“The limo, Alayna. I’ll meet you there.”
I wiped the tears roughly from my face as I walked toward the lot he’d pointed to, picking up my pace as soon as I was out of his view. There were several limos parked, but I spotted Jordan leaning against the hood, playing with his phone. When he saw me walking toward him he opened the door without a word.
“Take me home, please, Jordan,” I choked as I slipped in.
Jordan shut the door and I heard him get into the driver’s seat. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t agreed or disagreed to my direction, and, for a moment, I feared he’d only take his orders from Hudson.
Relief swept over me when the car started...
…and then immediately left when he pulled up next to the ballroom and Hudson climbed in, the doors automatically locking after he’d closed the door.
Shit! Hudson had probably texted Jordan that I was coming out, to pick him up after, and to not take me anywhere without him. Unreasonably, I felt betrayed by my driver.
As the car pulled into traffic, I pressed into the opposite corner, as far away as I could from the man sharing the car with me.
Hudson pressed a button and spoke. “Jordan, drive around until I say otherwise. Or find someplace to park for a while.”
Normally I’d blush, afraid of what Jordan would think we were doing in the backseat. But I was too pissed and hurt to care.
We sat a few minutes, not speaking. I couldn’t imagine that the always-in-control Hudson Pierce was at a loss for words, so I assumed his silence was meant to calm me down. Or unnerve me. Some sort of expert manipulative tactic.
It didn’t calm me. Instead, the silence gave me time to review every moment of the past few days, allowing me to recognize his domineering hand in all of his actions. It gave me fuel to hate him for his control over me. And myself for falling in with the prick in the first place.
Finally he spoke, quietly. “What exactly did Celia tell you?”
I couldn’t remain silent. “Oh, just how you fuck with vulnerable women’s emotions. Is it true?”
“Alayna—“ He moved across the seat, placing his hand on my knee.
“Don’t touch me!” He removed his hand. “And stop saying my name. Is it true?”
“Will you calm down so I can explain?”
His soft tone felt patronizing, emboldening my fury. I needed him to admit it. I had to hear him say it. “Is. It. True?”
His answer came in a burst. “Yes, it’s true!” He took a deep breath, regaining his control. “In the past, it was true.”
I froze, my eyes riveted on him. I hadn’t expected a confession. Hadn’t expected him to tell me anything—he never did—and I feared if I moved he’d stop talking. So I remained still.
He took his time, not looking at me as he made his admission. “I did...things...that I’m not proud of. I manipulated people. I hurt them and often it was deliberate.” He turned to me, piercing me with his intense gray eyes and the grit in his voice. “But not now. I don’t do that now. Not with you.”
His delivery affected me, but I bit past the emotion, knowing I had proof that betrayed his words. “Really? Because it seems completely obvious that you did exactly that with me. The way you picked me out at the symposium and you tracked me down and gave me a spa vacation and Jesus, you bought the club!”
He shook his head. “It’s not like that. I explained the gift and I was looking at the club anyway. When I found out you worked there, yes, it helped me make my decision—”
I cut him off. “And you ‘hired’ me and seduced me. And when I told you I needed to not have sex with you, you somehow got me to do exactly that. You are manipulative. You’re a bully, Hudson.” I wrapped my arms around myself, hoping to stop the new onslaught of tears that threatened.
“No, Alayna. I didn’t want that with you.” The anguish in his tone set my tears into motion. He leaned forward and I sensed he wanted to touch me. Instead, he put his hand on the seat next to me, putting himself as close to me as I’d let him. “I don’t want to be like that with you.”
I swiped at the tears, unable to keep up with their pace. “Then what do you want to be with me, Hudson?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure.” He sat back against the seat. His expression confused, torn.
Suddenly, he looked much younger than I’d ever seen him. He no longer seemed the confident, commanding alpha male that I knew him to be, but like a group member in one of my therapy sessions, exposed and accessible.
He let out a brief laugh, as if he recognized his own vulnerability and it amused him or confounded him. “I’m drawn to you, Alayna. Not because I want to hurt you or make you feel a certain way, but because you’re beautiful and sexy and smart and, yes, a little crazy, maybe, but you’re not broken. And that makes me hopeful. For me.”
I let out a shaky breath. God help me, I wanted to reach out to him. I wanted to comfort him, knowing his words about me said more about himself than any he’d ever spoken.
I didn’t move, though, still not willing to break the moment. Even my tears had stilled, as if they’d interrupt.
“And maybe I’ve been a bully. But I’m a dominant person. I can try to change things about me, but the fundamentals of my personality are never going away.” His voice lowered further. “You of all people should be able to understand that.”
He had me earlier. Probably back when he’d insisted he didn’t want to be whatever with me, but for sure when he’d inferred he was broken, and that I was not. And if none of that had reached me, his last statement would have. I did understand him. More than I had ever thought possible. What it felt like to be a certain way and to loathe myself for it. How difficult it was to change and learn to accept the parts of me that were fundamentally never going to change. And what it did to me to believe I was incapable of falling in love the way normal people do.
I knew what it felt like to be that person.
