know Chloe and her grandmother are okay.

“Thank you,” I say, slipping by her.

I take a deep breath and assess the situation. A picture of Chloe is on a little table beside the door. In it, she sits next to two women and wears a happy, carefree smile.

“I’m in here,” a woman’s voice calls from around the corner.

Here goes nothing.

My heart pounds, at war with my brain, as I slide farther into Chloe’s space.

There is no going back now.

“Well, look at you.” A woman sits in a brown recliner with a quilt over her lap and a book of crossword puzzles in her hand. Her purple shirt matches the bruise on her head.The infamous Mimi.“Have a seat.”

She motions toward a sofa, so that’s where I sit.

“I’m Jason Brewer, Chloe’s boss. I apologize if I’m interrupting.”

“I know who you are. I’ve heard much about you and seen your picture a few times.” She grins. “I’m Chloe’s Mimi, and you’re not interrupting anything. You saved me from Greta. She just drones on and on about her grandson and my granddaughter.” She rolls her eyes. “That coupling will happen over my dead body.”