Chapter 37
VINCENT
I moved us to a hotel that same night.
Perhaps it was an overreaction, but I couldn’t risk it. It was one thing when the intruder was only targeting me. Now that they’d brought Brooklyn into it, I wasn’t taking any chances.
If anything happened to her, I would never forgive myself.
“I’m getting a bodyguard.” I’d already contacted an elite private security firm on my way here. “For both of us.”
We were in the hotel suite’s sitting room. I’d drawn all the blinds and turned every lock. We’d packed our essentials, but I didn’t know how long we’d have to stay here. We might need to return home later to grab more things. If we did, I’d rather do so with physical protection.
“I don’t need a bodyguard,” Brooklyn said from her spot on the sofa.
She hadn’t argued about relocating to a hotel, but she put her foot down about someone shadowing her every move.
“I understand why you’re concerned, but things haven’t escalated to the point that I need twenty-four-seven surveillance.
” She held up the photo. Just the sight of it made my blood freeze.
“This was taken in public. It could’ve been anyone, and it doesn’t necessarily mean they have malicious intentions. ”
“It’s cute if they tag me in it on social media. It’s not cute if they trespass onto private club property and leave it on my car in the exact same way the intruder left the doll photo.”
Brooklyn blew out a long, shaky breath. “You’re right. I was hoping…never mind.” She shook her head and drew her knees to her chest. She looked exhausted, and I hated that I was the one stressing her out. But we had to talk about this. Her safety was at stake.
My throat felt tight, like something thick and sharp was lodged there, refusing to go down.
“It has to be someone who was at the pub,” she said. “Did the police check their CCTV? Mac doesn’t allow photos inside, so it should be fairly easy to see who broke the rules.”
“He doesn’t have cameras inside. Smith is checking the CCTV footage, but that’s not going to help much. There must’ve been over a hundred people coming in and out all night.”
“At least it’s a start,” Brooklyn reasoned. “Sifting through a hundred people is easier than investigating the millions who live in the city.”
“Maybe.” I sank beside her on the sofa, my own exhaustion getting the best of me. My limbs felt like lead, and a migraine had blossomed behind my temple, its dull ache quickly sharpening into a hot, pulsing throb that spread like wildfire through my head.
Life had finally been looking up. Brooklyn and I were together, I got the Zenith deal, and Blackcastle was killing it on the pitch. Then the intruder came swinging back into my life like a fucking wrecking ball, smashing my sense of control into smithereens.
If I ever caught them, I was going to strangle them with my bare hands.
I glanced at the photo again, my anger curdling into fear. The picture itself was innocent, but the warning was implied. Whoever left it was obsessed with me, and I was dating Brooklyn now. What if they considered her a rival or, worse, a threat?
My mind festered with morbid images of her dead and lying in a pool of her own blood.
A cold spike of terror plunged through my gut. It took everything I had not to cocoon her in bubble wrap and spirit her away to a private island where no one could get to us.
“Let’s talk about something else.” I shoved my spiraling thoughts into a box and slammed the lid shut. “How did your interview with the Moores go?”
I’d been so caught up in the intruder’s reappearance that I hadn’t gotten a chance to check in on her day.
“Really well. They basically offered me the job on the spot.”
“That’s great!” At least there was some good news this evening. But before I could celebrate further, I noticed hesitation clouding her eyes. “That is a good thing…right?”
“No, it is. I’m excited, but I…there’s a catch.” Brooklyn took a deep breath. “It’s in Chicago.”
The word dripped down my spine like freshly melted ice. Chicago.
My brain struggled to process it. I knew what it was and where it was, but I couldn’t quite connect the dots between her statement and its implications.
I stared at Brooklyn for a second before I found my voice. “I thought it was a remote position.”
“It was, but they changed it to an in-person one because regionals are so close and it’ll make the transition easier.” She looked down and twisted the hem of her sweater around her finger so tightly, the surrounding skin turned white. “I have until Monday night to decide.”
That was in three days.
My stomach caved like I’d been punched in the gut. The intruder had taken the wind out of my sails, but if I hadn’t already been sitting, the possibility of Brooklyn leaving would’ve sent me to my knees.
Her, in Chicago. Me, in London.
Thousands of miles and an ocean between us.
