4. Sterling
Chapter four
Sterling
I used my real name. I gave it away like it was nothing. I don’t know why I did that. Because I don’t do things like that. Ever. Fake names work just as well. Weland wouldn’t have known the difference. The night is almost over, and she’s almost home safe. But now she knows who I am.
She knows without really knowing who I am because Sterling means nothing to her.
The cab ride is pretty quiet. I ruminate on why I said Sterling, and she ruminates on, well…I’m not quite sure. But I do know that I want to find her asshole friends and do to them what my parents always threatened to do to me when I misbehaved as a kid—hang them upside down and whip them. Which, back in the day, was nothing to get sued over, but now? It’s clear I can’t do that. But I can sit here and fume about them being less than considerate. Didn’t Weland say it was her best friend getting married? My god, with friends like that, sign me up for enemies.
I know exactly what kind of condo Weland has, and I know her address already. Right now, I feel like an ass for pretending I don’t. The longer this goes on, the worse I feel about lying to her. But it’s only a few more minutes. I’ll make sure she’s safe, and then I can take off back to Florida and, from there, move on to London for business next week. I can finally stop thinking about her.
Because I’ll be able to stop thinking about her.
I’ll be able to focus and forget all about the way her huge blue eyes filled with tears she bravely blinked back when she found out she’d been left behind. And when her eyes glowed with pride and love already when she talked about her farty dog. I’ll be able to forget all about how she’s clearly one of those people who wears her heart where it counts and gives it to the whole world, even though she knows it’s going to get beat up, disappointed, and hurt. I already know that too. I know what she’s giving up for this. I also know she is good straight down to that heart-of-gold soul that so few people have.
I pay the cab driver, even though Weland fights me on it. I don’t let her win. I give the guy an extra forty bucks, and she raises a brow.
“Don’t you usually pay after the ride?”
Right. Yes, I guess a person does generally do that. I still have to go back to the club and get my car.
There’s a beat of silence in the backseat of the cab. She looks at me, and I look at her. There isn’t any expectation. Not on my part. Not on hers. It’s not this heavy, weighted silence. That’s why what she says next is so weird.
“Do you…uh…want to see my place?”
“See it?”
“Inside,” she replies.
“Oh.” Fuck. I need to say no. I need to politely decline and tell her to have a good night. I need to get back in my rental car, get back on a plane, and get far away from here now that I know my contract is in no danger of being broken and my company is safe. “Sure.”
Her eyes widen. “Sure?”
No, not sure. The opposite. I mean the opposite. I need to tell the cab driver to wait for me while I walk her to her door and come back and… “If you’re sure.”
“I think I’m sure. For like tea. And talk about dogs. And a change of clothes that don’t smell like old milk and nasty booze.”
I think she smells fine, still like the sea breeze. And I like that her hair is just a little bit frizzy at the roots, where it got a good soaking. I hate that it happened, but it didn’t change the fact that this woman is gorgeous and adorable.
My heart does a strange blip that feels like my pulse is going all wrong. Probably because it is. I swear thud-a-bump shouldn’t be a thing. It should be ba-bump. Ba-bump. But it’s not. I can hear my heartbeat racing in my ears, and it sounds an awful lot like bad decision making.
“Alright then.”
We bail out of the taxi and the driver peels out of the parking lot, shaking his head. It’s not even the last call, and he’s already had one silent ride with a strange ending. I’m sure he’s seen worse. At least this ride didn’t end in him having to hose the back seat down at a car wash because someone yakked. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Ugh.
I follow Weland to her front door. Her condo complex is kind of, for lack of a better word, dumpy. It’s not the nice kind of place money can buy, but I guess most of the money went to her brother’s surgeries and aftercare. Plus, this agreement was to remain secret, and there was no way she could explain a sudden influx of money. People watched her video, but just one video that went viral wasn’t enough to buy or rent a real place, as she termed it. She gives guitar lessons for a living, so she had to get a place that matched her income, or people would ask what was going on.
I mean, probably.
She rattles her key in the lock. The condos are connected together barracks-style, with gray vinyl on the outside. They’re tall and thin, with little front porches and one parking spot each. I’m assuming the little red sedan in front of the place belongs to Weland. It doesn’t look safe, which makes my blood boil. I should have bought her a brand-new one. I still could. Except people will ask questions, and I don’t want to do anything that leads back to me, that leads back to my cousins getting leverage against me to prove the marriage is fake. They know I have a wife, but they don’t know who she is or where she is, and as long as they don’t know that, they can’t prove it’s not legit. They’ve no doubt tried. Many, many times. They haven’t found anything concrete, and I just have one more year to get through. Then, the shares will be irrevocably mine, and the company I can’t bear to lose because it’s my everything will be safe.
I should not be here right now. If I were followed, this would lead whoever was looking straight to Weland’s door.
I duck inside, my heart racing wildly.
It starts racing for another reason a few seconds later. Because when I enter the small living room that the place opens up to, it smells like freshly baked cookies, ocean breeze, and sickly sweet dog farts.
“Beans!” Weland rushes across the room to hug her dog.
