Chapter 17
Seventeen
Afew days later, Jal was curled up on the sofa, a book propped on her knees, reading the same paragraph for the tenth, or maybe fiftieth time, she wasn’t sure.
Every time she tried, her attention drifted to the coffee table and her phone, screen innocently dark, beside a cooling cup of tea.
Every time, she unlocked the screen to stare at the contact with Ciaran’s name at the top, the buttons for call and text side by side beneath it.
Every time, she stared at the options until her adrenaline spiked high enough that she tossed the phone back down with a sigh and returned to her book. Lather, rinse, repeat.
It wasn’t because the book wasn’t any good. She’d devoured the first half of it, a romance novel currently climbing the best seller list set in a fictional medieval world, but that was before she and Ciaran had… before she had…
She closed the book with a snap and tossed it down on the cushion at her feet.
It bounced off and thumped onto the rug.
Her temples began to throb as Jal swung her feet to the floor and scrubbed her face with her hands.
Her eyes were gritty and dry, her body ached as if she were training for a marathon.
It was as if her body was feeling the exertion in her dreams, which had only become a new kind of torture ever since she’d escaped the hall of many doors.
Now, every time she closed her eyes, she’d found herself in an endless labyrinth of colorless, featureless walls filled with a silence so deafening, the pressure on her ears and on her mind quickly drove her into a full-on sprint around one corner after another just to find a way to escape it.
A few nights ago, she ran on, and on, and on, until she smashed into a wall, that then became an enclosed cube of featureless plaster with no way to escape until she woke up.
Last night, she had run to near exhaustion and tripped over her own feet, slamming back to consciousness before she’d hit the floor.
One hand slid off her face and dropped to her lap, jolting her from her thoughts. She propped her chin on the other, her eyes fixed on the darkened screen. Stop being such a wuss, she berated herself for the thousandth time.
Sure, in the beginning, he’d been cocky, somehow knowing just what buttons to push to get a rise out of her. But he could also be kind, and had been so giving, more concerned about her pleasure than his own. Until she’d gone and ruined it.
You don’t know that for sure, a tiny voice piped up from the back of her head.
With a sigh, she reached out and picked up the phone again, the motion waking the screen and unlocking with a scan of her face.
She didn’t have a picture of him stored in her phone, but as she stared at the generic little silhouette above Ciaran’s name, she saw his face, and its many varied expressions, anyway.
The knowing smirk as he bent to release the hidden drawer on her table.
The storms clouding over the hopefulness in his whisky-brown eyes when he rose from the table that first time at Amicetto, a moment before she walked out the door.
The sight of him standing in the doorway to her apartment clutching that ridiculous trophy, his eyes going wide as she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and hauled his lips to hers.
Jal ran a hand through her hair to get it out of her face and gave a handful a yank. Anything to clear her head. Her eyes shifted to the chair to her right, its only occupant now a single unassuming throw pillow.
Heat coiled through her, settling deep down in her gut as she remembered the way he had held her on his lap, their hips pressed tight together as he tortured her with his mouth on her breasts.
First nibbling, then slow licks to soothe, then sucking hard until she’d cried out. Her riding his hand until…
“Oh, for the love of—“ her thumb reached for the call button, but just as it touched the screen, a notification came in and she selected that instead. The screen shifted to the text string with Elena and Lexi.
Elena: Reservation at Reina for 8pm tonight. Plus ones optional.
Jal blew out her breath. Talk about saved by the text.
she thought, even as she wrenched her brain away from dirty memories to whether she had been anywhere called Reina before.
Then it came to her, a fancy midtown penthouse restaurant owned by a chef who had made it big on some cooking competition.
It was trendy, and way too upscale for a certain ex-con ex-boyfriend.
Jal sent back a quick reply and flipped back to her contacts. She hesitated only for a moment, and then tapped the text button.
Jal: Reina. 8pm Tonight
She hit send before she could lose her nerve. As she set the phone down, the memory of the notes that he’d left all around her apartment bubbled to the surface. She smirked and scooped the phone back up.
Jal: Dress Elegantly.
Ciaran’s feet were dragging as he emerged from yet another mind-numbing staff meeting, clutching an empty mug in one hand, his laptop tucked into the crook of his elbow, when his phone buzzed.
He scrambled to free a hand, balancing the mug precariously on the laptop, and reached into his pocket.
The mug started to slide, but Catherine reached over to rescue it before it could fall.
Her sigh told him that she had also given him one of her famous eyerolls, but he was too focused on his phone to actually see it.
For a moment, he scowled at the message. Just a name and a time from an unknown caller. His brow furrowed as he wracked his brain for a reason why someone he didn’t know would be texting a name and a time.
A shadow crossed the screen and he looked out of the corner of his eye to find Catherine leaning around his shoulder. “What is it with you and your phone lately?” she asked.
“Och, away wi’ you,” he waved her back with the hand holding the phone. She laughed and leaned away but didn’t give him any more space. True, he had been a bit more glued to his phone than normal, but Jal had his number now, and she’d yet to use it.
Jal. Ciaran’s brow knitted again as he reread the three words, and then again… The notes! That’s why just a restaurant name and a time sounded familiar. A corner of his mouth turned up and his heart started beating a little faster. It was almost racing when the second text came in. He laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
Ciaran glanced over at Catherine, whose chin was practically on his shoulder now. She arched a black brow at him from only a few inches away, a twinkle in the eye beneath it.
He glanced around, but for once, Cliff was nowhere to be seen. He turned the screen more in her direction, not that she hadn’t been able to read it before.
She bent closer anyway, her hair tickling his ear. “Reina?” She glanced at him quizzically. “You mean that swanky place up the street with the killer views. Fancy, fancy!”
Ciaran fought to maintain a neutral expression. What are you up to, lass?
“Sounds like she wants you to meet her for a romantic, rooftop dinner.”
Ciaran winced as she breezed by him into the aisle where their desks were. Did she have to say that so loud?
“What I don’t get,” Catherine continued. A sheet of stick-straight black hair slid over one shoulder as she glanced back at him. “Is what’s so funny about that text.”
Ciaran dropped into his seat before he replied, “it’s an inside joke of sorts.”
Catherine perched on the edge of the stool at her drafting table, hands clasped between her knees, and studied his face.
After a moment, her red lips parted in a knowing grin.
“So… things are going well enough with this girl to have inside jokes,” she said slowly, her hands now waving gently through the air in front of her as she worked out what she was going to say.
“But not enough to have her number saved in your phone?”
Ciaran chuckled, and playfully tossed a binder clip at her. “Something like that.”
She swatted at it, her college field hockey goalie reflexes sending the small black clip with its silver butterfly wings neatly into the trash can with a loud clang. Ciaran clapped appreciatively and Catherine bowed with an elaborate wave of one hand.
“Gray! Cheng! Are you here to work, or play games?” A voice roared from across the room. “I need that Gramercy Park proposal by end of day.”
Ciaran looked up to see Old Man Dougherty glowering at them from the doorway leading to Cliff’s office. “Sorry, sir!” he called, cheeks heating.
Catherine ducked her head, her shoulders shaking with laughter and Ciaran couldn’t help himself joining in quietly as he turned to his computer. This day was looking up.