Chapter 4 4

Her dorm room was a disaster zone of cardboard boxes.

"So you're really doing it?"

Sarah, her roommate, was leaning against the doorframe. Her voice dripped with fake pity. "Marrying the loan shark? Congrats, Amelie. Aim low, shoot lower."

She ignored her. She was taping a box of textbooks.

There was a knock on the door. Sharp. Three raps.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Probably the RA."

She opened the door. She froze.

Campbell filled the doorway. He had taken off his jacket. His dress shirt was rolled up to the elbows. His forearms were corded with muscle.

Sarah's mouth opened. "Who are you?"

"I'm here for my wife."

He stepped past her. He didn't even look at her. He walked straight to her.

Her face heated up. His wife. It sounded heavy. Real.

"Is this it?" he asked, gesturing to the two battered suitcases and three boxes.

She nodded: "I'm leaving the furniture."

He lifted two boxes as if they were filled with feathers.

Sarah was staring. Her eyes were wide, hungry. "Amelie, you hired a mover?"

Campbell stopped. He turned slowly.

"I'm her husband," he said. His voice was polite, but his eyes were ice. "And by the way, the three months of rent you owe her? Transfer it by tonight. Or my lawyer will be in touch."

Sarah went pale.

She looked at Campbell, shocked. She had never told him about the rent.

They walked down to the car. She asked: "How did you know about the rent?"

He paused while loading the trunk. "She looked guilty. Just a guess."

She nodded. He was smart. Street smart.

They got in the car. She looked at the marriage license again.

"Dunlap," she whispered. "Like the family that built the library."

He started the engine. "Common name. Like Smith."

"But your first name is Campbell. Like the CEO."

"My parents were ambitious," he said smoothly. "They named me after him. Hoped some of the money would rub off. It's a lot of pressure to live up to."

She smiled. It was a sad, funny story. It made him human.

They drove to the Upper East Side. The buildings got taller, the doormen more frequent. He pulled up to a pre-war limestone building that screamed old money.

A doorman rushed forward. He saw Campbell. He almost saluted.

Campbell lowered the window. He gave the man a look. A sharp, cutting glance.

"Welcome back, Mr. C," the doorman said. "Just... Mr. C."

"Rent must be insane here," she typed.

"Company housing," Campbell said. "Perk of the job."

They took the elevator. There were only two buttons. Lobby and Penthouse.

"We're going to the penthouse?"

"It's subdivided," he said quickly. "Into small units. I just rent one of the rooms."

The doors opened.

Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. Minimalist furniture that looked like art.

She gasped. "This is a 'small unit'?"

"It's... efficient," he said.