rain looking up at the old Victorian house that had been renovated into a four-unit apartment building, Paige could feel her new red leather pants literally shrinking onto her legs. Already skintight when dry, the pants would probably shut off her blood circulation before long.
She stepped forward to rap on the solid front door again, then peered through the ornate glass sidelight. A doorman sat with his back to her, totally engrossed in a television program on the small set in front of him. She could collapse from lack of blood flow to the brain and he probably wouldn’t even notice her on the doorstep for hours. Not that Paige needed a man to rescue her—not anymore.
Twisting the antique brass knob in her hand, she was surprised to hear it click open. Paige stepped into the foyer, dripping rainwater onto the clean tile floor. The doorman didn’t even flinch at her arrival. His gaze was firmly fixed on the screen that flickered in the gloomy light.
So the place wasn’t exactly a bastion of security. Paige didn’t plan to stay long anyway. But when she saw the program he was watching on television, she almost considered running back out into the downpour and forgetting this whole crazy idea.
She saw herself on the screen trying to escape a tenacious reporter who kept thrusting a microphone under her chin as she tried to hurry down the narrow sidewalk.
“Do you believe in UFO abductions?”
“No,” she said tersely, her eyes straight-ahead as she walked.
“Then how can you explain your fiancé’s sudden disappearance on the day of your wedding? Or the fact that his whereabouts are unknown?”
“No comment,” she clipped, before hastily ducking into a doorway.
The male reporter turned to the camera and spoke in a solemn tone. “One year ago today, this San Francisco woman woke up on her wedding day to discover that her fiancé had mysteriously disappeared. In our special edition of UFO Watch, we will hear why her mother believes aliens may be involved. And discuss why this left-behind bride is afraid to talk. Is the government responsible for silencing her? Or is it simply fear of the aliens that may have absconded with the love of her life?”
The reporter cleared his throat. “This is Cleo Dimont asking you to stay tuned and to always keep an eye on the sky.”
The doorman shook his head as the program went to commercial. “Amazing.”
“Pathetic,” Paige countered, feathering her fingers through her short curls.
The doorman jumped at the sound of her voice, whirling around as he clutched his slim hand to his chest. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that! Especially a person watching a show about alien abductions.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I wasn’t scared,” he countered. “I have black belts in karate and judo. You could have been seriously injured.”
“Too bad you weren’t around when that UFO Watch reporter pounced on me outside my house last week.”
The doorman blinked, looked at the television, then back at Paige. “I don’t believe it! You’re her. You’re the Left-Behind Bride!”
She clenched her teeth at the moniker the show had given her. Not that many people watched it among the hundreds of other local cable shows available. Still, she didn’t like having her private life beamed down from a satellite in the sky for public viewing.
That’s what she called alien abduction.
“My fiancé was not abducted by a UFO,” Paige told the doorman, a story she’d repeated too many times to remember. “He just got cold feet. But that’s not what the reporter wanted to hear.”
The doorman nodded in sympathy. “Reporters can be pests. At least he was cute.”
Paige hadn’t noticed. She’d spent the last year avoiding any man who looked in her direction. But that was about to change. No more hiding from life. From love. It was time to forget about Alex Mack once and for all. To say a final goodbye to the happily ever after fantasy that she’d clung to for far too long.
That’s why she was here tonight.
“I’m looking for Franco Rossi,” she said, aware that a small puddle had formed on the floor around her.
The doorman grinned. “That’s me. You must be here about the apartment.”
Paige nodded, setting down the grocery bag she’d been holding. “I’m Paige Hanover. We spoke yesterday on the telephone.” She didn’t tell him she’d called as soon as she’d seen the For Rent sign in the apartment window.
The timing couldn’t be more perfect. Her mother had called it cosmic fate, though Paige tried not to encourage Margo Weaver’s increasing fascination with extraterrestrial life. It had gotten worse since Paige’s stepfather had disappeared from the Weaver home a year and a half ago. Even Paige had to admit his middle-of-the-night vanishing act was strange. Almost tailor-made for a show like UFO Watch.
Like mother, like daughter.
Only Paige didn’t believe in UFOs, alien abductions, little green men or any of that other nonsense. She cringed at sensationalistic shows like UFO Watch, hating the fact that she was now one of their subjects.
Paige simply believed that she’d picked the wrong man, just like her mother. But that didn’t mean they should give up. Or cling to some ridiculous theory about aliens abducting the men they loved. It was time to face reality.
That’s why she was here tonight. To prove to herself and to her mother that it was a mistake to hold on to the past. Renting this apartment was her first step toward moving into the future.
Even the unusual lease fit Paige’s purpose. It was a time-share, allowing her to use the apartment just two days out of the week—Friday and Saturday. She’d paid the required minimum of one month’s rent, though she’d have no reason to return after tonight. She would consider the extra expense well-spent if it would get Alex Mack out of her head—and her heart—once and for all.
“The place is already furnished,” Franco said, “courtesy of my ex-boyfriend, Marlon. He owns prime real estate all over the country. I lived with him in New York City until we broke up, then I won this apartment in a landmark palimony suit and moved to San Francisco.”
Paige looked around the foyer. “Was working as the building’s doorman part of the agreement?”
Franco smiled. “It’s more of a volunteer position. I’m writing my first screenplay and I thought this would be a great opportunity to meet a lot of different people for character sketches. People like you.”
“So you don’t actually live here?” Paige asked, still somewhat confused.
Franco leaned closer and whispered. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve turned the janitor’s room in the basement into my own little home away from home. It’s absolutely horrid, but writers are supposed to suffer for their craft. And the money I collect from leasing the apartment will help me produce my screenplay.”
At least her rent payment was going to a worthwhile cause. “Well, good luck.”
“Thanks.”
