THE CHECKUP II

THE CHECKUP II
Angel's Pov

I take a deep breath, attempting to wrestle my thoughts under control. My mind has made a simple knock so sinister that I feel like I should open the door with a knife.

Again, it's fine. Nothing can happen to me. Hank is here. Plus they can't get me out of the building without drawing attention even if they subdue him. It would be stupid to try.

“Angel? Is something wrong? You're not going to get that?”

“Yes. Yes I will,” I say, determined. I walk over to the door and fling it, my face set.

There's two people standing there, both in tailored clothes. The woman, her hair in a high puff, is at the front and she smiles at me widely. “Miss Angel?”

Oh thank goodness. They don't look like kidnappers. “Yes?”

“I’m Meryl. Mr Andrew Hills sent us to help you decorate your home.”

Oh? There's more? “Alright then, thank you! Come in,” I say, waving them in.

They walk in and Meryl looks around. I can see her immediately catalogue my apartment. “I'd offer you a seat but my apologies, you haven't brought them yet,” I quip, grinning.

Meryl laughs, a deep rich sound which eclipses the man's hearty chuckle. She still has a residual smile on her face when she speaks again, “That's okay honey, thank you.”

Hank drops the vase by the kitchen window and walks out, a question in his eyes. “Greg,” Meryl says, gesturing to me. The man seems to activate, reaching into his bag, stepping up and presenting me with a tablet in one fluid movement.

I feel Hank put a hand on my shoulder as she starts talking. “Here, we’ve come up with several possibilities for your space. All you need to do is go over them and we'll take care of the rest.”

“Oh, okay yeah.”

I take the tablet from him and flick through. I want to make a decision quickly. It would be nice to have chairs, to not keep other people that come to see me standing so I don't overthink it.

I stop at the first setup I see that looks good, that catches my eye enough to make me pause. Spending a few more seconds envisioning it around me, I nod once and turn the screen around and show to them what I picked. “This one.”

“Very good,” the woman beams, and I feel pleased, although I have a feeling she would have said that about any of them I chose.

I hand the tablet back to Greg and the woman taps on the screen a little. When she turns it to me again, it shows a simple contract which makes them my interior design team.

Greg hands me a pen and I assume that I'm supposed to use it to sign on the face of the iPad since they didn't give me any paper.

Hoping I don't look stupid, I gently place the pen’s nib against the screen. It makes a mark. A blow out an inaudible breath. I assumed right.

I sign and hand it back to them. “Thank you, we'll begin immediately.”

They disperse off to opposite ends of the room, bringing out measuring tapes from their pockets and get to work.

I hear Hank make a sound above my head and I turn to him. Does he want to say something? “Yeah?”

“Hills? Angel Hills? That's your surname.”

“Yeah,” I say beaming, “I was in the market for a temporary one.”

“So you're not related to Andrew? Like a sister or a cousin? He just gave you his surname?” he asks, almost incredulous.

I nod. “Until I find out mine, I assume.”

I watch him roll around that information in his head and he settles on a conclusion, although one I can't decipher. “Angel,” he says, grasping my hand. “If there's anything you need—”

My attention is yanked away by the loud knock on the door. The anxiety flares up in my chest again but at this point I think I'm expecting it to be something from Andrew again more than someone here to steal me away.

“Angel.”

I tune back to Hank's worried eyes. Why is he worried? Nothing's wrong. “Do you hear me?

“Yes, Hank. I hear you. I'll tell you if I need anything,” I repeat.

“Okay.”

Dismissed, I flounce over to the door, my hands falling away from his. I open it, peeking out.

I blink, my lips folding inward to try and stop my smile. There's a man standing there, holding a fluffy pink stuffed dog, as big as from my head down to my waist. It's so cute!

“Mrs Angel Hills?” the man calls, his voice muffled from behind the bear.

Did he say Mrs? I don't know, I'm not sure. “Um, yes that's me!”

“This is for you then. From Mr Hills. Here,” he says, handing it over. I clutch it, my arms sinking into the soft fabric of the dog. A smell tickles my nose and I push it against the dog's neck. Am I crazy or does this smell like Andrew?

“There's also a note, Ma'am,” the man says, rooting around in his pockets. I wait patiently, each second that passes convincing me that this bear does indeed smell like Andrew.

He finally finds it with a sound of triumph and hands it over. “Thank you,” I say to the man, bringing my dog inside, having to shut the door with my hip.

I angle my head to the side of the stuffie to read the note. It says, ‘This, Angel Honey, is both a welldone and a house warming gift.” It's also signed with a big, scrawling A.

I squeal, turning around, wanting to show Hank the bear but tucking the note into my dress’ pocket. Hank isn't behind me, isn't in the room.

I shrug. He must have gone to the bathroom or something. He can s
ee my new stuffie, Lei when he’s back.

Besides, I need to thank Andrew right now.