Chapter 17 #2
She laughs and pours herself a glass of water. I open one of the boxes I had shipped here and look inside, trying to remember what I packed. Most of it is photos.
Carlee sets her glass on the counter. “Still can’t get over you two. Pretty sure you and Easton are proof that love still exists. Kinda gives me hope.”
Guilt floods through me; I know it’s all fake. Maybe my idea of love has always been fake. Maybe everyone is pretending, and this is as real as it will ever be.
“Thanks,” I offer, hoping this doesn’t get out of hand, but the avalanche has started. There’s no stopping it now. I realize that this could be the secret recipe for disaster.
She yawns. “Well, I guess I’m gonna take a nap before work. What time do you have to be ready to leave?”
I unlock my phone and glance at the time. “One hour.”
Carlee walks toward me and hugs me. “If you need anything, I’m always here, okay?”
“Same,” I tell her with a smile.
She moves to her room and the door closes.
It’s quiet, other than the faint sound of a horn honking in the distance. I realize I have questions I want answered, and there is one person here who can help.
I let out a sigh, taking the four flights of stairs to the ground floor and stepping outside. Brody is playing a game on his phone and looks up at me before returning to what he was doing.
“You said I was going to bust Easton’s balls.”
“You are.” He doesn’t look up.
“How are you related?” I ask.
“We’re cousins.”
“Oh,” I say. “The things you must’ve seen, being his bodyguard.”
He clears his throat. “Can we skip the small talk?”
“Rude.” I scoff. “How long have you worked for him?”
“Fifteen years.”
I glance away, focusing on the cloudless sky. The sunlight reflects through the trees, and I swallow down my nerves and ask what I want to know. “Is this typical day-nine behavior?”
Brody bursts into hearty laughter. “He actually told you?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing with you and Easton is typical.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “He’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Ever.”
He’s being sincere, and I appreciate the honesty.
“Can you expand?” I ask.
“No.”
“Expected that,” I tell him. “If you wanna hang out, you can join us.”
“I’m okay, thanks.”
Then, I go upstairs and sit on the couch. The problem is, I don’t know Easton and sure as hell don’t know if his current behavior is normal or out of character. He could be reinventing himself before me and I wouldn’t know.
Are we really that good at convincing our close friends, or is there something there that neither of us sees? Because I’m starting to have an existential crisis, like Easton had. I lie back on the couch with my eyes closed, but my mind is reeling.
As I drift off, I receive a text, notifying me that my car will arrive in five minutes. I get up and knock on Carlee’s door. She opens it, her hair in a bun on top of her head. I give her a tight squeeze goodbye.
“How was your nap?”
“Short,” she says. “Promise me we’ll hang out soon.”
“I still owe you one. Brunch didn’t count.” I glance out her window, seeing the slick black limo roll to a stop in front of the apartment. “I gotta go.”
“Please don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t, I promise.” I grab what I can carry, then go downstairs.
Once I’m outside, the driver opens the door for me and Brody moves to the front passenger seat.
Once inside, I see a bouquet of white roses, a bottle of champagne, and chocolate-covered strawberries. There’s a handwritten note attached. I open it, giddy as fuck.
I meant it earlier when I said I missed you.
—E
The handwriting is neat, as if it were its own font. I read over it several times and press my fingers against the smile on my lips before I take a ragged breath.
He’ll break me. He’s going to do it.
I swallow hard, pouring myself a glass of champagne, trying to stop the butterflies from fluttering. This is bad. Very fucking bad.
Forty minutes later, we arrive at the diamond in the sky, and Nash opens the door for me with a smile. “Have a great day, miss.”
“Thanks. You too.” I nod, staring up at the luxury high-rise I will now call home. I’m thankful for the champagne because I needed to relax.
As soon as I enter, I’m greeted by security.
“Ms. Matthews,” the guard says, and a woman wearing a pantsuit approaches me.
“Hi, Lexi. I’m the building manager, Stella. I was asked to give you access to Mr. Calloway’s assets.”
“Yes,” I tell her, following her into an office. Ten minutes later, I’ve got cards, keycodes, my face and fingerprint scanned, and an app on my phone to allow me in and out of the building at any time. The only thing I didn’t give her was a blood sample and the promise of my firstborn.
I offer a thank-you and make my way to the elevator. Once inside, I scan the reader and push the button for the top floor. The elevator bolts upward and my nerves fully take over.
When the doors slide open, I hesitate before stepping out. I don’t know why I tense—maybe because none of this feels real or it’s too good to be true.
I glance into the reflection of the shiny wall and get nothing more than a disoriented funhouse version of myself. The mirrors lining the ceiling show me how I really look. I’m not even trying to impress him, not in these ripped jeans and a snarky theater T-shirt.
There will be pictures of me floating around the Internet, wearing this. I have to start trying because these images might haunt me forever .
With my head high, I adjust the tote on my shoulder.
I pause to peek at the people in the park before moving toward the door. Instead of knocking, I place my thumb on the keypad, wondering if it will work.
It unlocks and I reach forward, twisting the knob with a racing heart. When I walk in, I expect to find him alone. But he’s not.
On his lap is a dark-haired, blue-eyed little boy.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, “You have a kid .”