Escaping Reality

by Lisa Renee Jones

  a protector, Liam.”

  “I see things differently.”

  My spine locks into a steel bar. “I am not your—”

  “Not yet. But I want you to be.”

  I blink. What? He wants me to be what?

  “I’ll call you when I finally get out of this meeting. It will probably be

  about six. One of the investors isn’t flying in until later today.”

  I fight the urge to ask about the meeting and the investor. “Why are

  you doing this?” I whisper.

  “You won’t like my answer.”

  “How do you know what I like or don’t like?”

  “I’ll see you tonight.” The line goes dead and I do not know why, but I

  need my answer. I call back. He answers immediately. “At least I have you

  using the phone.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you are you, Amy. And I have to go, but text me if you need

  me.” He hangs up again.

  I clutch the phone. He was right. I do not like his answer. My very

  existence is a lie and that means anything he sees in me, anything between

  us, is also a lie.

  Chapter Nine

  After buying the clothes I had on in the dressing room and wearing

  them out of the store, I have to stop by the realtor’s office before I go to

  the grocery store. The six-block walk takes me past rows of cute stores and

  eateries, and I find Evernight Legal Services nestled in between a coffee

  shop and a furniture store. I frown. I thought this was a real estate office,

  but it’s logical enough that a law office might handle all business affairs for

  someone.

  I head inside the office, and I am pretty much pushed through the

  door by a gust of wind that jangles the bells attached to the entrance. In

  New York, I was pushed and shoved by people.

  Here it’s Mother Nature, and according to the store clerk I’d asked,

  this is normal here.

  Swiping at the hair in my face, I find myself standing in a small,

  homey-looking, compact office, and in front of a rich mahogany desk with a

  narrow hallway that looks like it leads to a few offices at most. “Welcome.”

  My gaze shifts to a gorgeous, twenty-twoish blonde bombshell wearing a

  hot pink dress and lipstick to match who appears in the doorway behind

  the desk. “Can I help you?”

  “Amy Bensen.” The name rolls off my tongue far easier than it had

  with Jared. I settle my leather bag, now packed with my shopping haul, on

  the waiting room chair. “I’m here to drop off my signed lease.”

  “Oh yes. Amy.” She smiles and offers me her hand. “Luke told me you

  were coming by.”

  “Luke?”

  “My boss. He’s not in right now. I think he said there was a package

  for you.”

  A package? I’m not sure what to make of that. “For me? Are you

  sure?”

  “Well, I’m new so I could be wrong, but let me go look in the mail

  room. I’m almost certain we had something, though.” She heads down the

  hallway without me truly seeing her.

  The package has to be from my handler. It would make sense. Maybe

  it contains a real explanation to what is happening and why I had to leave

  New York, I think hopefully, and my heart begins to thunder in my chest,

  adrenaline pouring through me. Answers. That’s all I want.

  It’s the unknown that makes me jumpy, afraid of my own shadow.

  The woman returns with a box wrapped in brown paper, reading a

  sticky attached. “Yep. I was right. The note says it’s from Mr. Williams.”

  “Have you met him?” Could he be my handler?

  Her brow furrows. “Dermit Williams?” I nod and she shakes her head.

  “No. He’s out of the country. He’s been Luke’s client for years, I believe.”

  I pull the lease from my bag. “Here’s the signed paperwork I was told

  to bring by here.

  I’m assuming Mr. Williams owns my building? The lease is with

  Evernight.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know, but that sounds logical. I really just started

  a few days ago.”

  She offers me her hand. “I’m Meagan, by the way. You can call me

  Meg.”

  “Nice to meet you, Meg.” I shake her hand. “Are you new to town or

  just new here?”

  “New to town, just like you. I got my paralegal degree in New Mexico

  just this month and had a job lined up with a big firm that fell through.” She

  holds out her hands. “So here I am.”

  “Oh no. I’m sorry. Why don’t you go home?”

  “Ex-boyfriend.” She crinkles her nose. “You know. Personal drama,

  new life. Yada yada.

  Life is as perfect as a hot man in a pink hat, if you know what I

  mean.”

  I try to picture Liam in a pink hat and she is right. It’s just wrong. I

  grin. “A pink hat on a hot man. I’m not going to forget that one anytime

  soon.”

  She grins. “I aim to make a lasting impression.”

  I think of Jared and my t-shirt that was so very obviously wrong with

  my skirt and heels.

  I liked him. I like Meg. As for Liam, I downright crave that man. None

  of this is good. None of this is staying off the radar.

  “We should do coffee,” Meg suggests, her voice snapping my gaze

  back to hers. “We’re both new and all. Or drinks. There are some cool spots

  around here for happy hour.”

