Chapter 7

The September wind whipped against Kathern's jacket as she navigated the scooter through the thick city traffic. The cold air seeped through the denim, making her shiver.

Half an hour later, she pulled into the parking lot of the Maplewood Complex. She parked the scooter in the designated spot for Building B.

She unhooked the bungee cords, grabbed the handle of the heavy suitcase, and dragged it across the asphalt toward the glass entrance doors.

She swiped her card, stepped into the elevator, and watched the digital numbers tick upward. With every floor, the hollow feeling in her stomach grew heavier.

She stepped out on the eighth floor and unlocked door 802.

The apartment was exactly as dead and silent as she had left it. The fresh air from the open window had cleared the stale smell, but the emptiness of the rooms echoed loudly in her ears.

Kathern dragged the suitcase into the master bedroom. She unzipped it and started pulling her clothes out. Since there was no closet or dresser, she carefully folded her jeans and shirts into neat stacks on the corner of the bare mattress.

When the suitcase was empty, she walked out into the kitchen. She stared at the completely bare countertops.

Her stomach let out a loud, aggressive growl.

Kathern pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the time. It was exactly 6:00 PM.

She realized she hadn't established any basic ground rules with her new roommate. She didn't know if he expected her to cook, or if he was bringing food home.

Deciding to take the high road and be polite, she opened her contacts and tapped on the ten-digit number Bronson had given her.

She typed out a quick message: "Mr. Bronson, it's Kathern. Are you coming home for dinner tonight? Do you need me to buy anything?"

She hit send. A green text bubble popped up on the screen.

Kathern tossed the phone onto the mattress and walked toward the bathroom to wash the city grime off her face.

She had barely taken two steps when the phone vibrated loudly against the bedsprings. Thinking he had replied quickly, she turned around and picked it up.

She looked at the screen. Below her green bubble was a line of bright red text.

Message Not Delivered. You have been blocked by this number.

Kathern froze. She blinked hard and rubbed her eyes, staring at the red letters to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.

A sudden, violent spike of anger shot straight from her stomach to her brain.

She gripped the phone tightly and threw it violently onto the soft mattress. It bounced once and landed face down.

She put her hands on her hips and started pacing rapidly across the empty bedroom floor. Her breathing grew heavy.

"Unbelievable," Kathern muttered out loud, her voice echoing off the bare walls. "What an absolute jerk."

She had tried to be civil. She had tried to treat this business arrangement with basic human decency, and he had treated her like a piece of trash to be discarded.

She stopped pacing. She glared at the phone. She wasn't going to just sit here and swallow this insult.

She walked over, picked up the phone, and scrolled through her contacts until she found Eleanor's number. She hesitated for a split second, feeling bad about dragging an old woman into this, but the anger burning in her chest pushed her thumb down on the call button.

The phone rang three times before Eleanor picked up.

"Kathern? How is the new place?" Eleanor asked warmly.

Kathern took a breath. She forced her voice to sound small and slightly hurt.

"The apartment is fine, Grandma," Kathern said. "But... I just tried to text Bronson to ask if he has any food allergies so I could make dinner, and the message bounced back. I think he blocked my number."

Dead silence fell over the line.

Then, a loud, furious gasp echoed through the speaker.

"He did WHAT?" Eleanor roared, her voice shaking with rage. "That ungrateful, arrogant boy! I am so sorry, Kathern. I will handle this right now."

"It's okay," Kathern said, injecting a tone of sweet understanding into her voice. "He's probably just really busy at work and pressed the wrong button."

"I'll teach him about pressing the wrong button," Eleanor snapped. "Give me five minutes."

The line went dead.

Kathern lowered the phone. The corners of her mouth curled up into a sharp, satisfied smirk. Let the arrogant corporate drone deal with that.