Chapter 18 #2
I tap a heart emoji on her message before dropping my phone into my purse.
Hopefully, I can kill Cyan’s obsession by the time she gets back.
Sure, my orgasm at Lookout was mind-bending, but Cyan MacBrady isn’t the man for me.
I need him to see that too. Over the past two weeks, I haven’t heard or seen Cyan.
I should be relieved. Except his absence doesn’t erase his presence, not when Johnny is there every morning and every evening, a silent reminder of Cyan’s hold on my life.
***
I’m curled up on the couch on Sunday morning while Gran takes her nap when my phone rings. I hear Tasha’s voice as soon as I answer.
“Hey, Aria girl, what’s up?”
“Tash, I was about to call the CIA to track you down.”
She laughs. “Sorry, Ari. This case is messier than my firm expected. It was supposed to be a simple declaration of assets, but the bastard dumped two hundred and fifty boxes of paperwork on us. Petty move if you ask me.”
“So, not the cushy business-slash-vacation you thought it would be?”
“Girl, you said it. I’m in the office at sunrise and back at my hotel past midnight. This morning’s the first time I’ve even had a minute to order room service.”
“Sorry, Tash. I know you were hoping to sport that leopard-print thong bikini.”
“I know. It’s tragic. And here I thought I’d finally get to sample a Cuban.”
I burst out laughing. “Tash, you’re sad.”
“Girl, it’s been five weeks. For five weeks, I haven’t had any D. You know it’s my drug of choice. I’m showing signs of withdrawal.” I laugh harder, the tension in my chest easing for the first time in days.
“Tasha, thanks. I needed that.”
“Why?” Her tone shifts to serious, Tasha. “What’s wrong?” Shit, my heart jumps into my throat. Damn her lawyer instincts. Tasha is a shark for reading people. It’s what makes her such a brilliant lawyer, and I cannot afford her digging right now.
“Nothing.” I force a casual tone. “You’re such a worrywart. I feel sorry for your future kids.”
“Ari?”
She’s not buying it. “Seriously. Same old stuff. Simon’s dumped more work on me, and it’s quarterly tax filing season, so I’m swamped.” Not technically a lie, I’m in the middle of a periodic surcharge filing.
A pause. “Oooh, you’re stuck with more of that pig’s workload? I told you to let me slash his tires.”
I smother a groan. This again. “And I told you that wouldn’t solve anything.”
“Ari! It would make me feel better, and I think you would too. Trust me. Please let me do it.”
“No.”
“Come on, it’s not like anyone would know.”
“Still no.”
“Ugh. You’re impossible. But fine... promise me you’re, okay?”
I hesitate. I should tell her. But dragging Tasha into this? Into Cyan? No. “I’m okay, Tash.”
“Hmm. Fine. But if I find out you’re lying, you’ll not have a choice about the tires.”
“How much longer are you stuck in Florida?” I rush to change the topic and get some info.
“Two, maybe three more weeks. Four at the most.”
I let out a sigh of relief; I’ll have some time to get Cyan’s attention elsewhere. “I feel sorry for your client’s soon to be ex-husband. You’re going to take him to the cleaners for this, aren’t you?”
She lets out a wicked laugh. “Oh, twice over. He thought he was being petty. I’m about to make his soon-to-be ex-wife filthy rich.”
A knock sounds in the background. “Room service.”
“Gotta go, Ari. Please think about my offer to slash Simon’s tires.”
“Still no, Tash.”
“You’re no fun.” The call disconnects, and just like that, the weight of my reality settles back onto my shoulders as silence rushes in, cold and punishing. I’m alone with my lies again.
***
On Wednesday, I’m informed that Simon and I will work at the firm’s Boston head office on a new client file next week.
Since my aunt lived in the city, I declined the firm’s hotel offer.
Pauline’s cousin agreed to stay with my grandmother over the weekend, making it easier for me to take the job’s bonus payout without worry.
This trip will give me the edge over Johnny. I wish I could see his face Monday morning when he comes to pick me up–only to discover I caught the last flight out Sunday night. Of course, as soon as I walk out my front door to catch my ride, there’s Johnny.
“Guess you forgot to update me, Ari,” he says sarcastically, “but no worries, James already reached out to Cyan, so I’ll still be picking you up and dropping you off even in Boston.”
I grit my teeth. “Fan-fucking-tastic. Didn’t realize Cyan was promoted to my personal assistant.”
Johnny chuckles. “Told you, we’re attached at the hip.”
I don’t reply. What I really want to say isn’t meant for Johnny’s ears. If my life weren’t so messed up, stepping onto a private jet would have floored me, but losing one freedom numbs all experiences.
Thankfully, my aunt works the night shift and is asleep when I leave for work each morning, sparing me an interrogation about the brand-new Mercedes-Maybach S-Class Pullman waiting at the curb.
I only know what it is because I Googled it the first time I stepped inside.
The interior is obscene. Leather seats so plush I could sink into them, a partitioned driver’s area, and rear-facing seats that make the whole setup feel more like a limo than a car. Cyan’s car. Of course, it is.
By midweek, I’m praying my luck holds. So far, the universe is on my side.
On Thursday, I’m on lunch break and sitting at Leventhal Park, soaking in the rare moment of freedom. No Johnny, no security, no one watching me—just me, my chicken salad sandwich, and a can of ginger ale.
An elderly man lowers himself onto the bench beside me, his movements slow and deliberate. “Hello, Aria. Guess you didn’t listen to me after all.”
I freeze mid-bite. My head snaps in his direction, and I inspect, but I’m certain I don’t recognize him. Gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, a hooked nose; his eyes look somewhat familiar.
“I’m sorry, do I know you? Who are you? How do you know my name?” I shift, preparing to stand, but his next words root me in place.
“Don’t move, Aria. It’s me. Ethan.”
Shock bolts through me. I look closer, now spotting the prosthetic nose. The disguise is clever.
“Ethan?” My stomach twists at the thought of him getting his face beaten bloody. I start to rise.
“Wait, Aria, this is the only safe way I can talk to you,” he says quickly, voice low. “I warned you to stay away from him. You’re in over your head. But I can help you.”
I swallow hard. “How?” But I already know he wants information about Cyan.
“Help us bring him down.”
A humorless laugh escapes me. “You want me to spy on Cyan?”
“Yes.”
“Hell no. I’d rather not get my ass beaten like you. Or worse.”
Ethan’s eyes narrow. “And how did you know about that?” Shit, I slip up. “See?” he presses. “You already have valuable information.”
“I’ll deny it if asked.”
“It wasn’t hard to figure out my so-called break-in was staged. Then Cyan MacBrady lays claim to you publicly, and you’re being watched right now?”
A chill prickles my spine. “You’re lying.”
“Look toward the guy reading that book.” My eyes flick toward the man casually flipping pages a few benches away.
“And the other feeding the birds.” My stomach knots. “Don’t stare too long!” Ethan hisses. “You’ll tip them off. Take a bite of your sandwich; act normal.” He leans back and laughs like I just said something funny, masking his following words with a cough.
“Tell your driver you’re working late. Meet me tomorrow in the underground parking lot.”
“I already told you. I’m not interested.”
“Aria, trust me, I can help you. Cathy is a good friend. I wouldn’t be risking my neck for this if I didn’t think it mattered.
Meet me tomorrow in the parking garage. An hour.
That’s all I ask.” I open my mouth to refuse, but he cuts me off.
“You should get going. Don’t want to be late getting back to work. ”
Then he stands, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Loud enough for others to hear, “Bye, Miss. Nice meeting you. Hope to see you again.”
He hobbles away before I can say another word.