ELENA
"She's downstairs."
I turned around. Dom was in the office doorway with his phone still in his hand and the expression of a man who had just received information he did not have time to process.
"Who's downstairs?"
"My grandmother." He looked at me. "She's in the lobby. She says her doctor told her she shouldn't make the trip back to her townhouse tonight and she's staying here."
I stared at him. "She called you from the lobby?"
"She called me from the car before she left her dinner. She is currently in the lobby."
"She planned this," I said.
"Almost certainly."
"Dom. She planned this. There's only one bedroom situation that means anything for—"
"I know," he said.
We looked at each other.
There were two bedrooms in the penthouse. The guest room, which was mine, and the ma
