Chapter 22
January
say goodbye to my family after being there all winter break, and hug Claire extra tight before packing up my car. It’s a three-hour
drive from Cedar Falls to Boston, where the art show will be held.
I’ve decided I am going to end this with Holland. This time I won’t back out like I did twice before.
I know Asher prepaid for the hotel room downtown and can’t get a refund if we cancel: He told me so when he booked it last month.
Back when we planned to do this together.
So when I get to the check-in counter I’m not surprised by how easy it is.
That and the fact that the girl at the counter looks to be eighteen and too into the book she’s reading to care about her job.
She hands me the key for room 317 without asking for an ID or even a card for a security deposit.
All she says is that they had to change the room to a single king suite and they’d refund the difference to the card on file.
Not that it matters now that I’m doing this solo.
I take my duffel bag and go to the third floor.
In the middle of my shower, a loud noise from the hotel room makes me pause. I shut the water off and remain still, listening.
What if it’s Holland? What if he tracked me here and now I’m alone in this room, with no one to help me? Another noise makes
me jump. There’s definitely someone out there. I slowly get out of the shower, wrapping a towel around me and securing it
tight before grabbing the hotel-supplied hair dryer under the sink. It’s better than nothing, I guess. Tiptoeing from the
bathroom, I open the door slightly, holding the dryer above my head, ready to strike the intruder.
“I thought that was your bag on the bed,” Asher says, standing in the middle of the room. I let out the breath I was holding,
and the hair dryer falls to my side. “Were you . . . going to hit me with that?” He laughs.
“I thought you were Miles! What are you even doing here? I told you I don’t want your help.” I cross my arms to keep the towel
up.
“I had a feeling you’d come here anyway and I came to make sure you don’t do something stupid.”
I can see his split lip has almost fully healed and the burn on his neck is now barely more than a faint pink mark. I want
to tell him that I’m more likely to do something stupid with him here. His eyes make a trail down my body, wrapped in the
towel, and I might as well be standing here naked.
“You have to leave,” I tell him.
“I paid for this room, Sawyer. I’m not leaving. You can leave.”
“That’s not an option.”
“Then I guess we’re doing this together.” He gives me a wry smile.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“But you’re sleeping on the couch,” I add.
“Already planned on it.” He tosses his bag on the white pull-out couch and turns back to me. “Anything else, princess?”
I roll my eyes and stalk back into the bathroom to finish washing my hair. What the hell does he think he’s doing coming here
after what happened in Vail? I had planned to continue on the way we originally started, which is me pretending he doesn’t
exist and focusing on Wesley. But seeing his stupid face again makes me feel weird in ways I can’t explain.
I dry my hair and dress in another black cocktail dress. When I come back out, he’s dressed in a beige sweater and brown slacks.
He looks . . . good. Dammit, he looks really good.
“Have you been talking to Wes?” he asks as he puts on his coat.
“Yes, he called a few times over break to see how I was doing.” Something you didn’t bother to do, I want to add. I bend down,
trying to clasp my heels, but the dress is tight, and I struggle.
“Here,” he says. “I’ll get it.” He bends down before me to clasp my heels, and I don’t object. “What about your friends?”
“Annica isn’t speaking to me,” I say. She has blocked me actually.
None of my calls and texts will go through to her.
Dani says to give her time, and that she’s just hurt over the lie, but knowing Annica, there is no amount of time that will fix what I did in her eyes.
And as far as the lying goes, Wes and I hooking up is only the tip of the iceberg.
If they knew the full extent of what I wasn’t telling them, they would both block me.
Asher’s hands brush over my ankles and he seems to linger down there a moment too long. “We need boundaries,” I blurt out.
“Boundaries?” He stands and looks down at me now.
“Yes, no more touching or kissing or—”
“Licking or sucking,” he finishes for me with a smirk.
“Asher,” I warn, because he’s not taking this seriously.
“I’m just teasing,” he says, but we’re still close enough that I can smell his cologne and it makes my heart beat faster.
“Whatever happened that night in Vail was just . . . an accident. We both had too much to drink and there’s a lot at stake
here.” That’s the lie I’ve been repeating to myself all December. But I need to hear it. I need the reminder. Because if Asher
and I go all the way, I’m afraid there will be no going back.
