Free Bartered Betrayal - The Billionaire's Wife 08 by Ava Lore Page A

about to explain myself to Mrs. Andersen. She could just go on believing I was the worst neighbor in the world. And I probably was. I'd had the audacity to come back after moving out and leaving her with peace and quiet.  The fact that I was going to be staying—given that I could get in, of course—would probably put a huge crimp in her day. Night. Whatever.
    She fixed me with her beady old-lady eyes. “That's why you're bawling?” she said.
    I nodded. “Yup.” I sniffled and settled back against the door again, just to let her know that I was Very Sad and Not Planning on Being Sad Elsewhere, so she had Better Get Used To It.
    “Well, call the landlord!”
    I'd neglected to take my phone with me as well, and told her so.
    She sighed again and slammed her door. I pulled my knees up to my chest and put my cheek on them, trying to get back in the crying groove. I may hate crying, but getting interrupted when you're having a good cry is the worst. I'd had a good head of steam going, probably on the brink of losing my mind with sorrow and rending my clothes, and now I'd been cut off at the pass. I shivered in the cold hallway and closed my eyes, exhaustion sweeping over me.
    Mrs. Andersen opened her door again and it was my turn to sigh with exasperation, but before I could passive-aggressively comment on how I wanted to be alone with my grief, thank you, she stomped over to me.
    “Get up,” she ordered. “Stop sniveling.”
    Ouch, I thought. For a moment I thought about not doing it, but then I realized that since I had no plans, going along with whatever Mrs. Andersen had in mind was probably a net gain in forward momentum. I could use a little push. Crying wasn't going to help anything, except maybe my mental health, and who needed that?
    I stood.
    Mrs. Andersen stepped forward, clearly ready to do battle with something, and shoved me out of the way none-too-gently.
    "Hey!"
    "You want to get into your apartment or not?" she asked me, her voice clipped. Then she squatted down in front of the door, her old knees creaking, and stuck two lock-picks in my door.
    My jaw dropped open. "What are you doing?" I said.
    "Picking your lock, what does it look like?" she said as if I were stupid. She jiggled the picks, turning and fiddling. I don't know. I'm not a master criminal. But she certainly looked like she knew what she was doing.
    "I..." I stared at her. "I didn't know you knew how to pick locks."
    "Very valuable skill," she said. "You should learn a valuable skill yourself."
    Ouch, I thought again. "I have a couple," I said.
    She snorted at that. "Sure. So what are you really crying about? Your pervert husband spank you too hard?"
    My face flared. Of course she would know about that. Everyone knew about that. She was just the only person I knew who would be so gauche as to say something about it to my face. "No," I said. "He..."
    "Cheated?"
    "No. He broke my trust, though."
    Mrs. Andersen made a very expressive sound. "Of course he did," she said. "That's the way of men."
    I sighed. I didn't need life lessons from a woman who once told me to cough more quietly when I'd come down with bronchitis.
    "Well, you wanna work it out with him?" she asked.
    "I don't know yet," I answered truthfully. "I came home to think."
    "Good luck with that," she said, and then something made a little sproing noise and she pulled herself to her feet. "There," she said. "Should be open now."
    I reached out and turned the knob. The door swung open and the old, comforting smell of mold and dust and clay brushed against my face.
    "Ugh," Mrs. Andersen said. "Figure it out soon, your place stinks."
    "Thanks," I said. She just hrmphed at me and tottered back to her apartment, slamming the door behind her.
    What a peculiar old woman, I thought, and went inside.
    In the dark, the place was stripped and empty except for the old mattresses that I'd been using as my bed—now without linens—and my sculptures and tools, now just hulking shadows in the