Chapter 15 #2
“Of course you are. But even diamonds fracture, Ireland.”
“You think this broke me in some way?”
“Non. Merde, you’re stubborn.” Straightening, Ronan walked toward her. “I would just like you to give yourself some grace and care. No one deserves your attention right now more than you.”
“You take care of me. Can you help me put my hair up?” She twisted the long strands around her hand.
“Ireland, it’s far too risky in too many ways. Can’t you see that?”
She looked at him with those remarkable eyes and exhaled in a rush.
“So, I escaped that fucking crate they locked me in, but I’m still a prisoner?
We don’t even know why I was taken, Ronan, or whether I’m even still in danger.
You said you’ve doubled security at Vidal, and they’re now armed.
Won’t I be at least as safe there as I am here? ”
He cupped her face in his hands. “If I work from home, will that keep you here?”
“And leave Christopher to manage things with Jules and Claudette?” she asked drily. “How do you think that’s going to go, and with all the staff already on edge from losing my dad?”
“Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay home?” He groaned inwardly at the look she gave him. “One hour,” he conceded reluctantly. “And then I’m bringing you back here.”
“Deal.”
Ireland’s thoughts swirled with excitement as she walked with Ronan up the garage ramp toward the street above. Jules waited for them on the sidewalk, dressed in an emerald suit with a lustrous sheen. He cut a dashing figure, and the smile he flashed her displayed his copious charm.
“Hello, Lizzie,” he called out, his hands on his hips. His smile taunted her, but as she got closer, she saw it slowly fade into a frown.
The reminder that her bruised face told some of the worst of her story dampened her mood. She’d briefly considered trying to cover them up but hadn’t had time after Ronan had reapplied arnica to them.
As she and Ronan stepped out into the sunlight, she was startled to feel the first niggle of anxiety. Glancing up and down both sides of the street, she saw a media satellite van parked on Fifth Avenue, and her steps faltered.
Gripping her arm, Ronan propelled her gently but inexorably forward. “Don’t stop until you get in the limo,” he told her quietly.
Her pulse quickened as he urged her toward the open door.
The sunlight was too bright, almost surreal, and the warmth on her skin felt foreign.
She’d left the hospital under an awning, surrounded by hospital staff, her mother, and Alina.
To be fully exposed outside, even with Ronan hovering so closely, was disquieting in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
Holding her hand, Ronan helped her inside the long car. She sat quickly and slid over, the bruise on her thigh making its presence felt. She offered a smile to Claudette.
Ronan’s sister looked at her with obvious concern. “Are you certain you should be going out? It seems too soon.”
Ireland was briefly worried that she’d perhaps made the wrong decision, but then Ronan was sitting beside her, his arm coming around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, absorbing his warmth.
“I’m just going to stop in really quick,” she said. “I just worry that our employees might need to feel some stability from our family, and I’m not sure Christopher is able yet to work constructively with you and your brothers.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” Claudette murmured, as Jules climbed in and took a seat beside her. “You’re a very strong woman. I doubt I could manage all this as well as you are.”
The limo pulled away from the curb, and as it turned onto Fifth Avenue, Ireland caught a glimpse of the front of the building. Her stomach tightened at the sight of the A-frame traffic barricades keeping the entrance clear of the cluster of people on the sidewalk.
“Jesus,” she breathed, her heart skipping a beat before quickening. When she faced forward again, Ronan pressed his lips to her temple.
None of them spoke on the ride to Vidal.
Claudette and Jules focused on their phones.
Ronan stayed focused on her. She stared out at the city she knew and loved so well, but realized she felt disconnected from it, as if the limo’s windows were a screen showing a B-roll of Midtown.
When a black Suburban pulled up beside them, she looked at the tinted windows and wondered what was happening inside the vehicle that she couldn’t see.
It was a terrifying train of thought. Would she now always look at something so ordinary and have such questions?
Ronan rubbed her shoulder soothingly, and his lips moved to her ear. “How are you doing?”
She just shrugged, at a loss for words because she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was just too much inside her head, primed by Ronan’s concerns and questions. If she’d simply walked outside on her own, would she be overthinking so much?
As they moved down Broadway, she looked at the electronic billboards almost blindly, her thoughts directed inward as she tried to focus on work rather than how she felt.