Asher puts on his peacoat and picks up mine, holding it out for me to put my arms into. I step into it, and he leans into
my ear from behind.
“I’ll be on my best behavior.” It sends chills down my arms.
I turn toward him so we’re face-to-face. “Good.”
“Great.”
It’s a twenty-minute taxi ride to the gallery.
I squirm uncomfortably in my tight dress and take deep breaths in the back of the car.
When the Uber stops in front of a square glass-paneled building, I step out and into a crowd.
Graham managed to get a large gathering of people to come to this opening.
It’s no surprise; he was quite good in college.
I’m sure he’s only gotten better. We file in when they open the doors, and I’m already looking around for Miles.
Servers come around with champagne and I take two, downing one on the spot.
“Because that’ll help,” Asher mutters behind me, taking one for himself.
It doesn’t take long, not long at all, as I spot Professor Miles Holland standing on the opposite side of the gallery. I stop
abruptly, causing Asher to run into me and spill his champagne on himself. “Dammit, Sloane.”
I spare only a second to glance back at him, but that is enough to lose sight of Miles. When I turn back around, he’s gone.
“Sloane?” I look to my left to see Ty and Austin.
“Ty?” She looks like she belongs in an art gallery in her chic black plunging blazer and slacks with a small YSL bag slung
over her shoulder. I hug her, and then Austin, who is also dressed the part of a patron of the arts. “What are you guys doing
here?”
“We’re here with this guy that Austin is seeing—oh, you have to meet him, he’s dreamy.” Ty clings on to my arm as she says it, nearly pressing her face to mine, never one for personal
boundaries. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I’m here for, um . . .” Trying to come up with something that doesn’t involve Graham or Holland.
“She’s here indulging me and my love for art,” Asher interrupts. Ty and Austin both look at him and Ty’s smile widens.
“The situationship, I take it.” She holds out a hand and he takes it. That’s what I had told her he was that night we went
out for drunk bingo. My situationship.
“The one and only,” he says with a smirk.
But I’m standing there trying to comprehend the fact that here we all are, at the same gallery opening in Boston, with a murderer.
“Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom.” I leave Asher there to answer the million questions that Ty and Austin will probably
be asking right about now, the perfect distraction to get away from Asher and do what I came here to do.
I push through the crowd looking for Miles and grab another champagne flute from a tray, not bothering to even glance at the
artwork on the walls. Graham is a realism painter, down to the very last detail. It’s impressive, as long as you’re not the
subject. I make my way around one of the freestanding walls in the middle of the floor and nearly run into a man in forest-green
corduroys and a navy coat. He looks at me with wide eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses.
“Holland,” I say. And I’m not scared anymore. Not now, when we’re in a crowded room and I’ve had three glasses of champagne
in thirty minutes.
He takes his hands from his navy coat pockets like he wants to hug me, but pauses, knowing better. “Sloane, what are you doing
here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Miles looks around, like he’s looking for someone else. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for months, and you choose now? This . . .
isn’t a good time.”
I ignore him, continuing like I rehearsed in my head. “I know what you’re doing, and it needs to stop.”
His eyebrows rise. “You know?”
I can’t hide the shock on my face at his admittance. I mean, that’s what that was, right? Am I recording on my phone? Shit, I’m not recording on my phone! I dig through my purse for it as I continue. “Why are you doing it? Revenge? Are you really that pissed at me that you want to ruin my life?”
“Well, I wanted to ask your permission first. I’m not trying to ruin your life.”
“My permission? You wanted to ask me first if you could murder all of my exes?”
His brows knit together at my accusation. “What?”
“I’ve already told the police about you, so you might as well turn yourself in, Miles. I won’t let you get to Graham.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sloane. Have you been drinking?”
“I know you have pictures of my journal in your closet. Who else would be doing all of this?” I throw my hands up in aggravation.
He shakes his head, provoked. “That was you who broke into my house?”
“I mean, how didn’t you realize? You emailed me that you can recognize my perfume anywhere, didn’t you?”
I feel someone come up behind me. “Ah, the Professor,” Asher says.
Miles looks between us before saying to me, “How about we discuss this in private when you’re thinking straight.”
“Miles, you should—” A familiar female voice trails off as she rounds the corner. “Sloane?”