by Hannah Ford
“I’ll be right back,” I say graciously to the man I’ve been talking to, and follow Hailey as she starts toward the main door of the office.
“Elijah is here,” she says, turning me around gently so that my back is to the party, making sure that none of the guests will be able to see my reaction. She plasters her own face with a cheerful smile and then nods at me happily, like I’m telling her something that’s very interesting and exciting.
“What do you mean, Elijah’s here?”
“Just what I said. Elijah is here.”
I go to turn around and scan the room, but she grabs my arm, her nails digging into my skin, even as the smile on her face never wavers.
“Nope,” she says. “I made him wait outside.”
“Thank you,” I breathe.
“But he’s refusing to leave until he talks to you.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, not sure exactly how I’m supposed to do that. I mean, how do you handle a man like Elijah Armstrong? I guess I could do the same thing I did when his security guards insisted they needed to follow me – threatened to call the cops until they finally left me alone.
But I’m not sure Elijah even cares about the police, at least not in the way that normal people –
The door to the office opens, and Elijah starts to walk into the office. He’s wearing an impatient look on his face, like he has every right to be here, like this is his party and he’s late for it.
I take a breath and hurry toward him, ushering him back out the doorway and into the hallway.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Have you ever heard of the phone?”
“You won’t answer my calls.”
And now that he’s standing here in front of me, I remember why. Because I know that if I have any contact with him, that if I even hear his voice, I’m going to weaken. His presence is even more overpowering than I remember, seeming to take up all the air around him. He’s wearing one of his signature dark suits, but his suit jacket is nowhere to be found, and his tie is loosened around his neck, his sleeves rolled up just a little bit, showing off his muscular forearms.
Five o’clock shadow dusts his jaw, and my pulse kicks up, remembering how that stubble felt sliding against my skin as he kissed me, how it scratched the inside of my thighs as he coaxed me to orgasm.
I take a step back from him, desperate to put some distance between us, to stop the pounding of my heart against my ribs. Because the truth is, I still love him. I want him. The only thing that’s keeping me from running to him, to burying my face against his chest, to falling to my knees until he punishes me for leaving him, is my own sense of self-preservation.
Because to do any of those things would result in certain heartbreak.
Heartbreak that I’m not sure I could come back from.
“This is completely unacceptable,” I say, thrusting my chin into the air and crossing my arms over my chest. “You can’t just show up at my work like this. You need to leave, Elijah, or I’ll have to call security.” I try to say it with authority, because I’m not exactly sure who, exactly, I would call. There’s the building manager who lives downstairs and works in the office, but I’m not sure she would really be able to do anything if push came to –
“What security?” Elijah asks, looking around doubtfully.
“The building security,” I say firmly.
“There’s building security?”
“Yes.”
“Really? Because last time I checked, you didn’t seem to take too kindly to security.” A smile plays on his lips, and I know he’s talking about how I told the security detail he had on me to go screw.
He takes a step toward me, halving the distance between us, so I take a step back and immediately hit the door behind me. My hand curves around the handle, just in case I need to step through it.
Then I realize that would be a horrible idea, because if I go back into the office, the arrogant bastard is going to follow me. And that would be a disaster.
“What do you want, Elijah?”
“I told you, I need to talk to you.”
“So then talk.”
He scrubs his hand over his jaw, and then looks at me. Electricity shoots through me like a bolt of lightning, so shocking in its intensity that I can feel it from my fingers all the way to my toes.
For a moment, I think maybe he’s going to grab me and pin me against the door behind me, that he’s going to kiss me and run his hands over my body until I give in and let him do whatever he wants to me.
Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a white envelope, the kind with a clear window in the front. Through the plastic, I can see that it’s a check, made out to me.
“What is this?” I ask, suspicious.
“A check.”
“For what?” I demand, looking at him, wondering what it is he’s up to now.
“The website that printed the picture of us? The one we sued? They decided to settle. And it was Will who sold it to them. I’ve already reported it to the police, not that it will matter since he’s already facing the attempted murder charge, but any extra charges we can stack against him will put him away for longer.”
“Wait,” I say confused. “I don’t understand. I thought you said that those websites don’t have any money.”
“Usually they don’t,” he says. “But this one was a single-person LLC, run by some rich kid with a trust fund. Anyway, it was pretty easy to pierce the corporate veil, so instead of being held personally responsible, he decided to settle.”
“But how…” I swallow. “I mean, I don’t…” I turn the envelope over and start to open it. “I never signed anything.”
“You signed a contract with Evan, remember?”
“Sort of.” I have a vague memory of Elijah explaining to me what was happening, that we were suing the website for emotional distress and invasion of privacy.
“Well, in the contract you signed, you gave my lawyer Evan the power to negotiate a settlement on your behalf. And so he did.”
I slide the check out of the envelope.
My breath hitches, and the world stops.
I take a second, counting the zeros again.
1, 2, 3, 4,5, 6….
“This is a check for a million dollars.”
“Yes, well, Evan is the best.”
“I can’t….” My throat is dry and the check suddenly feels very heavy in my hand, even though it’s just a piece of paper. I feel like I need to protect it somehow, like it’s going to fly away or someone’s going to snatch it out of my hand, even though there’s nothing even close to a draft out here and no one around to take it from me.
“I can’t take this.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t… I mean, I didn’t earn it.”
“You didn’t earn it in the sense that you didn’t work for it. But you certainly deserve it for what happened.”
My eyes fill with tears, and all the zeroes swim together. One million dollars. It’s more money than I ever thought I would see in my life. And that, along with my new job and the fact that my student loans are paid off…
It’s a strange feeling that I can’t put into words. I’ve never had the luxury of having parents who could bail me out when things got tight, or relatives who could lend me money if I needed it. It’s always just been me, on my own, no safety net. Until now.
