29. Now
TWENTY-NINE
now
I’ve tried everything else to forget Ella’s damn book dedication.
So I try one last thing.
I scroll to the T’s in my phone book. Specifically, every girl saved under Tinder .
For a while, I sit parsing the potentials. I want someone who will come right away, which means choosing a girl who’s been to my place before. And, of course, she has to be hot enough to distract me.
I also need to make sure she’s one of the dozens who have already signed an NDA. They are a standard security practice for me now, at the behest of our company attorneys. Anytime a girl comes over, Amir escorts her up and has her sign on the dotted line before letting her in.
Three candidates fit my needs. I shoot off identical texts to all of them, get two bites back, and choose the name least similar to Ella’s.
Zoe, as it turns out. I think I remember red hair.
Through months of trial and error, Amir and I have the whole thing down to a science. As soon as I send him the pick-up info, I know Zoe will be at my door within thirty minutes.
“Like a pizza?” Graham snorted when I described our arrangement over drinks one night. At the time, I figured he was just busting my balls. Now, I see his point. The whole thing does sort of feel like ordering mediocre takeout when I don’t even know if I’m hungry.
Or, maybe, like ordering a green juice when I really want a steak.
God .
“Ordering?”
I’m comparing women to takeout now? I scrub my hand over my face and fall back onto my sofa, disgusted with myself.
To stave off the guilt, I force myself into the kitchen. I’m staring into my long-untouched wine fridge when I hear the elevator ding in the pointless hallway.
Apparently, my memory sucks. A moment later, a lithe woman with short black hair saunters into my great room. Probably better , my mind determines, noting all the ways her features diverge from the honey-blonde haunting my memories.
“Hey!” When she speaks, the husky tenor of her voice reassures me, too. After two glasses of some sour red wine she chose, I recall why I ever selected this girl for a hook-up in the first place.
I picked her because I don’t like her at all.
She works in pharmaceutical sales—a bold, smoldering vixen type who exudes self-importance and erupts into gales of laughter at all her own jokes. Wh en I glance away and look back, I catch her eyeing our surroundings with a greedy gleam in her dark eyes.
Nothing like Ella’s sweet little laugh… or her gentle curves… or her peachy blush… or her heart.
When we hit the bottom of the bottle, Zoe bends over the edge of my island, giving me a clear look down her bra. She tosses her hair to the side with a smile. “So, where do you want me?”
My eyes jump from her tits to my living room, considering. I don’t like to take anyone into my bedroom. It feels too personal for a stranger, and I hate to change my sheets after. The couch is my go-to—but I think maybe I’ll go with fucking against a wall instead. Or maybe out on the balcony. Zoe strikes me as an exhibitionist.
The truth is, I can’t be bothered to choose.
“Whatever suits you,” I tell her, straightening to reach back and tug off my shirt. “Anywhere but the bedroom.”
She takes that as a challenge. Some blend of curiosity and indignation sparks in her dark eyes. “ Any where?”
Her question makes me realize—the bed isn’t the only place I keep off-limits. “I’d prefer not to use the shower or entryway either.”
She smirks. “Um… why?”
For Gray, for always.
“Just my personal preference,” I lie smoothly, coming around the counter to snatch her up. Before I change my mind.
I have to concentrate. It takes a concerted effort to focus on kissing her. My mind lists off the usual foreplay steps by rote, prompting me every few moments.
Move your hands down her sides. Now inside her thighs. That’s probably good enough. Have we been making out long enough for me to stop? What time is it, anyway? Goddamn it. I’m not wearing my watch.
Just before we settle on the sofa, Zoe jerks back, eyes flashing. “Is something wrong?”
For a moment, I stare down at her, thrown. My mind feels as empty as the hole bored into my chest. Wind whistles through both, along one crystal clear thought.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I realize out loud.
Zoe’s eyes narrow. “What?”
I don’t know if she means to express general disbelief or if she actually doesn’t understand me. And I don’t care. “I’m sorry, but you need to go.”
She scoffs, backing away. “Yeah, whatever, Grayson. Honestly? You might have more money than God and a body to rival one, but in bed, you’re a six. I can do better.”
Her taunt bounces right off me. “I’m sure you’re right.”
I know all of my dates would describe me as a lazy lay. The truth is shameful, but undeniable; I no longer care about any of my hookups enough to put in the sort of effort I used to.
And now, it seems, I don’t even care enough to actually fuck them.
Just to be sure, I stare over at Zoe for another beat, trying to feel something. But my body doesn’t want her. And the rest of me is consumed with wanting Ella.
It’s her goddamn book . I growl internally, watching Zoe huff out my door. I was fine before I saw it. I didn’t turn down hot girls who wanted me or lose sleep at night. A week ago, I would have taken Zoe right against the island and slept like the dead after.
I hear her snap at Marco and the ding of the elevator. As soon as it buzzes again, I collapse on my couch and groan. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
Not knowing .
Too succinct not to be true, the thought sinks down into my center.
If I know why she wrote that... If I know what it meant … I could move on.
But how can I figure any of it out? She made damn sure I couldn’t find her or get a hold of her after she left me. And I’ve searched her name often enough to know that she still doesn’t have any social media accounts .
Full of restless anxiety, I stomp to the bar area to pour myself a glass of gin before wandering back to my seat.
Even if I did, by some miracle, locate her… she wouldn’t be in New York.
After our breakup, I tracked down her roommate, Maggie, out of desperation. She told me Ella had left the city for good. After insulting me fifteen other ways.
If she’s really gone, I have to respect that .
As much as I hate Ella for everything she put me through—up to and including her goddamned book—I don’t have it in me to swoop into whatever life she’s made elsewhere and shit all over it. If she loathes me so much that she literally left the state to get away from me, I can’t bring myself to confront her now.
I can only think of one way to find out where she ended up.
“Amir!”
The door clicks open quietly. Marco slips in and stands at attention, his eyes sharp. “Sir?”
I cast my gaze down into my tumbler. “I need you to find someone.”
He doesn’t speak for a second too long. “If you can’t locate this person’s information on your own, I’m assuming it isn’t someone who wants to be found.”
A gasp of pain slices through me as I remember the way Ella left—without a single trace. A hoarse wedge blocks my throat.
“Correct.”
Jesus. Some part of me already regrets my request, and I haven’t even made it yet.
What am I thinking? That I’ll find her information, and if by some chance she’s still in the city, then I’ll… what? Call her? She blocked me.
And, even if Marco manages to track her down and we do speak, somehow… I’ll just end up right where she left me before.
Because she’s fucked up and always has been , I think callously.
Damaged. Anxious. Terrified of things that make no sense.
And she never even told me why .
Perhaps sensing my own hesitation, Amir regards me with a steely expression. “I trust you know what you’re asking for isn’t exactly… legal?”
I know, but I no longer care. If I don’t get that damn dedication out of my mind, I’ll go insane.
“Can you do it or not?” I demand.
His features tighten. I suspect years of police and military training engrained a deep respect for rules. Even so, he finally gives a slight nod. “Give me twenty-four hours.”