-MIA-
After spending two days at my mom’s, I went back to Asher’s penthouse.
I wanted to stay longer—especially with the apartment owner out of town—but it was already midweek, and I needed to practice for Saturday’s presentation. Of course, my mom didn’t own a piano. I’m not sure anyone in our old neighborhood did.
After Jake dropped me off in the Upper East Side, I slid my key into the door and stepped inside.
Instead of soft pink and cream hues, I was greeted by a brown leather couch against a dark blue accent wall. No gold-trimmed furniture. Just dark wood and black everything.
Fudge. I’d stopped on the wrong floor.
But… how? My key worked on a heavily secured door.
These people sell safety and manufacture keys that open every apartment? That’s fantastic.
I spun on my heels and
