Page 86 of Loss and Damages
I’ll spend the night at Jeremy and Tara’s. I don’t want to be alone. Leo, now Dominic. It’s too much. Maybe I’ll close the gallery or ask Ashley to work some extra hours and take a few days off. I didn’t properly mourn Leo, and I need time to nurse my broken heart.
Too perky for my state of mind, Ashley relieves me, and in my cottage, I change into a different dress and add a little more concealer to cover the shadows under my eyes. I look almost normal with extra mascara and lip gloss.
On the drive, I practice what I want to say. Thanks, but no thanks, is too harsh. I need him to understand that I love him, I truly love him with all my heart, but I can’t stand by his side while he turns St. Charlotte into a city only rich people can live in. His luxury this and luxury that, he’ll force everyone who isn’t upper class out of the city. Good people like Jeremy and Tara and my mom and dad. They’ll have to live in little towns like Hollow Lake where rent and mortgage payments are half what they are in St. Charlotte and commute to their jobs.
I don’t know where his building is, and again, I have to use my phone’s GPS. I wonder if that’s some kind of metaphor, being involved with the Milanos. I don’t know where I’m going when I always have before. Leo made it easy, always coming to me. Hollow Lake is small enough he didn’t need his GPS to find me, but I bet a man like Leo has always known his way, even if there were things in his path that made him stumble.
Milano Management and Development towers over every other building on the block, the glass and metal glittering black in the sun. There isn’t available parking on the street, and I park in a parking ramp several blocks away. The walk will give me a few minutes to breathe and gather my courage. I’ll rattle off what’s in my heart and leave before he can see me cry. I’m tired of crying in front of him and don’t want to do it anymore.
I should have made an appointment, then I would have known for sure he’d be in his office. Not that I mind a few hours away from the gallery, but I’ve used up all my energy steeling myself to see him. I haven’t spoken with him yet and I’m already exhausted. I’d be grateful having to do this only once.
Traffic is bumper to bumper, and the atmosphere hanging over the city is charged with a negative current. Can’t he feel what he’s doing to the people of St. Charlotte? Picketers are marching in front of Dominic’s building and I can hear them chanting, even from this distance. Police stand guard keepingthe protesters on the public sidewalk and off the Milano’s private property. I pause near a streetlight and bite my lip. This is impossible.
Therearepeople going in and out of the building looking wary and careful, staying clear of the crowd, but the picketers call them names, traitors to St. Charlotte, working for a man who would rather let people go homeless and starve than throw them a bone or piece of bread.
A flurry of activity catches the protesters’ attention, and Dominic steps out of the building, two bodyguards flanking him. He pauses to say something, and a wave of déjà vu hits me. It’s the same scene I watched on TV when someone drove by and shot at him. My whole body tenses, waiting for it to repeat, but he stops speaking, strides to the curb, and slips into an SUV that has tinted windows. Traffic is still jamming the streets, and the SUV has to wait several moments before melding into the line of cars. An identical SUV stops alongside Dominic’s, and then another. I blink and lose track of the one I saw him climb into.
No, he’s sitting in the one in the left lane, and he’ll pass by me when the light turns green and the traffic can move.
I lost my chance to see him today, but I’ll call his assistant and schedule an appointment to talk to him in the morning. I could text him and let him know I’m in the city, but he has plans and I don’t want to be in his way.
I turn to walk back to the parking ramp when all of a sudden the air stills and goosebumps cover my skin. Twirling around, I search the street, but nothing is happening except cars moving at a snail’s pace through the intersection. The wind quiets and birds in the trees lining the sidewalk stop singing.
Frantically, I search for Dominic, zeroing in on his SUV just in time to watch the backend burst into flames.
“No!”
The scream rips from my throat, but it doesn’t sound like it came from me. The pedestrians on the sidewalk don’t pay any attention, staring transfixed as flames lick at the vehicle.
Horns blare, and drivers in cars near the truck abandon their vehicles.
Sirens sound in the distance, the fire department and police already on the way.
I start to run, dodging people scrambling in the opposite direction. I need to find Dominic. I didn’t see him climb out of the truck. He could be dead.
He could be dead.
Tears blind me and I narrowly miss plowing into a woman carrying a briefcase. She grabs at my arm. “You’re going the wrong way!” She tries to stop me, but I yank out of her grasp, her nails scraping my skin, unwilling to let me go.
Desperately, I run another few steps but someone lifts me off my feet, a hand clamped over my mouth.
He tucks us into a clothing boutique’s storefront, his arm tight around my stomach, and my chest heaves as I struggle, unable to suck enough air in through my nose.
Panicking, fighting against his hold, I scream into his hand that’s blocking my air supply. I kick, and my heel jabs his shin.
“Fuck. Mr. Milano’s safe,” he growls into my ear. “He asked me to bring you to him. Calm the fuck down.”
My legs drop, and I relax.
“Thank you, sweet Jesus,” he mutters, loosening his grip and uncovering my mouth. He sets me gently to my feet and I look upat him, a burly man dressed in a suit, dark eyes and a strong jaw hidden by a neatly trimmed beard.
I swipe my hair out of my face. “How did he know I was here?”
“I followed you from Hollow Lake and let him know you were driving into the city. He was scheduled to have a meeting with the mayor. This isn’t the place to talk.”
Protectively shielding me, he leads me around the corner to an SUV identical to the one that caught fire in the street. I look over my shoulder. The fire department has put the fire out, Dominic’s SUV steaming and dripping water where the driver abandoned it. Pedestrians watch and news crews film the damage and interview witnesses.
He opens the door, helps me into the back, and sits next to me.
