“Okay,” I add, unsure what this has to do with anything. “But you’re exhausted so just lie down for a minute. You look like you might pass out.” I drag her into the comforter and wrap it over her, tucking in like my nanny did when I was little. “Just a few minutes and then we’ll go out there and have some pizza and clean it up.”
“Okay,” she sniffles and covers her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I can’t stop crying. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Well, you’re hungover and maybe drunk again. And we didn’t really sleep last night. Then you moved and you’re tired and probably hungry. I’m an asshole when I’m hungry. My grandpa got me a shirt that says, ‘I’m sorry for what I said when I was hungry’ for my tenth birthday.” I chuckle at the memory, making her laugh but it’s weak. I stroke her head and kiss her forehead. “I promise, I’ll make it all better.”
“Mmmkay.” She nods and makes a funny sound.
I hold her until her breath is even and I’m pretty sure she’s sleeping.
Like a complete stalker, I watch her and realize, as weird as this is, I don’t want to be anywhere else. In fact, I want to fix this problem.
The cold reality of Bev and Brady’s mocking reminds me I don’t know what to do.
This is the sort of problem I throw money at, which gives me an idea.
Gently, I pull my phone from my pocket without making a sound, sending a text to Millie and cringing when I see it’s eight at night. She will not appreciate the text, but I need her help and I honestly don’t know who else to ask.
911! I need like ten women just like you to unpack an apartment, ASAP! Can you think of someone? I’ll pay whatever they want to come here now and do this job in the next fifteen minutes.
The message delivers and within seconds she’s texting back. Like all old people, she texts for a whole minute but all she sends is a single word.
Address?
I send her the address and slip from the bed carefully, ensuring Jenny is tucked in. I close the blinds in her room and close the door, leaving her in the fairly dark room.
Turning around, I take it all in. It’s a shitshow. I should have asked for twenty people. I grab the phone on the wall and call the concierge.
“Good evening, Ms. Snowdon. Eric here. How can I help?”
“Hi, Eric, this is Lori—Lawrence Eckelston. There’s a group of people coming to help with the unpacking. They’re going to arrive in about fifteen. Can you ensure they make their way up here and tell them they need to be silent?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Eckelston.”
“Thanks.” I hang up and take a snoop around the apartment. It’s the size of my gym but for some reason it suits her. The view of the park is pretty good considering it’s a street back. As I suspected, the champagne bottle is empty and one glass is dirty.
Wishing I’d simply come here hours ago instead of sending the stupid neighbor note, I feel responsible for her state. I grab a slice of pizza and eat it over a paper plate.
I have no idea how they’ll have this all done before she goes to work. It looks endless.
Eventually, a knock at the door interrupts my scattered thoughts.
I hurry over and answer, smiling at Millie with nine other people who remind me of her. Efficient and stern.
“I owe you something incredible at Christmas, remind me of that,” I whisper.
“Why are we whispering?” She doesn’t enter and the people behind her don’t move.
“The girl whose place it is fell asleep. She’s exhausted and stressed. I think the move was sprung on her. I want this to be done so she can wake up and go to work and not worry.”
Millie’s eyes narrow. “Really?”
“Okay, she’s hot and I sent her a bottle of champagne and she drank it, and now she’s passed out and her apartment isn’t unpacked at all and it’s possibly my fault,” I say with a grin and Millie nods.
“What kind of person is she?” a guy in the back asks. “Besides hot.”
“Canadian. Hardworking, she’s a PR rep. She was Team Canada for hockey and has two gold medals. She plays drums and seems like a tense shouter until you get to know her. I think she’s a bit of a control freak, like an assassin who has fun but on their terms.”
“Really?” Millie’s eyebrows lift.
“Anyway, the place is a shitshow. And I don’t know what to do.”
“That’s okay,” Millie says and walks in. “Enrique and his team are the very best at what they do.” She leads them inside. “They were in the neighborhood with a job that doesn’t have such a time limit. I told them you’d pay double time.”
“Yeah, whatever it takes.”
“This is cute,” one of the ladies notes as she takes in the mess.
“That’s her bedroom. We should do that last and let her sleep. She doesn’t seem like one of those people who wants help.” I motion my head at the door.
“You go stand outside.” The guy points at the balcony. “And take the pizza and beer with you.”
“Okay.” I give Millie a look before grabbing the food and carrying it to the balcony. She follows me outside.
“So who is she?”
“Girl from the wedding,” I admit easily. Millie has seen worse, by far.
“A girl from a wedding who you have known for a couple of days? Who you’re already paying professional unpackers to take care of?”
“It sounds crazy and I’m pretty sure it is, but I like her. And I have a weird feeling something bad is going on behind the scenes; she’s not a crier, I don’t think. Which also makes me think I’ve walked in right in the middle of the storm. But she’s good, ya know?”
“I do.” Millie’s stare suggests she might be hinting that I’m good, which makes me uncomfortable.
“Pizza?”
“Yes, since