They didn’t tell me, so someone must have been hurt. My mind starts spiraling, but I force it to stop. I take a few deep breaths before launching into action. I don’t have time to call George, my driver, so I quickly get dressed and run to the garage. I have a couple of cars there just for fun, so I jump into the quickest one. The drive from my place to the office building usually takes ten minutes. I make it in five, breaking a few rules on the way.
When I pull up to the building, it’s still there. Standing. The front road is totally covered by fire trucks and police cars. There’re a lot of gawking people on the streets for such a late hour.
I head straight to the building when one of the cops stops me. “You can’t go in there.”
I’m about to explain why I am going to get to that building no matter what he thinks, when another cop comes up to us, the chief, even though he wasn’t the one who called me. We know each other from a few dinners and galas. When you grow up in a so-called elite society, you come to know people who have some sort of power around town. I like the guy—he’s never bent to my father’s threats from what I remember.
“I got it.” He smacks the man lightly on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. King. Follow me.”
“Is anyone hurt?”
He avoids my question. “This way.”
“Is anyone hurt?”
He sends me a funny look before glancing around. “Let’s talk in private.”
This is suspicious as fuck, and I instantly get a bad feeling about it. Well, another type of bad feeling.
The fire has stopped, and the firefighters walk around, checking everything. The place is a mess.
“This way.” The cop shows inside the coffee shop, which apparently took the majority of the hit.
We go inside, past a few firefighters, into the sitting area or what used to be it. Now, it’s covered in foam and drenched in water.
But there’s something else drenched in water and covered in soot. Someone else. Under all this mess, I see a few strands of pink hair popping out. A female paramedic is standing next to her, trying to press a mask to her face, but she weakly pushes it away.
“What the fuck?” I blink, not believing my eyes. “Is she okay?” I ask the cop, quickly turning to him. The fist around my gut tightens, waiting for the answer.
“Yes,” the chief sighs tiredly. “Paramedics checked her. She’s fine.”
“Why is she here?” I ask him while staring at her.
“This’s a good question. Very good indeed. She was here when the fire started.”
“Here?” I parrot stupidly.
“Yes.” He glances toward the kitchen flooded with foam. “Sleeping in the kitchen.”
“Why the fuck would she be sleeping in the kitchen?”
He points his finger at me like I’ve just won the lottery. “Another good question. And this is why you are here. I think she lives here.” He looks around. “Or used to live here anyway.”
I blink at him, not understanding what he’s saying. Because he’s sure as fuck not saying that this chick has been living in the kitchen of the coffee shop which rents acommercialspace in my fucking building.
I take another look at her and discover, under all the soot, she’s wearing yellowpajamas. Fucking pajamas.
“How did the fire start?” I grit out the question I’m already suspecting an answer to.
“We think she fell asleep while something was in the oven. We don’t know the details yet, but the fire started there. She called 911 when she couldn’t stop it herself.”
“Okay, thank you.” I nod.
The chief looks around before lowering his voice. “We needed you here to know if you wanted to press charges. Maybe it will help with your insurance claim if you have someone to blame.”
I watch how this bane of my existence for the past couple of months places her hands on the table in front of her. Her shoulders are slumped forward. She’s a picture of pure misery. In fact, so colorful I even consider dropping it. The insurance will pay either way.
Until she lifts her eyes and discovers me in the same vicinity. Her whole demeanor instantly changes. Her eyes turn defiant as she clamps her jaw shut. I bet if she could throw me into the fire right now, she would.