“I’m sorry.” It came out as a choked whisper so I repeated it. “I’m sorry. You didn’t judge me and I judged you.”
He nodded once and I knew that was his way of accepting my apology.
“And I exaggerated when I called you a bully. I haven’t done anything I didn’t want to. And your whole confident, domineering thing is actually kinda hot.”
He almost smiled, but squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to reign in his emotions. When he opened them again, they were pleading. “Alayna, don’t quit. Don’t quit me.”
I looked away, knowing how easy it would be to give in if I kept staring into those gray eyes. “Hudson, I have to. Not because of this, well, not only because of this, but because of my past. I’m not well enough to be with someone who has his own issues.”
Truthfully, I didn’t know if I was well enough to be with anyone.
“You are, Alayna. You only tell that to yourself because you’re scared.”
That drew me to face him. “I should be scared. It’s not safe. For either of us. You should be scared, too.”
He let out a heavy breath. When he spoke again, he was resigned, as if he didn’t expect his words to make a difference yet he spoke them anyway. “I don’t believe that. I think spending time with another person who has similar compulsive tendencies can provide insight and healing.”
I leaned my head back against the seat and stared at the car’s ceiling. I wanted to believe like he did—that we could make each other better. But I couldn’t. All I’d witnessed and experienced in my life around addicts told me otherwise. Besides, if he’d wanted me around him to confide in and give some understanding, he should have told me his secrets from the beginning. And he hadn’t.
As much as it pained me, I had to break things off. I had to do the right thing once and for all.
But there were my own financial woes. As irrelevant as money might have seemed at the moment, being able to keep my job at the club had an enormous impact on my own mental well-being. “I won’t quit.” I turned to face him. “But I can’t have a relatio
nship with you, Hudson.” My throat felt tight, but I kept on. “All I can give you is the fake. I have to protect myself here.” I should have ended all of it, but I didn’t have the strength for that. This had to enough.
Hudson’s shoulders lowered slightly. “I understand.” He nodded as if to reaffirm that he understood, making me suspect that he didn’t understand at all but was accepting my decision anyway. “Thank you.” He straightened, his poise returning, and I knew that he was back to his regular confident self.
I had one more thing to say, though. I leaned toward him, placing my hand firmly on his knee. “Hudson, you’re not broken.”
His expression faltered briefly, his eyes cast downward. When they rose again I saw them pass my exposed cleavage. His brow rose. “What are you...? Is that...?”
I looked down to see what he saw. The corset. Damn, I’d forgotten. A familiar tug of desire formed low in my belly, followed by a more painful ache in my chest. “Yes. I’d worn it for you.”
He sighed. “Wow. That was…that was very thoughtful of you.”
We still wanted each other, and it would be so easy to let that want rule us.
But I was stronger than that. I could be stronger than that. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. I am, too.” His eyes lingered on mine for a moment, before he shifted gears entirely. “This may be poor timing, but I need to get back to my mother’s show.”
“Sure.”
“And since you’re supposed to be sick, you will need to go home.”
I listened as he ordered Jordan to drive toward my apartment.
“When is our next show, boss?” I asked, half praying the answer was soon, knowing that the more time before I saw him again, the better.
“I’m not sure. I have to fly to Cincinnati tonight.” He pursed his lips. “And I am not your boss.”
“Cincinnati? Tonight?”
“Yes, tonight. I have a meeting first thing in the morning. My jet’s leaving early evening.” A private jet. Of course. “I’ll text you later to arrange the Hamptons. We’ll leave Friday afternoon.”
“So you’ll be gone all week?” I don’t know why I asked. It shouldn’t have mattered.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Oh.” He already felt distant, like he’d already gone. I turned my head to hide the tears that were filling my eyes.
The car pulled over to the side of the road. I looked out the tinted window and saw we were in front of my apartment. Jordan got out of the car, and shortly after, my door opened.
I didn’t want to get out. It felt awkward and awful—my second sort-of-not-at-all break-up in a week. Why did this one hurt so dang much?
Without looking back at Hudson, I stepped out of the car.
“Alayna.” He called me just as I stood fully. I pasted on a fake smile and ducked my head back in. “Thank you for today. I think you’ve truly made an impression on my mother. Good work.”
I stayed at the curb until Jordan had shut the door and gotten back into the car. A shiver ran through me, despite the hot summer day. Wrapping my arms around myself, I headed up to the small studio apartment that felt big for all the loneliness it held.
At my door I found a bag of gourmet coffee and I dissolved into tears, completely melted by his gesture. My elastic band lie. Hudson never missed a beat. I wracked my brain trying to figure out when he had arranged to have it delivered, and realized it had to be before the limo conversation. It was a sweet gesture. I wondered if he wished he hadn’t done it now.
Whether he regretted it or not, it gave me an excuse to reach out to him once more. I pulled out my phone and typed a carefully thought out text. “Thanks for the coffee. And for everything else.”
It was a goodbye to the great whatever it was we’d had, fleeting as it was. I needed the closure. Maybe he did, too.
