Chapter 13
thirteen
SADIE
Once the meeting is over, I have no choice but to walk to the bar. Because liars always pay the price, and apparently pretending I’m unaffected by Zach and out on the hunt means pushing through clusters of businessmen and date-night couples, acting like I belong.
One drink and I’ll go home. Without looking like the loser I so obviously am. At least Zach has slunk off to his lair and isn’t here to witness any humiliation.
There’s one empty table tucked in the far corner, thankfully. I slide into the chair and grab the cocktail menu, lifting it up to study it like it’s a piece of literary genius.
Before I can even decide what to drink, a waiter appears beside me, smiling like he understands I don’t want to be here.
“Good evening, ma’am. Are you ready to order?” he asks.
“Yes please. I’ll have a vodka tonic,” I tell him, deciding that the cocktails will all take too long. A vodka tonic is easy – the kind of drink you can finish fast if you’re ready to leave because you’ve made your point.
He nods and walks away, and I let my gaze drift around the room. The room hums with low conversation and the clink of glass against marble. Someone laughs near the bar, and it feels like everybody is having a good time except me.
For a moment I feel an unmistakable prickle along the back of my neck, like I’m being watched.
But he’s not here. I know that. He doesn’t give a damn about me or my evening plans. And that’s a good thing.
Because I’m not getting attached to a man who has no idea how to attach himself.
I take out my phone for something to do.
And to be fair, I didn’t lie about the app.
There really is one. I downloaded it a couple of days ago.
I swipe it open, the soft glow of my phone lighting the table.
A few new profiles flash up. Men with masks, tattoos, and smirks that promise things I’m not sure I’m ready for.
One is shirtless, holding a rope. But none of them are wearing a suit.
Or a collared shirt, open at the neck, smirking like he’s god’s gift to women.
I tell myself this is a good thing. I don’t need somebody like him.
But I also don’t want anybody who isn’t him. God, that is so annoying.
The waiter brings my drink and I take a sip, just as a thirty-something businessman approaches my table. He has his jacket still on, but his tie is gone, his white and blue striped shirt unfastened one button too far.
He runs his hand through his slicked-back blond hair and without asking, he pulls out the chair next to me and sits down too close.
“A beautiful lady like you shouldn’t be drinking alone,” he says, smiling like I should feel grateful for his attention.
I shift my chair backward. “Shouldn’t I?” I murmur. “And who says I’m not waiting for somebody?” I add, because apparently, I only like being hunted when I give my permission.
But of course he doesn’t get the message. Instead, he leans forward and touches my hair and I immediately flinch. What the hell? Who does that without asking?
“Is this red natural?” he murmurs. “It’s so vibrant.” He winks. “It’d look great on my pillow. I’m staying here at the hotel.” He looks stupidly proud of that. Like I should take him seriously because he can afford a room here.
I shake my head, pulling my hair from his grasp. Now my heart is racing for all the wrong reasons. This isn’t okay. It really isn’t.
I open my mouth to tell him that, but nothing comes out. He’s still smirking, the asshole. And now I’m going to have to wash my hair tonight.
“The lady isn’t interested,” a low voice says. I don’t even have to look to know who it belongs to. It’s weird but I immediately feel my body relax.
I’ll think about the implications of that another time.
“Fuck off, man,” the smirker says. “I was here first.”
Before the last word escapes his mouth, he’s being lifted out of his seat by the front of his shirt. “This isn’t preschool.” Zach doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. His size and that quiet, cold anger do the job.
I hold my breath as his hands tighten around the man’s collar. The smile slides from the smirker’s face. Looks like he doesn’t like being touched without his permission either.
Who knew?
“You lay a finger on her again without her permission, you won’t be able to use that hand,” he says, his tone smooth as glass. “Now apologize to the pretty woman and walk away.”
The smirker mutters something that sounds a little like ‘sorry’, eyes darting to me. Before I can reply he bolts toward the exit. The bar’s noise swells again, like nothing happened. Zach watches him leave before he slowly turns his head to look at me.
“Are you okay?”
I nod even though my heart is pounding. “I’m fine.” Then a second later, because apparently I have a death wish, I tell him, “I could have handled it myself.”
He lets out a low breath. “Finish that and go home, Sadie. Before you get into trouble.”
