Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Tatum gritted her teeth. All she really wanted was to be alone, but instead, she was flanked by the top tier of Lock and Key Society security.
Ryker Sterling walked at her right, and Rushton Fletcher was on her left.
Archer had vanished somewhere between the car and the underground garage.
One moment he'd been there, the next he was gone.
She assumed he'd taken another route. Another door.
At this point, she didn't care. Being marched through the upper floors of the Lock and Key Society on the Upper East Side, surrounded by security, made her feel odd.
Protected didn't quite fit. It was too soft a word for this.
Intrusive, maybe. This had to be what celebrities felt like, never alone, personal space constantly invaded.
She would hate that. And yet she didn't feel the need to look over her shoulder quite so much. She did actually feel safer walking through these doors after tonight's ordeal. So maybe it was a toss-up.
They skirted the restaurant, then the sitting areas with their low-lit fireplaces, before stopping before a door she'd never walked through before.
Ryker keyed in a code, pressed his palm to the screen, and the door slid open.
He stepped through first. Rush gestured for her to follow and then followed behind her.
The hallway beyond was plush and silent. The thick carpet muted their footsteps. The walls were painted a soft cream, lined with what she assumed were prints of impressionist masters, though knowing the Lock and Key Society, they could very well be originals.
They reached the end of the corridor and turned to a door on the left. Ryker used a key fob. The screen beside the door lit up.
"Put your hand on that," he said.
She considered arguing. Asking why. But decided against anything that would expend extra effort. She pressed her right hand to the scanner and felt the faint hum as it read her palm print. Archer had obviously arranged more than she realized.
Ryker handed her the key fob. "Use this and your palm. That'll open this door and the one we just came through."
"And what is this exactly?" she asked.
Ryker opened the door. "This is your apartment. For as long as you need it."
Tatum pushed the door wider and stopped.
Any additional questions evaporated at the opulent sight that greeted her.
White marble floors gleamed under soft lighting. The walls were painted a muted gray, the furniture a mix of cream and pale wood, warmed by textured rugs and carefully chosen artwork. Throw blankets were draped over the sofa, and a gas fireplace glowed gently, already lit.
The far wall was nothing but glass. Floor to ceiling. A sweeping, uninterrupted view of the East River stretched out before her, lights shimmering on the dark water, the city reflected back in sharp lines and motion.
Bulletproof, she thought immediately. Of course it was. The realization settled over her with a strange mix of comfort and unease. Beautiful. Secure. Untouchable. For the first time since leaving her apartment, the tight knot in her chest loosened just a fraction.
Stylish, yes. But also livable. Intentional.
Ryker ushered her inside.
As she moved forward, she noticed the kitchen to her right, open to the main living space, fully equipped.
An island dominated the center, its surface looking suspiciously like Carrara marble, though she suspected it was some kind of high-end quartz.
Sleek stools lined one side. Top-tier appliances gleamed beneath under-cabinet lighting, softened by pops of color, a kettle, a coffee maker, a mixer, all in a soft, pastel green.
The refrigerator stood flush with the cabinetry.
"The fridge is fully stocked," Ryker said, crossing to the fireplace. He picked up a remote. "This controls the gas fireplace. On and off."
He handed her a second remote, smaller and heavier. One button.
"If you run into any problems or need anything"—he pointed to the discreet gray button—"hit that. One of us will be here immediately."
Tatum let out a short laugh. "So, if I need a cup of tea?"
Ryker smiled faintly. "If you need a cup of tea, pick up the phone." He nodded toward the counter. "You'll see it there."
Rush disappeared briefly, then returned to the room. "All secure. Not that I thought it wouldn't be, but I wanted to make sure you feel comfortable." His gaze lingered on Tatum, steady and assessing.
She blinked. She wasn't used to this level of attention, this kind of careful solicitude.
"I'm fine," she said.
"Good." Rush nodded. "Remember, hit the button if you feel scared or uncomfortable at any time.
One of us will be here immediately. And Ryker's right," he added.
"Pick up the phone and hit number one if you want food or drink.
Direct line to the kitchen. I believe Chef Pierre made his famous meringue for dessert tonight. I highly recommend you indulge."
"I'm going to indulge," Ryker said, patting his stomach. "Haven't had one of those meringues in ages."
