Page 58 of Daring You

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Bright,morning sunlight bursts its rays into my bedroom, completely at odds with the endless gray winter days, and I throw a pillow at it.

The pillow thunks quietly against the window, and plops to the ground. I spend a moment finding parallels with the pillow’s descent and my heart, then decide to stop being so morose and get on with my Tuesday.

I make my way to the bathroom and begin my usual shower and makeup routine, deliberately keeping Ben out of my thoughts as I coat foundation over my acne scars and use black eyeliner to draw attention away from the purple bags under my eyes. I’m definitely not thinking about the way my thighs tingle every time the image of his fingers dancing inside me bursts through.

My phone rings its fire alarm sound I programmed into it, letting me know it’s someone at work. My mascara clatters into the sink as I rush out of my bathroom to find my cell, thinking it’s somewhere in the kitchen around the dinner I never cleaned up.

There it is. Beside Ben’s empty mug, old coffee stains acting like a direct map to where his lips hit the ceramic.

I toss the mug in the sink with a satisfying clunk and answer.

“It’s Astor,” I say as greeting.

“Hey, you.”

Taryn’s voice comes through the phone, and my shoulders immediately relax. In my determination to rid this apartment of Ben evidence the easy way (trash chute), I didn’t check who was calling. Could’ve been Mike. Or Yang.

“You find anything?” I ask her.

“It’s why I’m calling,” she says, then lowers her voice. “That money you asked me to tail? Well, it led to something.”

She must already be at work, I think as I head back into my bedroom and search through my closet hangers, one hand still holding the phone to my ear. My heart thrums through a few beats, thinking finally, we’ve landed Ryan Delaney, and before anyone else. So far, emails and voicemails have been silent on any other associate giving Altin Yang what he wants.

“Just get here,” Taryn says. “I don’t want to talk about this over the phone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, but I completely agree with her. Mike’s probably lurking behind her cubicle, ready to nab whatever delicious treat Taryn lays out, whether it be her breasts or a clue to Ryan Delaney’s whereabouts. “I’m on my way.”

Taryn clicks off, and I decide on a simple, high-neck, sleeveless black dress suit and top it off with a blazer. I throw a black peacoat over the outfit, top it off with my white beanie and leather gloves, and call myself New York ready.

The car’s waiting for me outside when my heels hit the lobby floors, and I wave to Ernie and Stu, the weekday security guards, as I push through the revolving doors.

I see the black car and head to it—

“Astor Hayes?”

“Yes?”

My steps halt, reacting to my name.

A man approaches, dark and heavy with black clothing, exactly like I am. Except, he’s wearing sunglasses against the bright winter sunlight, an accessory I forgot to include in my morning inventory.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“You’re the lawyer for Angel and José, yes?”

“I’m one of them.” I adjust the strap of my heavy, leather tote. “Are you a reporter? Because I have no comment—”

“Have you found the boy?”

The man, about a foot away now, is breathing fog too close to my face. I step back instinctually, taking note of the pock marks on his cheeks, his scarred, flat nose. The black fedora furthering his disguise.

At the mention of the boy, I’m instantly on alert. “What boy?”

“Angel tells me you’re close to discovering where the boy is.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” But after saying it, I second guess why I’m even standing here. He knows one of the defendants. That’s bad enough. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work.”

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