I think it’s a dog. Kidding. I know it’s a dog. She was right about it looking more like a hairy potato, the fur looking like old scraggly beard trimmings glued onto a grey, dumpy sort of old potato with toothpick legs stuck at the bottom. If you are thinking of a five year old’s monstrosity of a drawing that is supposed to be a dog, then think this one.
Okay, that’s unkind. I love kids. I just don’t plan on having any of my own. But I do like them. A lot. Other people’s kids are great. I’ve always felt more at home with kids than with any other humans. Kids say what they mean, and they’re guileless. It’s refreshing to cut through the crap sometimes. Plus, they have great imaginations. I support tons of charities and most of them are all for kids because that’s where I’m passionate about making a difference. I’ve seen firsthand what giving someone a chance can do.
Anyway, it’s also mean to think gnarly negative thoughts about someone else’s dog. It can’t help its genetics or the life it had.
“I’m just going to take him for a quick walk.” Weland clips a leash onto the dog’s red leather collar. He wags his tail as she takes him to the door and then lets out little chuffing woofs, impatient to get going. “I’ll be right back.”
“You’re just going to leave me here?” I can’t believe it. She has zero stranger danger. This is not okay. My protective instincts roar to life, even if they’re misplaced in this situation. She’s not really mine to protect. She just needs to be hers to protect. To keep herself safe. I see no security here. The locks on the door look easy to get through. Yeah, the neighborhood is okay. Nothing scary going on there, at least. But that’s not the point. The point is, I’m a stranger in her house, and she’s just going to walk out.
“Sure, yeah. What are you going to do when I’m gone? Go through my underwear drawer and keep a pair of my panties like a weird and creepy panty snatcher?”
My face gets hot, and I don’t usually get hot faces. It’s not me. “Absolutely not.”
“Okay. Well, even if you don’t keep them, don’t go through them and sniff them or anything. I promise they all just smell like laundry detergent.”
“Holy Christ.”
Her cheeks go red to match mine. “Okay, that was too much.” She motions to the kitchen, which is just down from the living room. The whole area is open, with a staircase heading way up that looks far too steep and narrow right at the entrance. “I baked cookies this afternoon. They’re in a container on the counter. Feel free to help yourself.”
“I could be in here sprinkling drugs on your cookies. Getting up to no good. Committing nefarious murder. Are you sure about this?”
Her eyes narrow and rake up and down over me. My heart starts to pound all wonky again. “You did promise you aren’t a stalker or a creep, and you also said no seduction. So I think I’m safe.”
I quirk a brow. “I could say anything.”
“Sure.” She shrugs. “But you meant it. I can tell.”
I don’t get to respond because her dog leaps up and scratches at the door, wagging that stumpy tail like a maniac. Weland laughs, opens it, charges through, and then she’s gone, and I’m alone.
I need to fix this.
My first instinct is to call Smitty, but that would be giving up the game in the worst way. So that leaves…me. I can’t call my security people. Nothing to give me away. Not yet. But I will. I will make calls and put a team on Weland to make sure she’s safe. Someone to watch this condo since it’s not like I can drop by later and install security and better locks.
How can her father let her live like this?
How can her asshole husband do this? Why didn’t I insist on safety?
She’s been living on her own for years now, and she’s been fine. It’s not your business. You have no right to make it your business.
Except I’m here now, I’ve seen this place, I know I have to do something, and that’s all there is to it.
I might be four years late, but I’m going to help in any way I can. Even if it leaves just the slightest trail, it’s a risk I’m going to have to take. We only have one more year to get through. Just one more, and then Weland will be free. I’ll even give her a bonus. Buy her a house, a new car, whatever she wants. She won’t want it, but I’ll insist. She’ll never know it’s coming from me—the man she invited in and gave cookies to that probably tastes just like childhood and invokes the happiest of memories and sunny smiles because she’s sunshine and light, but that’s something I can live with.
There isn’t any other choice.
And I need to leave. As in, five minutes ago. As in, I never should have been here. I never should have gotten out of that cab. I never should have come here myself. It was impulsive. I can’t even explain what was going through my head besides sheer panic. And a little bit of humanity, I suppose. Hearing that the person who bailed your ass out is miserable doing it isn’t a good feeling. People think having money means being heartless, but I didn’t come from anything at all, and that’s why it’s so important for me to stay where I am and hold on to what I’ve built. Because I’ll always remember where I came from. And I do have a heart.
The smart version of me walks out the door. The smart version finds Weland and tells her that I have an emergency and to have a good night. The regular version of me that I am twenty-four fucking seven gets up and leaves right now.
But this version, this imposter I don’t know and don’t have a clue about, walks over to the kitchen, finds those cookies, pops the lid, and takes one out.
This imposter takes a bite and, yup, gets thrown straight back to his childhood because it tastes just like “mom” cookies.
They’re a trap—“mom” cookies. From what I remember anyway, and I barely remember, but the memory is a potent one. I can’t leave now. I’m in too deep. I’ve lost my chance.
I need another cookie.
All I’ve wanted my whole life was just one more “mom” cookie.
I need another Weland smile. Unlike the cookies, seeing another smile is possible.
I need to know that, beyond a doubt, she’s going to be okay.
And that’s the real reason I can’t just walk out the door.