  “Sounds fun.” And it does, but I won’t be going any more than I will

  be calling to check on Chloe. I won’t be diving into the deep, dark waters of

  some wild river and taking others to drown with me. I’m not that selfish

  and I won’t let a window of weakness change that.

  “You want to exchange numbers?”

  “I have a new cell phone but it isn’t working right. I’ll call you and

  give you my number when I’m sure it’s staying as is.” I crinkle my nose.

  “And when I remember the number.”

  “I did that last week.” She grabs a pen. “Let me give you my cell so

  you don’t have to call me here.” She scribbles it down and hands it over. “I

  already memorized mine.”

  Accepting the paper, I ignore the pinch in my chest at the certainty I

  will never be calling her. “Thanks. It’s nice to start to know people here.”

  She lifts the box. “It’s kind of heavy.”

  I take it from her and frown. It won’t fit into my bag with my other

  things. It’s going to be a long walk back to the apartment.

  ***

  It’s all I can do not to stop on the street corner and open the box, but

  the instant I step back out into the wind, I have this sensation of being

  watched. Two blocks later I still feel it and it’s driving me nuts. I tell myself

  it’s understandable paranoia considering everything, but I don’t remind

  myself again how I got past this in New York. I didn’t get past anything. I put

  it out of sight, and out of sight was out of mind. Not this time. This time I

  want answers that I hope this box holds.

  Finally, I reach the apartment and with aching arms from lugging all

  my stuff, I walk into the hallway, drop my bag, and lock the door. Holding

  the box to my chest, I lean against the door and stare into the apartment,

  listening for anything
or anyone that might be present. Eerie silence greets

  me, and while it should comfort me, it does not. I hate silence. I hate it with

  a passion. I rush forward and set the box on the table, and with my heart in

  my throat, I search the apartment.

  I lie all the time. Why should I trust the silence?

  Once I’m certain I’m alone, I sit down at the dining room table, and in

  the absence of a kitchen knife, I struggle with the tape and use my

  apartment key to cut it down the center. Note to self. I need a key ring for

  the single key I’m bound to lose, and silverware. I need to make a kitchen

  list. I start one in my mind. A couple of cheap pans. Cheap paper plates.

  Plasticware with a few real knives. I rip the box open and set my key aside.

  Lifting the lid, I stare down at the MacBook Air with a folder on top.

  Well, this is certainly a surprise. I reach for the folder and flip it open. A

  typed note is included.

  Ms. Bensen. Welcome aboard. Enclosed is a list of the properties

  Evernight leases on my behalf. As we discussed in our phone interview, you

  will need to do a weekly visual inspection to ensure they are properly

  maintained and email me a report.

  Phone interview? I did a phone interview? I’m confused. This is a

  cover story. I was told not to look for a job. I keep reading.

  An external check is all I need, and all properties are within a few

  blocks of one another in Cherry Creek. In addition, Evernight will provide you

  with a report on all newly listed properties in the Denver area. You will

  cross-reference them with public listings and send me anything that fits the

  criteria I’m including. Please email me when you get this so I know you are

  properly settled. I will have various other projects for you to undertake once

  I get to my location and get settled. I have limited phone connectivity, so if

  you have any issues you will need to email. If there is an emergency, you

  can reach my attorney, whose number I’m including.

  Dermit Williams

  Dermit Williams Holding Company

  I scan and find an email from my new boss, and his signature, which

  is no signature at all. It’s just his name typed. There is no script and there is

  no symbol to tell me I should trust this person. I’m baffled. I’ve been told

  this job is my cover story. A fake cover story. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe this

  is a real job, just like my lease was a real lease. The letter clearly references

  a conversation with someone pretending to be me. But the instructions I

  received clearly stated that I was not to get a job. Flipping open the folder,

  there really are property listings. Maybe my boss isn’t real. Maybe he, like

  the job, is a cover that is meant to be convincing. This is not a comforting

  thought. It tells me I have reason to go deep into hiding.

  I remove the computer from the box and find it’s not new, but close.

  It powers right up and I create a Gmail account for Amy Bensen and email

  my new boss. A muffled beeping sound reminds me the phone Liam gave

  me is still in my bag by the door and I head that way, unpacking what items

  need to be removed and finding the phone lit up with a text message.

  Don’t eat dinner. I want to take you out.

  I press the phone to my forehead and try to weigh my worries for his

  safety as valid or not. I have no real reason to believe anyone but me is in

  danger, and unlike Chloe, a man like Liam has the money and resources to

  protect himself. But he cannot protect himself from something he doesn’t

  know about and I do not know him well enough to risk trusting him, no

  matter how much my gut says I can.

  The phone beeps. I look at the screen. Amy?

  He’s going to call me if I don’t answer. I’m here. I’m doing some work

  my new boss gave me. Call me when you head this direction.

  Your new boss?

  My brows dip. Yes. My new boss.

