Chapter 5
Five
Alex
It’s getting dark and sleeting as I step out of the cab and look up at the apartment building in Brooklyn. Carol Jenkins has a two-bed condo, which she’s either renting, or she’s doing very well for herself. I can’t place the face, but assuming she’s Vicky’s age, it’s the former.
“Hello?”
I add a rasp to my voice and affect a local accent. “ delivery. Bit heavy and getting wet, if you don’t mind…” The door clicks as the lock disengages. “…thanks.”
Probably shouldn’t have thanked them. It didn’t fit the role.
It’s only three stories and the stairs are right there, so I skip the elevator and head on up, shaking the water off my coat. Studiously ignoring the occupant of 2A as I pass the second floor, who’s waiting expectantly in their doorway.
With only four units to each floor, I’m forced to upgrade my appraisal of Jenkins’s wealth.
I wonder if she was a peer of Vicky’s. If so, my fiancée was doing better than I thought in her previous role.
Either that, or Jenkins isn’t the right friend—a manager perhaps, or a network connection—and I’m wasting my time.
In irritation, I rap on her door, the strikes sharp. The sound of footsteps lets me know she’s in, at least.
The woman who opens up is Vicky’s age. Short, frizzy blond hair, and wearing glasses. Friendly face… until her eyes harden in recognition.
“Shit. Ben and Jerry’s.”
We must’ve met early in my relationship with Vicky, because this woman’s vaguely familiar and clearly knows me. But I don’t grasp the reference of the ice cream slang. It must be trending or something.
“Good evening. Is Vicky in?”
“Uh…” She glances past me down the hallway, the simple act divulging all I need to know. No blank face, no surprised, ‘Who?’
Vicky’s been here, but she’s not here right now. And judging from the glance and the consternation, she’s due back shortly.
Perfect.
“Do you mind if I come in and wait?” The door’s open far enough that she’s too slow to close it in my face, and once my foot’s over the threshold, she knows it’s too late to try.
“Why not,” she says sarcastically, stepping back in resignation.
This is definitely the right place. Vicky and a woman like this would be perfect friends. With that in mind, I’ll receive no support from her. But as always, I can’t resist a challenge.
I give her an easy smile, leaning into feigned self-deprecation. “Thank you so much for taking her in. You don’t know what that means to me.”
She pauses in the act of closing the door, regarding me in puzzlement that’s swiftly replaced with suspicion. “I’ll be candid. I don’t think your ex wants to see you. You should leave.”
She’s not my ex.
I ignore her, walking farther into the apartment. There’s a delay before she closes the front door, then her footsteps follow me.
“Nice place.”
She doesn’t bother to reply to that platitude, but walks into the open-plan kitchen-living space and leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring at me like I brought in a bad smell.
Tough crowd.
I take my overcoat off, trying not to shake too much water onto the floor, and drape it over my arm.
She wavers, then scowls as her manners force a reaction. “Can I take your coat?”
“Oh, thank you. That’s kind.” I give her another smile, but keep it understated. Little by little. “I’m Alexander Reyes, by the way,” I say as she hangs it up. “Didn’t we meet? A few months ago?”
“Carol Jenkins,” she mutters. “September. At the wine bar.”
I click my fingers. “Right. Nice to meet you, Carol. And you went with Vicky when I bought her that resort and spa trip, if I’m not mistaken?” A subtle reminder that she owes me, however much it is by proxy.
It works. Her demeanor becomes ever so slightly less hostile, a begrudging gratitude filling the gap. “It was lovely, yes.”
“I’m so glad.”
Carol sniffs. “She’s not here—if that’s not obvious.”
“Thank you for letting me wait.” I watch her with a mild air of expectation.
She barely avoids an eyeroll. “Do you want a coffee?”
“That would be wonderful. Black, please. No sugar.” I give Carol a few moments of kettle-oriented familiarity before I try again.
“How is Vicky? Is she… doing all right?” I’m the very image of the concerned, remorseful, so-not-ex-fiancé making a delicate inquiry after a little lovers’ tiff, a bump in the road.
“She’s doing just fine,” Carol replies tersely, keen to remind me that I’m not needed in her life.
“Is she still at work?” I know she isn’t; she works from home. Whenever she does work, which isn’t often.
“She’s out for a run.”
I blink at that. “Really?”
Carol’s look of disdain could wilt fresh flowers. “She does run, Mr. Reyes.”
“I mean it’s sleeting outside. It’s almost dark. And this…” I hiss in a breath, and it’s not even feigned. “…is Brooklyn. Not Westchester.” I take a few paces toward the door, seriously considering if I shouldn’t go and look for her.
My genuine concern has done more than my best attempts at charm, for Carol mellows considerably. “She’s got mace, and she promised me she’s fast.”
