TWENTY-NINE
Ryan
It was Friday nights like this that I wished I still had my driver, Marcus. It was fucking raining, and everyone and their mother was hailing a cab.
Shortly after Allee’s death, his daughter, the result of an affair in his special ops days, gave birth to a son. It was Marcus’s first grandchild, and he wanted to be with them. When he asked for vacation time, I told him he should move to Michigan where they lived. Though my longtime driver and friend was one of my lifesavers during my darkest days, it was time for him to retire and take the hefty retirement package my family had put away for him. Reluctantly, he gave in, but we agreed to stay in touch, with me promising to visit him one day.
After a fifteen-minute wait, the doorman on duty finally got us a cab. In the backseat, I held Willow close to me. Her head resting on my beating heart, I stroked her hair as the cab wove in and out of the insane traffic heading downtown. It would likely take close to an hour to get to my loft if the traffic kept up. A ton of questions were burning on my tongue, but I asked her only one.
“Are you feeling better?”
“A little.”
“Are you coming down with something?”
“No.”
And then I got daring. “Does it have something to do with that asshole?”
She squirmed against me. “Please, Ryan. I don’t want to talk about Gustave.”
My heart squeezed. There was something between them, but she was shutting me out. Silence fell upon us as the cab hit Forty-Second Street and continued downtown.
Forty-five minutes later, we reached my loft. As I reached for my money clip to pay the cabbie, Willow lifted her head off my chest and scooted away from me.
“Ryan, I’m going to sleep at my place tonight.”
“Why?” I challenged, my tone sharp.
“I need to be alone.”
And dream about him?“Fine. I’ll have the driver take you there.”
“No, you can just get out here.”
“No fucking way. I need to know you get home safely.” Yeah, I was a gentleman, but this had more to do with me being a worrier. Allee’s short life had turned me into one. Plus, there was more than Willow’s well-being clawing at my mind.
“No, Ryan, please. I’ll be fine. Let’s just call it a night.”
Yeah, a fucked-up night. Reluctantly, I gave in and paid the cabbie enough to take Willow home. Opening the passenger door, I told him to watch after her and make sure she got inside her place safely. With the generous tip I’d included, he promised he would. Stepping onto the curb, I watched the vehicle head down the glistening wet street and turn the corner, disappearing out of sight.
The relentless rain beating down on me, I hurried to my loft and kicked the massive elevator door before entering the security code. Dammit, I shouldn’t have let her go home. We needed to talk. I could tell she was still attracted to that arrogant asshat. He had a sexual power over her. A magnetic pull. It was so fucking obvious. Like acid rain, a toxic mix of jealousy and rage seared every cell of my body.
Furious with myself and soaked to the bone, I pounded the corroded metal with my fist just before the door opened. As the lift ascended, my heart descended to the pit of my stomach. I’d learned a lot about Willow Rosenthal tonight. Professionally known as Willow Rose, she was a rising ballerina, who had some kind of kinky affair with her prick of a headmaster, which had ultimately derailed her career. I wanted to know what had gone down between them. Tomorrow, I was going to Google both Willow and the fucker and find out everything there was to know about them. There was still a part of me that was an investigative journalist.
Tonight, however, I was going to drown my sorrows with some whiskey. I was going to get drunk and hope that I wouldn’t leave my place to pick up a late night sandwich at Mel’s Famous. Willow needed her space, and I needed mine.