33. Michael

MICHAEL

C ursing under my breath, I lift my hand and knock on the hollow-sounding door.

I can’t believe she lives here. My Alice. My world. Living in a dangerous, unsecured building like this… no. Not now. Not ever.

I knock again, louder.

It took me way too long to get her address out of my manager. Strictly speaking, he probably broke some sort of law giving it to me. But he knows the deal. If I don’t find Alice, I don’t go to Canada. Simple as that.

But now I’m here, and she’s not answering.

“Alice!” I shout, pounding my fist on the door. There’s no way she can’t hear me. She could probably hear my heartbeat through this shitty door.

The door across the hall opens.

“Hey man, you just missed her,” a sleepy—or stoned—voice says to me.

I turn around, finding my anger torn between the fact that I missed her and that her neighbor looks like he belongs on a professional football team.

Needing the information, I tamp down my jealous irritation. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I mean you missed her. Alice moved out.”

My head jerks back as if the man just struck me. “She moved? Today?”

“Yeah. Well, I guess she’s been moving stuff out for a week or so. She wanted to be done before…” He tilts his head and snaps his fingers a few times. “Wait a minute! You’re the guy! The one she’s obsessed with!”

This is a turn of events I wasn’t expecting.

I hold my hand out. “Mike Kesso.”

He takes it, his handshake firm. “Harrison Danvers.”

“Now, when you say obsessed…” I arch a brow.

Harrison leans against his doorframe. “I mean, she had a photo of you next to her bed and blushed her face off when I asked her about it.” He must see my expression change because he waves me off. “It wasn’t like that. I just offered to help her carry some of her boxes out the other day, and I saw it. Well, saw you .” He snorts.

“So you and her?” I can’t stop myself from asking.

He smirks. “I don’t think I’m her type.”