I open my mouth to tell him where to shove his advice, but the expression on his face silences me. Without another word, he turns around and walks away. I watch him, my brows pulled together, every muscle in my body taut.
He moves through the crowd like he owns it, his shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt in a way that makes heat crawl up my throat. I can’t see his expression, but I assume it’s still furious, because the crowd parts for him as he walks. More than one woman gives him a longing stare.
I know how they feel.
My heart’s still racing, but it isn’t from fear anymore. It’s from the memory of his hand gripping that man’s shirt, the low command in his voice, the danger in his eyes that shouldn’t make me feel safe, but somehow does.
God that man is aggravating. How can I feel safe and exposed at the same time?
Letting out a sigh, because my whole ruse so obviously failed, I finish my drink and stand up, leaving twenty dollars on the table. I’m going to go home, wash my hair, delete that app, and stick to reading books.
Outside, the night air hits me like a splash of cold water as I cross the parking lot toward my car. It’s so busy tonight I had to park on the far side, and it takes a while to walk across the lot.
The hum of the hotel fades into the low hush of the sea and the soft thud of my heels on the path. I breathe in the lilacs from the flowerbeds, trying to steady myself, but the mix only makes me more aware of how alive I feel.
And how I only ever feel that way when he’s close.
I hate this. The pull. The push. The aching for him and knowing that nobody else is going to make me feel like that. I walk to my car, planning to unlock it, then I shake my head.
Because, no. I’m not slinking home like an idiot.
I’m taking control, the way I said I would.
I turn on my heel and walk to the graveled path that leads to the side of the hotel, the side where the private apartments are.
There’s a row of patio doors. But I know which one is his door.
I know that from when I came here the other day.
Back then I was seeing it from the other side.
There’s a light glowing through the gaps. It makes my chest thud, because he’s right there, on the other side. Somehow I can feel it.
The same way I can feel the breeze in my hair and the thud of my heart against my ribcage.
Without second guessing myself – for once – I step forward and rap my fingers on the door. There’s a pause for a moment, before I hear a lock mechanism releasing and the door is pulled open.
My throat goes dry when he looks at me, like he knew I’d be the one standing here. Like he feels the pull too.
For a second neither of us says anything. Then he shakes his head, like he’s answering an unasked question.
“Come in,” he says, stepping aside to let me through.
He must have been making himself a drink because there’s a bottle of whiskey and a glass on the coffee table in front of his leather sofa. There are a couple of lamps on, giving the living area of his apartment a soft glow. Music is playing, soft and low.
“Sit down.” He nods at the sofa. “Want a drink?”
I shake my head. I didn’t even finish the vodka. And I’m driving.
“Then what do you want?” he asks. The way he says it isn’t mean. It’s more curious than anything.
And I’m not sure I know the answer to it.
I take a deep breath. “Why were you in the bar?”
He blinks slowly, like he’s considering my words. “Because I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
Oh. The right answer. Or maybe the wrong one. Because now my heart is racing.
“The hotel bar isn’t exactly a haven of indecency,” I murmur. “I don’t think anybody was going to hurt me there.”
He leans back against the sofa, his eyes dipping to my face. “There are a lot of different ways to hurt people.”
The way he says it makes my chest tighten. “Yeah, well thank you. For stepping in. Though as I said, I would have handled it.”
He runs his thumb along his jaw. “Why were you there?” he asks. “Were you looking for what he was offering?”
There’s an edge to his words. They almost cut me.
“I was trying to get out of my comfort zone.” There, not a lie. “I’ve spent the last few years keeping myself safe. I’m tired of it. I just want…” I want to feel alive. I want to feel wanted.
I want you to do that.
“Yeah, well a bar full of finance assholes on a Friday night probably isn’t the way to do that.” He clears his throat. “And nor is an app. Not the kind you downloaded anyway.”
“How do you know what app I downloaded?”
He tips his head to the side. “I don’t. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Tinder.”
No, it wasn’t.
“Here’s the thing, Sadie,” he says, his voice still low. The glow of the lamp makes his face look even more chiseled than usual. “Apps like that. Guys who want… to do the things you want to do. They’re a fucking tightrope. You could get very, very hurt. And I don’t want that.”
“Why?” I ask. It’s a genuine question.
“Because we’re supposed to be friends. Remember? You didn’t want me to ignore you. Didn’t want me to treat you any differently? So as friends, I’m telling you, you’re playing with fire.”