Page 30 of Christmas of Love

I didn’t do relationships, and I wasn’t about to start now.

What I needed to do was get myself into his apartment, unpack, and read the chapters Millie told me about when she handed me the book. The one thing I knew I needed to do was stay in the loop with this club. I had to stay on top of things, one step ahead of them, or they’d use it to their advantage.

I climbed out of my car and opened the trunk to see my two suitcases and a backpack. I glanced at the elevator across from where I’d parked and debated whether I could make it.

Yeah, I could balance them all.

As I delicately placed the second bag on the first one and looped my arms through the backpack, I heard a man humming a Christmas carol a few cars down.

“Hey, there,” he said, giving a wave. “Need any help with those?”

I scowled. “No. I’m fine. Thanks.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.” His smile widened, and I remembered all those stories about serial killers with good smiles.

“Totally fine, but thanks.” I rolled my bags toward the elevator with Mr. Good Deeds behind me.

As I struggled with the door, he quickly dashed in front of me and opened the door.

“Here, I’ve got that for you.” He grinned as I slid by him with my bags.

“Thanks.”

“Floor?” he asked, standing next to me.

I knew better than to tell strangers where I lived, but he was about to get on the elevator with me. I didn’t need to be weirder than I already had been. Plus, there were plenty of cameras.

“P.”

He whistled. “Big time.”

I tilted my head in confusion. “How so?”

“The penthouse.”

“Oh, right. I didn’t even put two and two together. P, penthouse. Gotcha.”

The elevator dinged, and I rolled right into the carriage.

“So, are you friends with Hunter?” he asked.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

He nodded as I pushed in my code to ride up to P.

“He’s certainly not around much now that he’s not with that woman with dark hair.”

I chuckled. “You mean Brielle?”

He snapped his fingers. “That’s her name.”

“Are you friends with Hunter?” I asked.

“I try to hit up his bar a couple of times a month. Good drinks. Good food. Good company. If that makes us friends, then yes. My name is Dave.”

“Good to meet you, Dave.”

I wasn’t going to give him my name, and thankfully, the elevator opened on his floor just in time.