Page 17 of Meet Me in the Vines
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
“Thank you.”
I need to get the hell out of this elevator.
To my relief, we finally reach the ground floor, and he gestures for me to exit first. I nod and walk into the lobby toward the gold carousel doors.
“Have a great day, Audrey. Good seeing you.”
“You too, Mr. Hammond.”
We wave goodbye, and I walk toward the town car waiting for me outside. I tug at my collar, wishing it wasn’t so high up my neck. It’s warm out today, with summer approaching quickly in the city.
My bodyguard stands at the car door.
“Morning, Ms. Winthrop. Everything alright?” His voice is low and gravelly, but warm.
“Morning, Briggs. I’m fine, thanks. I’m set for breakfast today, so no need to stop. Straight for the office, please.”
Kellan hired Briggs as my personal security when I moved into the penthouse. We’d become unlikely friends. Allies, really. He doesn’t hover, but his build alone can intimidate anyone who breathes on me. His protective nature makes me feel safe. A lot safer than I feel in that penthouse.
Sure, he has tattoos lining his enormous arms and his tailored black suits make him look like a CIA agent. But inside, he’s a big ol’ softy.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He opens the car door for me, and I struggle to slide in, feeling the confinement of this goddamn skirt. As the car slides forward, my phone buzzes with a text.
Kellan
Great. Let me make it up to you, little bird. Stop by my office when you get here.
I roll my eyes and toss my phone in my purse.Little bird.My skin crawls when he calls me that. He sees me like a fragile little bird, shivering in the palm of his hand—her wings clipped, unable to fly away.
I stare out the window, watching the hustle and bustle of the city, wondering what their lives are like compared to mine.
I hope they’re happier than I am.
I reach up and touch the bruise on my shoulder and shudder at the pain.
Chapter Five
AUDREY
I knock on the door to Kellan’s office.
“Come in.”
He’s sitting in a leather chair behind his massive desk, a rich brown oak that matches the ceiling-height bookshelf behind him. The windows are large and grand, showcasing the impressive New York architecture that surrounds the office. Sun flares reflect off the tile floor and his dirty blonde hair, slicked back with stiff pomade. His tall, lean frame is draped in a fitted gray suit. His Rolex glints in my direction, catching the light from his office and reflecting straight into my eye.
He flashes a grin in my direction, his dark brown eyes gleaming as he pulls out a bouquet of red roses from underneath his desk.
“Hey, little bird. Come here,” he says softly. He rolls his chair back, motioning me to sit in his lap. I shut the door, and he points to the lock. I oblige and click the lock into place.
“These are for you.”
He hands me the roses and pulls me down onto him, my back pressed against his chest. I bury my nose in the petals to inhale morning dew and fresh-cut stems.
“Thank you, Kellan. They’re lovely,” I whisper. If I had a nickel for every rose he’s given me after his outbursts, I’d be richer than him.