I pushed send and had a moment of panic, wondering if I’d done the right thing by ending our relationship, wondering if I could undo it, praying that his response would show me he was having the same doubts as I was.
But Hudson didn’t respond at all.
Chapter Thirteen
I stalked Hudson online again that night.
Not because I felt I needed to learn more about him, but because the distance between us felt so overwhelmingly vast. It was a familiar feeling, one I’d felt with guys I’d dated only to discover later, in therapy, that I’d been overreacting. But this was different. We were apart for real, not only in my psycho head. And I couldn’t bear it. I had to get closer to him in whatever way I could, even if it was only via the Internet.
There were already new blog posts and news feeds from the fashion show. The event had great reviews, and more money had been raised than projected. I flicked through the pictures of models, a little wistful that I had missed that part of the day. And there were pictures of me with Hudson, kissing outside the limo when we were on our way in. I stared at those the longest, saving one particularly close shot as my wallpaper desktop.
Most of my stalking, however, was on Pierce Industries and its business ties in Cincinnati. I searched way longer than I should have, trying to deduce if Hudson really was going there, and finding nothing helpful. Did he really have business or did he just want distance?
It shouldn’t have mattered. Our next assignment wasn’t until Friday. But the need to know ate at me, consuming my mind until I’d spent hours exhausting every avenue of research I could think of.
At least I stopped myself at online stalking and checking my phone over and over for a response from him. I didn’t call the airport to see if a Pierce Industries jet had taken off—that wouldn’t have been healthy behavior.
Besides, I had no idea what airport.
I awoke the next afternoon with a knot in my chest. My muscles felt jittery even before I’d had any coffee. They were my usual anxiety symptoms, but I couldn’t say for sure what had caused the attack. Worry about my meeting with David? Or stress about Hudson?
In an attempt to relax, I popped in a yoga DVD before I had to get ready to leave. The narrowed focus and rhythmic breathing loosened me for the most part, but the edge still lingered.
I spent longer than usual prettying up for my meeting at the club. Not for David, but for myself. Sometimes looking good made me feel good, and I was willing to try every trick in the book to get rid of the tension. But no matter what I did, the anxiety remained, buzzing through my veins with a steady electric current.
It was simply nerves about the promotion, I told myself. I’d feel better after meeting with David.
As I was on my way out the door, I got an incoming text. I checked it eagerly. But it wasn’t from Hudson. It was from David.
“Something’s come up,” it said. “Reschedule for Wednesday at 7.”
Then I knew. That the stressing had nothing to do with David, because moving our meeting did nothing to change the way I felt. I should have felt relief, or a spike in the tension since it would have to be dragged out two more days. Also, I should have wondered about what had come up. David and I were close enough that he’d tell me. But I had no desire to ask.
Hudson. It was Hudson that kept coming to mind. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he thinking of me?
I texted back a confirmation to David and paced my apartment, trying to decide the best way to get my ex-lover off the brain. I needed to catch a group. Checking online, I made sure there was still an Addicts Anonymous session scheduled on Monday afternoons. There was, but I had plenty of time before the session started.
I could run. With Jordan driving me around so much, a bit of aerobic activity would be good for me. I changed into shorts and a tank top, put on my running shoes and started out.
The run helped clear my head, the endorphins flowing through my body making me feel better and more confident. And invincible. Which was why when I found my route had led me to the Pierce Industries building, I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t a big deal to be there. Especially since I only
went inside to use the bathroom in the lobby before resuming my run.
I felt so good from the exercise that I decided to skip therapy all together and keep on with my run for a while longer, continuing to the Lincoln tunnel before turning around. I passed the Pierce Industries building again on my way back. And since I knew there was a drinking fountain inside, I went in again, this time lingering a bit in the lobby, scoping out the elevators looking for some sign of Hudson in the building. I managed to make myself leave before I slipped into a car and pushed the button for the top floor.
The next day I didn’t possess as much strength.
Not only did I return to the building three times, but each time I rode the elevator. I told myself it couldn’t be called stalking exactly, because Hudson was out of town—though I had yet to accept that as truth—and because I never actually pushed the button for Hudson’s floor. Instead, I let fate take me wherever, journeying with whoever stepped on to whatever floor they were going to, then forcing myself to return back to the lobby. It felt like elevator roulette—if the car took me to the top floor, then I was meant to stop by Hudson’s office. But each time, I missed the bullet, the other passengers never choosing his floor.
Until Wednesday.
Even though my shift the night before had gotten me home at almost six in the morning, I was awake and back at the Pierce building before one that afternoon. My first ride took me only to the fifth floor. When the passenger stepped out and the doors closed, I leaned against the back of the car and sighed, knowing the car would return to the lobby if I didn’t push a button.
But instead of going down, the car went up. Someone must have summoned it from a floor above. I held my breath as I watched the needle rise higher and higher. Then it stopped on the top floor. Not the secret top floor that required a code and would take me to the loft, but to the floor that Hudson’s office was located on. I braced myself for what I’d see when the doors opened, hoping I’d learn something by peeking around whoever stepped into the car with me.
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