“She is fast.” Lithe, long-legged. The image of her ass in those tight running shorts returns to me, even though I haven’t seen her wear them in… damn, has it been four months? How did that happen? Winter, obviously, but I know she’s still been running. “She’s got her phone too, right?”
“She has,” Carol agrees guardedly.
I nod in relief. “So long as she has your number.”
“She does.”
“Good.” I glance toward the door, half feigning, half genuine, and finally it’s enough. Carol cracks.
“Why are you here?”
I let surprise into my tone. “To… to see her, of course.”
“Just to see her?”
“Check she’s all right.”
“She’s been busy.”
“Good… good. What with?” I keep it light.
Carol crosses her arm again. “Work.”
Is that a lie? I can’t tell. Sounds genuine, but how can it be? “What work?”
“She has a new case. It’s not my place to say.”
My eyebrows rise. “She does? I mean… that’s fantastic.”
But despite it not being her place to say, Carol wants to talk about it. “An old client of hers. A law firm.”
“Wow.” I nod encouragingly and wait.
“Heather, Mercer it’s a distraction. I shake my head. “Let’s… talk once you’re warm?”
She doesn’t reply, just glares at me, shoots Carol a glance full of reproach, then storms past us both and into a room I presume is her bedroom. The door slams.
The sudden awkward silence is broken by the kettle clicking off, steam jetting from the spout. Carol doesn’t move toward it, making it clear I won’t be getting my coffee.
We don’t have to wait long. Vicky’s door opens and she strides out, belting her robe about her waist as she comes, the T-shirt beneath dry, but still wearing her wet running leggings. “Why are you here?”
“To check on you, of course.” I’m conscious that Carol is listening, but I don’t make the mistake of glancing at her. “You didn’t reply to any of my messages.”
“I left you a message.”
“You did?” I almost reach for my phone.
“You can’t have missed it. It was on a piece of paper on your bed.”
Biting and pointed.
“I’m keeping it safe,” I say carefully, watching her.
She trembles where she stands, though I’m not sure if it’s cold or anger.
One hand grips the back of an armchair, the other’s in the pocket of her robe.
Her hair’s still wet, darker than usual, a stray lock curling at the edge of her face, begging to be brushed back. Her throat jerks as she swallows.
“Sell it,” she bites out. “I don’t care.”
“I care.”
She gives a short, bitter laugh. “No, you don’t.”
“I missed your birthday. I understand you’re upset.” I take a small pace toward her. “It was the Summit Ridge deal. We… got it signed.”
“You’ve been working on it for six months. It couldn’t have waited twenty-four more hours?”
“No, it couldn’t.” And I’m not exaggerating. “Time kills deals, Vicky. I told you that. One day could—”
“I don’t give a fuck about your deal. I don’t care about your work. We don’t need the money!” She glances away, lips pressing thin, angry.
It takes me a moment to realize she said ‘we’; she realized before I did.
“I… uh… hear you got a new contract. Congratulations.”
Vicky directs some of her anger at Carol, then returns her focus to me. “Is that your way of saying you want the money back? I’ll pay it. Give me… three months.”
That wasn’t what I meant. Though now I consider it, I could demand it all… No. It’s better she keeps it. She’s just told me she can’t afford to repay it; she needs it. Dependent on it. On me. A constant reminder.
“You don’t need to pay it back when you’ll be returning to me soon enough.”
“The hell I will.” Her chin comes up. “I want you to leave.”
“Not until I’ve—”
Her fist clenches on the chair, eyes flashing with fury. “I’m not interested in what you want. I want you to leave.”
My irritation uncurls inside me. “Don’t you think this is a bit petty?”
“Petty?” She spits the word at me. In the corner of my eye, Carol winces.
I gesture with one hand. “I get it was your birthday, but—”
“You don’t fucking get anything! That’s the whole goddamn point!”
Irritation becomes affront. It’s not merely how she’s talking to me, it’s that she’s doing it in the presence of someone else. I’ve been reasonable, while she?
One of us has to be in control here. “I think you should calm down, and come home.”
“I told you to leave.” Her voice drops cold and quiet. “I’m not even clear if I want to see you again. But I’ll sure as hell be getting clearer if you’re still here in twenty seconds.”
I bite down on the three retorts that spring to mind, tightening my jaw while I compose myself again. “Vicky—”
“Sixteen.”
“What?”
“Fifteen.”
“I’ll get your coat,” Carol offers helpfully.
“Twelve.”
I regard my fiancée. The determined line of her jaw. The slight flaring of her nostrils. Her steady gaze, unflinching and unwavering. Stubbornness, personified.
She’ll dig her heels in so damn hard it’ll take me two weeks to get back to this point. Two weeks I don’t have.
“Five.”
I accept my coat from Carol, turn for the door, and don’t look back.
“Three. Two.”
The door closes as she says one.