  Interesting. I can’t wait to hear all about him.

  Avoidance mode kicks into gear. What time will you be here?

  Around six or seven. Headed into a meeting and I’m not sure how

  long it will take.

  I glance at the clock. It’s three. How did it get to be three? See you

  soon then.

  Not soon enough.

  My chest burns with what could be nothing more than a flirty

  message, but it feels like more. He feels like more. The very more I have

  ached for deep in my soul. Which is exactly why I have to walk away. I will

  trust him. I will pull him into my hell. And then one or both of us will crash

  and burn.

  ***

  After two hours of searching the internet for clues about my new

  boss to no avail, I left a message for Meg about changing the locks on my

  apartment since the office was already closed.

  Trying to clear my head to think straight, I decided to shower and

  freshen up. For the time being, I put my shorts back on, but I will change to

  meet Liam. Or not. I don’t know. I shouldn’t change. It will send the wrong

  message. Seeing him again might too, but it’s a risk I have to take to return

  the phone. I considered just dropping it off, but I feel I know enough about

  Liam to know he will just march to my door. If I am ending this, I need to

  really end it. If. No if. I am ending it. I will meet Liam at the hotel bar, nice

  and public, and then be on my way.

  Feeling jittery, I decide to run to the store to grab a few staples,

  hoping it will work off my nerves. It doesn’t work. Thirty minutes later, I

  return from the quick trip, and while I felt better while on my little

  excursion, I am right back where I started the instant I step into my “fake”

  apartment and more jittery than ever. I decide I probably need food and

  should force myself to eat to see if it will help, though I fear it will not sit

  well on my stomach. It’s not like I have to worry about ruining my dinner I

  am not having with Liam.

  Deciding on a can of soup, I pull out one of my new pans from a bag

  and then grimace at my newfound, should-have-been-obvious problem. I

  have no can opener or bowls. Paper plates are not going to cut it. Brilliant

  move. Just brilliant. My list has failed me and I eagerly jump on another

  excuse to get out of this cage I’m supposed to call home. The very idea that

  it will ever be that is laughable. This place is not home. Home is in Texas,

  where I can never return.

  Considering it’s already five o’clock, and Liam should be calling soon,

  I quickly find my way to the street. The instant I step off the elevator I know

  this trip is different from the last.

  Unease prickles through me and the hair at my nape lifts. The

  sensation of being watched I’d had walking to the bank earlier is back, and

  it is powerful. Each step I take seems to magnify the feeling. I speed up

  more and more, until I am all but running as I cross the main street to the

  grocery store.

  At the door, I glance behind me, searching for the source of my

  discomfort, but finding no one obvious. If I could flippantly call this

  paranoia I would gladly do so, but I’ve seen death and heartache. I am not

  hiding from no one and for no reason. Desperately, I
wish for some sign

  from my handler that I am safe in this new location with this new identity,

  but even this is troubling. I am blind to the colors around me, trapped in a

  world that is only black and white.

  Run or be caught. Hide or die. My throat thickens. Like everyone else

  I loved has died.

  Inside the store, I begin to shop, and momentarily I am relieved. I am

  in a public place. I am safe and the sensation of being watched is gone, but I

  am deeply troubled by the idea of being watched, even by my handler. He

  saved my life, I remind myself. He is trustworthy. No one else can be

  trusted. But Liam. I play that idea over and over in my head and in every

  version of how and I think of all the good ways that might end. And the

  bad. I think of him being in danger. I think of me being in danger.

  Quickly, I fill my basket, grabbing my staple bargain box of popcorn, a

  few bowls and a cheap can opener before I head to the checkout line. I

  grimace down at my basket. My popcorn requires a microwave. Craigslist or

  Walmart here I come and soon, I decide. Popcorn and TV dinners are this

  single girl’s staples. I’m about to remove the popcorn from my basket to

  save my pennies for later, when my phone, or rather Liam’s phone, rings.

  Steeling myself for the impact of his voice, I answer. “Liam?”

  “Damn, woman, I like how you say my name.”

  My cheeks heat with the gruffness of his tone that tells me that he

  means his words. The knowledge that I affect him reaches inside me and

  tightens my belly. I barely feel like I exist in this world and this rich, famous,

  and impossibly delicious man makes me feel as if I do. I don’t want to let

  him go. I don’t want to lie to him.

  “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes to pick you up.”

  The announcement jerks me back into the moment. “I’m at the store.

  I’ll drop off my stuff and meet you at the hotel bar.”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  “No. No. I want to change clothes anyway.” It’s my turn in line, and I

  put my items on the belt. “I have to check out. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Amy—”

  I hang up and cringe. Did I really just hang up on him? I expect him to

  call back but he doesn’t. Maybe I should call him back but the less I say

  before “goodbye” the better. I can’t call him back. I’m still telling myself