"They're worth the splurge," Rush agreed. "Just make sure you grab one for Vic. She'll kill you if you have one without her." He grinned.
Ryker laughed. "It's true."
They both turned to Tatum. "Anything else we can get for you?"
She genuinely couldn't think of a single thing. "No. This is great. Thank you."
They nodded, businesslike again. Ryker set the key fob on the counter, and the pair of them disappeared through the door.
Tatum stood there, alone at last, and slowly took in the room.
It really was a master class in design. Beautiful without being cold, elegant without feeling staged.
Everything was arranged to make her feel at home.
Cozy. Grounded. Even with the entire end wall made of glass overlooking the river, the space somehow still felt contained. Safe.
She let out a long breath and rubbed her face. This was not how she'd imagined her day ending.
Her stomach growled. She blinked in surprise. She hadn't eaten much earlier, too busy, too distracted, and then there had been the gala and the break-in and the adrenaline, and now, of all times, her body had decided it was hungry. Apparently, nobody had told her stomach about the evening's events.
She knew there was probably a bar somewhere. A glass of wine sounded tempting. So did real food, not junk, something solid, like a plate of pasta.
She turned toward what she assumed was the bedroom. The door stood open, and she walked through.
Stunning. Again. The bed was layered with crisp white linens and soft throws, the lighting low and warm.
Calm. Intentional. She dropped her overnight bag on the bed, then returned to the kitchen.
She would check out the bathroom later, but already knew it would be just as lavish and as well-thought-out as the rest of the apartment.
Opening the fridge, she stared at the abundance inside.
Fresh produce. Fruit. Prepared dishes. They hadn't been exaggerating.
It really was fully stocked. She closed the door again, suddenly too tired to think about cooking.
Maybe they were right. Maybe she just needed a meringue and a cup of tea. Then sleep.
She walked toward the phone, but her steps stuttered as a knock sounded at the door.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Get a grip. She shook her head in disgust. She was inside the Lock and Key Society, surrounded by security. Nothing could touch her here.
Still, she exhaled slowly before moving to the door. She glanced through the peephole and found Archer standing there.
"Archer?" Surprise edged her voice as she opened it. "Did you need something?"
He stepped inside. "I thought you might be hungry.
" Behind him, one of the restaurant waiters pushed a large cart into the apartment.
Archer gestured toward the dining table in the corner, and the waiter went to work unloading dishes, spreading a tablecloth, and setting out gold-rimmed plates with quiet efficiency.
"What is all this?" Tatum asked, genuinely perplexed.
"Nothing like indulging in something life-affirming," Archer said evenly. "After a night like yours, people usually do."
She studied him. "And eating is one of the options?"
"Yes."
"What are the others?"
One corner of his mouth lifted. His eyebrow arched just slightly.
It took a beat. Then the meaning landed. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Archer met her gaze, entirely unembarrassed, and gave a small, unapologetic nod. "Yes. Exactly. I can arrange that too if you so wish."
His smile turned her insides to liquid. "No! No, no," Tatum said quickly. "That's fine. All good."
She shook her head, then immediately wondered why she felt the need to do that at all.
A simple no would have sufficed. But the thought of Archer being the one to satisfy that particular need was enough to force her off-kilter.
There was no denying he was sexy as hell, and she'd had a thing for him since she'd joined the Society.
Who hadn't? Those deep-green eyes were enough to make any woman's knees weak.
Her cheeks were flaming as she turned away quickly.
That was when she noticed the table was set for two.
All the dishes were arranged in the center, heavy silver domes covering each one.
"You're staying?" she asked, glancing back at him.
He nodded, murmured something quietly to the waiter, who wheeled the cart away and disappeared.
"I think you and I have some things to discuss," Archer said.
"Really?" she murmured distractedly, eyes still on the table.
She was busy willing the heat out of her cheeks, and meeting his gaze felt like a terrible idea at this particular moment.
Her stomach rumbled again. She was far hungrier than she'd realized, and as a distraction, she took a seat.
"What exactly do you think we need to discuss? "
Archer lifted the domes one by one. A pasta dish. A salad. A delicate fish entrée. Rice and vegetables, all plated beautifully. He set cutlery beside each dish.