For the second time that day, the world tilted beneath my feet. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I could only imagine an endless stretch of days where I’d wake up without her beside me.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to spring this news on you when it’s already been a shitty day.
But you asked and I couldn’t…I didn’t want to keep it a secret from you.
Not when the deadline is so close.” Brooklyn glanced up again, her eyes bright with emotion.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice small.
“Don’t be sorry.” I forced a smile. If she was this torn over it, it meant she wanted the job. If she didn’t, Chicago wouldn’t matter—it would be an easy no. “You got a job offer from Derek and Haley fucking Moore. This should be a celebration.”
She didn’t smile back.
“What are you thinking?” I asked. “Let’s talk it out. Pros and cons.”
My response was logical, almost to the point of clinical, but I couldn’t allow my emotions to gain a foothold. The Moores were a huge deal. Working for them could change her career, and I didn’t want to influence her decision by letting her see how completely wrecked I felt.
If she saw the panic clawing up my throat or sensed the dread wrapping around my chest like a vise, she’d stay for me—and as much as I wanted that, I couldn’t let her dim her future just to keep mine intact.
“Pros and cons,” Brooklyn repeated. She sounded doubtful.
“Yeah. You have a few days to make your decision, so it’ll be helpful to have a sounding board.” If I smiled any harder, my face might crack.
She gnawed on her bottom lip. “Okay. Pros: I’ll have a job with an amazing salary, benefits, and creative freedom.
I really like Derek and Haley, and working for them will be a huge gold star on my résumé.
They’re almost guaranteed to take my career to the next level.
Cons: I’ll have to move to Chicago. Its winters are brutal, and I hate the wind.
It also means I have to leave London, my dad, my friends…
” Her voice caught on a whisper. “And you.”
Her words settled between us on a heavy cloud of silence. The heater hummed in the background, the only sound in the room besides our breathing. Even the rush hour traffic outside had gone eerily quiet, like the world knew we were teetering on the edge of an abyss and was holding its breath too.
Don’t go. I need you. I can’t live without you.
The words threatened to break free from the crack in my chest.
The selfish part of me wanted to let them out. She could easily find another job in London…but could she find another job working for someone like the Moores?
Brooklyn had spent months agonizing over the future of her career. She gave up a sure thing at Blackcastle to pursue a better fit, and she’d finally found it. If I truly cared about her, how could I stand in her way?
“I told them I’ll think about it, but I’m going to say no.” She squared her shoulders. “I can’t leave London. I’ll find another job here. Now that I know what I want, it shouldn’t be that hard.”
“Maybe not, but this is a big deal. Take time to think about it and don’t make an impulsive decision.” The words scraped past my throat like razor blades. “Whatever you end up choosing, I don’t want you to regret it down the road.”
Brooklyn’s eyes shimmered. “I’m sorry again. The timing couldn’t be worse.”
“I told you, you don’t need to be sorry.” The corner of my mouth lifted. “I’d rather get all the bad news at once. It’s easier than getting shit on a little bit every day.”
She let out a small, choked laugh. “In that case, I have one more thing to tell you. I didn’t make it to ISNA’s final round.”
My gut twisted. I knew how much she’d wanted that prize. “Shit. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She gave me a wan smile. “I’ve had a week to get over it, and honestly, I didn’t submit the best application.
I was so focused on the ISNA prize because it gave me a purpose when I didn’t have other goals.
But now that I’ve figured out what I want to do in my career, it hurts a little less. ”
I squeezed her hand, my chest burning with all the things I couldn’t fix. All I could do was hold her tight and hope that was enough. “When did you find out?”
“Last Friday at the pub. You’d just gotten the Zenith deal, and I didn’t want to be a buzzkill.”
“Brooklyn.” I stared at her, my tone leaving no room for argument. “You can never be a buzzkill. No matter what news you get or when you get it, you can tell me. I could’ve just won another fucking World Cup, and I’d still want to know if something big happened with you. Do you understand?”
She nodded, her eyes bright with emotion again.
“Say it.”
“I understand,” she whispered.
“Good.” I pulled her close and kissed her forehead.
My heart felt like a blade had cleaved it in half—partly for what she’d lost, and partly for what we might lose come Monday night.
But that was three days away. Until then, I could hold her and pretend everything was alright, if only temporarily.
“Je serais toujours là pour toi, mon coeur. Quoiqu'il arrive.”