Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
R ockwell
I’m standing at the window of my three-story row home as I overlook the neatly manicured gardens of the Village. I’ve lived here, single, for three years now, never bringing so much as a fling back to my place.
Didn’t want to taint my sacred space with pleasure when I need to stay focused on my work.
I sip whiskey, ice clinking the sides of my glass as I stare out into the dark night.
“I can’t stop thinking about her.”
The girl at the store. Her big brown eyes looking up at me, filled with worry and fear as she handed over that test for me to buy.
And now, she’s turned down my offer. I watch as the last light in a neighboring window goes out, leaving me even more alone with my thoughts and a sense of longing I can’t quite shake.
There’s something about her, about the vulnerability in her eyes that draws me in like a moth to a flame. I take another sip of whiskey, the burn of the alcohol doing little to ease the ache in my chest. Maybe it’s foolish of me to feel this way about a stranger, but there’s an undeniable pull between us, a connection that I can’t ignore.
Claudia says I have a savior complex.
As I stand there, lost in contemplation, a sudden noise startles me from my thoughts. It sounds like someone moving downstairs. My senses go on high alert as I quietly make my way down the stairs, heart pounding in my chest.
We’re safe here, literally living in a hidden town, armed with brownstone shops that line the city streets. Not to mention the military-grade security that protects these walls. It’s got to be a family member, but still, unannounced visitors always put me on edge.
Being a Bachman, I’ve found it prudent to be cautious.
I reach the first floor, the sound now coming from the kitchen. Instantly, I relax. Only one other person in this world has a fingerprint on my pad that unlocks my door.
A familiar voice eases my nerves.
“Nothing in this fridge but beer and wine. I swear if a woman lived like this, she’d look like a crumpled paper bag. How men get more good-looking with age, especially on a steak and beer diet, I’ll never know. And there’s not even steak on these shelves this week!”
Claudia is a stunning woman with a huge heart and habit of talking out loud to herself, especially when she’s annoyed—and her said annoyance is usually directed toward me.
As per usual.
I think it started when she was born two minutes behind me, but still tells everyone she’s my older sister.
“Hey, Claude,” I greet her, headed over to the bar cart in the corner for a refill of Pappy Van Winkle Whiskey, the bottle aged ten years giving it the nickname Old Rip Van Winkle. Following my evening regime, I fill the glass to the first of the diamonds in the cut crystal, turning to Claudia to ask, “Want a drink?”
Unloading the last of her groceries, halibut and broccoli I’ll probably give to my housekeeper to take home for her dinner tomorrow, among other items my sister has declared to be ‘superfoods’ to keep me in tiptop shape, she gives me an exasperated sigh. “No, thanks, I’m on a juice cleanse. Nothing but microgreens and probiotics for me.”
“Sounds awful. Why do you do that to yourself?”
“Skin problems. You know I’ve got that beauty charity event in two weeks. Here I am, forty years young and I’m battling an acne breakout of a sixteen-year-old!” She marches over to me, pointing to the world’s smallest zit on her chin, caked in makeup. “See!”
“Can’t you just get a facial at the spa?”
“I’ve already booked the full day skin enhancement package with microdermabrasion—something your dignified face knows nothing about.”
I give a shrug. “Have some wine. I had your favorite delivered. It’s in the fridge.”
“It’s not just my skin I’m worried about.” Neatly folding the grocery bags and tucking them under the counter, she says, “The cleanse is to stay healthy. Nothing you would know anything about. Which is why I just stocked your fridge full of fish I know you will never cook and probably give to your housekeeper, and pre-made salads from Antonio’s deli. All you have to do is pull off the lid. Think you can handle that?”
I chuckle at her comment, knowing Claudia means well even if she can be a bit overbearing at times. Taking a swig of my whiskey, I lean against the counter and watch as she busies herself tidying up the already spotless kitchen. The warm glow of the dim lights casts a soft ambiance around us, creating a sense of familiarity and comfort in the air.
She goes back to the fridge. “Well… maybe just a small glass of chardonnay.” She takes out the chilled bottle, opening it and pouring herself a generous glass.
“So, where were you earlier?” Claudia asks casually, leaning her bum against my counter as she studies me with the knowing look of twin power in her eye. “Your location said you were at the corner store but judging by the contents of your fridge, you didn’t buy anything.”
“I did.” Cigarettes. Oh, and a pregnancy test. But Claudia is under some crazy impression that I’ve given up smoking.
Probably when I lied and told her I gave up smoking.
Her brow creases like a police officer as she investigates my alibi. “What did you buy?”
“Gum,” I say.
“Good to see you’ve still given up that nasty habit.”
Guilt settles in for not quitting and for lying. I have quit. For the most part.
I make a mental note to trash the cigarettes. I sigh, feeling frustration churning. I know I’m going to tell Claudia about the girl. Don’t do it, Rockwell. She’s just going to give you grief and tell you you’re having a savior moment.
“Is that all that happened tonight?” She gives me a pensive stare.
“I met a girl from the store. Her debit card was declined. I told her I need a woman for the front desk down at the office. She turned down my job offer.”
Claudia raises an eyebrow along with her glass, her interest piqued. “A girl from the store? Is this another one of your charity cases, Rockwell?”
I shake my head at her teasing tone. “She seemed like she could use the help. But she was adamant about not taking the job.”
“Hmm, sounds intriguing,” Claudia muses, sipping her wine, her gaze thoughtful as she leans against the kitchen counter. “Maybe she’s just being cautious. You do have a bit of a reputation, big brother.”
I think of the girl’s wide, innocent eyes. “She had no idea who I was.”
“Really? Doubtful. You’re not only a Rockwell, but you’re also a Bachman too. Voted most eligible bachelor by New York’s Elite Magazine ? Every single girl in this city has a picture of you on their phone.”
I bristle at her words, feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within me. “I’m not trying to be anything other than genuine with her. She looked like she needed the help, that’s all.”
Claudia gives me the knowing look of the big sister, her eyes softening with understanding. “I get it, Rock. You’ve always had a soft spot for those in need. Just be careful not to get invested too quickly. I’ve got everything covered at the office for now… and remember what happened last time.”
Her words strike a nerve, reminding me of the painful past that still lingers in the shadows of my heart. I take a deep breath, pushing away the memories that threaten to resurface.
“I know, Claudia. I’ll be cautious,” I assure her, my voice tinged with resignation. “But there’s something about her… something different.”
She shoots me another knowing glance. “There always is, big brother. There always is.”
“Well, don’t blame me for trying to get someone behind that desk. I need your brilliant mind back where it belongs, crunching numbers and analyzing data. Not answering phones.”
“So true,” she says, then gently adds, “But we’d best wait for the right person. Not the first girl in need that catches your eye.”
“Don’t worry about her,” I say, downing the last of my whiskey. “Eight million people in this city? I’ll never see her again.”