Until long, lithe legs strutted across a light tan background, and she felt a shock of recognition. Tilting her neck to get a better look, she blinked in confusion for a minute. The woman in the ECRA+ body lotion campaign wasn’t her.
Ronan moved to follow her gaze. “Who’s that?”
She licked her dry lips. “Tatiana Cherlin. I knew she was a part of the campaign—she’s been one of the core models since the line launched—but her rollout was supposed to be next month.”
Jules looked out the window as well. “Those have been running since Saturday, I think. I haven’t watched long enough to see everything rotating through, but I haven’t seen your ads since Friday. “
“It would make sense to swap them out,” Claudette said, giving Ireland a kind look.
Releasing a shaky breath, Ireland sagged back into the seat. It shouldn’t bother her. She knew that. She’d done the campaign as a favor and had no aspirations to become a model.
But it also oddly felt like she’d been…erased.
The campaign had been envisioned to show a variety of women and men undressed—although strategically covered in various ways—with the message that feeling confident and sexy in your skin came from within but could be supported by the ECRA+ body lotion on the outside.
She’d liked the message and was flattered that Eva and Gideon thought she was the prime candidate to launch the product with.
Now, the message she got was that she could no longer be seen as fierce and sexy. She was a victim now.
The limo turned onto 48th Street, and she heard Ronan’s low curse.
“What?” she asked, trying to shake off her disappointment and unease. Then she saw the entrance to Vidal Records, and her body tensed painfully.
A reporter stood off-center from the front door with a cameraman actively filming her report.
On either side of her were clusters of people with their cellphones in hand or carried on selfie sticks.
Some looked to be tourists, others possibly independent reporters or true crime enthusiasts.
In any case, there was no question in Ireland’s mind that she couldn’t exit the limo.
She felt so sick for a moment that she thought she might vomit.
“Cher,” he murmured. “You don’t look well.”
“What the fuck?” she breathed. “I don’t understand this.”
“There’s that woman from the bar yesterday,” Claudette said, looking on the opposite side of the street where the deli was.
Looking, Ireland recognized the woman she’d seen with Graham in Jazzie’s. The fluttering anxiety in her tummy became unbearable, and she began breathing heavily, her chest heaving.
The limo slowed to a halt, and Ronan quickly hit the button to lower the window between them and the driver. “Two of us are getting out. Two of us are going back to the last pickup point.”
“Sure thing,” the driver said easily, before rolling up the window.
Jules and Claudette looked at her with something too damn close to pity, and Ireland couldn’t seem to get her shit together enough to even act like she was okay.
Leaning forward, Claudette put her hand gently on Ireland’s knee. “I’m sorry, Ireland. I can only imagine what this has been like for you.”
Her lower lip quivering, Ireland just nodded, afraid that if she tried to say anything, she’d only break down in tears.
Jules opened the door, and the crowd on the sidewalk rushed into the street. He had to physically hold them back for Claudette to exit and to close the door without anyone looking inside. It took one of the Vidal guards coming outside to clear a path for them to enter the offices.
Ronan’s arm around her shoulders tightened, and she turned into him, resting her cheek against his chest.
He murmured to her, soft and soothing words that she registered only for the emotion in them. Overwhelmed, she began to gasp for air, the interior of the limo feeling too confining. He adjusted the vents, aiming cool air onto her heated face.
“I don’t…” she began, but still her chaotic thoughts and racing pulse made it difficult to express herself.
“It’s a goddamned circus,” he said crossly. “I’m sorry I didn’t check first with Vidal security. I forgot there was a man there yesterday trying to film content. And we need to tell the detectives and your brother that Teller’s girlfriend was there.”
She swallowed a wrenching sob. “My life is never going to be the same, is it? I’m always going to be a kidnapping victim. I’m always going to have people with guns hovering around me. Nothing’s ever going to be normal.”
His chest lifted and fell beneath her. “You’ll have a new normal, and one day, it won’t feel so strange. And sometime soon, something else is going to happen in the world that draws attention from this. It won’t be long.”
“You don’t want this, Ronan,” she said bitterly. “No one wants to live like this. You should listen to Jules and go back to New Orleans. You can still have normal.”