It’s indescribable, a feeling of freedom and security that exists only because of Elijah. I know that he did this for me, insisting that I be the only plaintiff named in the lawsuit, the only one who would get any money on the off chance that there was any money to get.
I slide the check carefully back into the envelope.
“Thank you,” I whisper, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
“You’re welcome.”
The air is filled with a tension so thick, the connection between us so
palpable it’s almost too much to take.
“Abigail,” he breathes my name, his voice rough and raw as sandpaper. He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go, and now my back is against the door.
“Don’t,” I say, and I turn my head away, my hand on the doorknob behind me. Turn it, I tell myself, turn it and go back inside.
“Abigail,” he breathes. “God, Abigail, I can’t…” His head is bent down, his strong frame towering over me, and I feel his fingertips brush gently against mine. Instantly, my body responds to his, completely primed from how he’s trained me.
His lips are almost against my neck, and I know that if he touches me, that if, I won’t be able to resist him, that I’ll fall to my knees here in the hall.
And so I take every single ouch of self-possession I have, every single bit of self-control, and open the door and walk back into the office.
Chapter 8
ELIJAH
“You need to slow down,” Ryan says, taking the bottle of beer that’s in front of me and sliding it across the bar toward him.
“You’re not the boss of me,” I say snidely.
Ryan gapes at me, his eyes widening. “You did not just say that.”
“I did.”
“Just more reason you shouldn’t be drinking. Besides, I thought you didn’t even like this place.”
“I don’t. I hate this place.” We’re at that same ridiculous sports bar we were at the night I took Abigail into the closet and touched her until we were both on fire. I can’t stop thinking about it, about her. Which is why I need my beer back. I’m drowning my sorrows.
“You’re going to get drunk,” Ryan says, it out of my reach.
“Not from one beer,” I grumble, looking for the bartender, who seems to have disappeared.
“How many beers are you planning on having?” Ryan asks warily.
“I don’t know. Ten, fifteen, twenty…” I try to get a look at the label on the bottle. “How much alcohol is in that, anyway? Can we please go somewhere else? None of this penny ante shit.”
“No way.” Ryan shakes his head. “I’m not going to get another night away from the kids until Kira and I go on our honeymoon next month. I need to make this count, and this place has the best wings in the city.”
“Oh, Ryan,” I say sadly as he picks up one of the wings out of the bucket that’s been set in front of us and takes a bite. “You need to get out more.”
“Don’t be a snob, Elijah.”
“Be nice to me,” I say. “I’m maudlin.”
“First of all, stop using words like that. Second, have a wing. And third, there’s no way you’re going to get Abigail back if you’re drunk. So slow down on the beer.”
“I’m not going to get her back anyway,” I say. “I’ve tried everything.”
“Really?” He looks at me with skepticism. “I really doubt that.”
I turn my bar stool to look at him. “Okay,” I say. “Get this. I was just at her office, where I gave her a check for a million dollars.”
Ryan almost chokes on a chunk of blue cheese. “You tried to buy her?”
“What? No, I didn’t try to buy her. Jesus. It was money from the settlement she got from the website we sued.” I reach over and take one of the wings, place it on the tiny appetizer plate that the bartender set down in front of me before disappearing from my life.
“What else?” Ryan says.
“Did you not hear what I just said? I gave her a check for a million dollars.” I take a bite of the wing. It’s surprisingly delicious.
“What else?” Ryan repeats, checking his phone for texts from Kira. There must be one, because he smiles and then replies. Whatever he wants to claim about having a night away, when it comes down to it, Ryan can’t wait to get back to his wife and family.
“I‘ve been sending her flowers every day. I set her up with security, which she refused. I offered to give her her job back. I even offered to give her more money for the romance line she runs.”
“So you tried to buy her. Like I said.”
“No,” I say, tearing into another wing. “I didn’t try to buy her. Stop saying that.”
“But you did, Eli. All the things you’re talking about are things you’re trying to give her. Maybe that might have worked for some of the women you’ve dated in the past, but Abigail’s different. She doesn’t want any of that shit.”
“Oh, yeah?” I say, rolling my eyes. “And what does she want, oh wise one?”
He shrugs, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “She wants you. And the only way you’re going to get her back is if you let her in.”
Chapter 9
ABIGAIL
By the time the event is over and all the agents have left, I’m exhausted.
It’s definitely difficult keeping a smile on your face and trying to sell yourself while acting like you’re not trying to sell yourself.
“Drinks?” Hailey asks as she links her arm through mine and we step out onto the front steps of the building. The cool night air feels good against my skin, and I’m suddenly desperate to get home and change out of my skirt and into some pajamas.
“How about ice cream at your place instead?” I suggest.
“Oooh, yes! Let’s get cookie dough, too, the premade kind that you’re not supposed to eat raw but that everyone does anyway.”
“You’re the only one who does that,” I say as I pull the key to the building from my purse and make sure the main door is locked up nice and tight. The landlord is apparently super particular about it, a fact that Jasmine made sure to drill into my head when she gave me the key.
“I am?” Hailey asks, confused.
“Yes. Everyone else is worried about salmonel –”
I trail off because there’s a sleek black limo parked on the street. The kind of limo that belongs in Midtown, not the Upper East Side. The kind of car that can only belong to –
The back window rolls down.
“Abigail.” Elijah’s voice is a summons, his gaze piercing.
Hailey takes a step toward the car, ready to tell him off, but I put my arm out and stop her. “It’s okay,” I say. I haven’t told Hailey about the check Elijah gave me yet, telling her only that he wanted to see me about something having to do with the lawsuit. I didn’t want to get into it in front of everyone, and besides, I still feel weird about taking the money.
I walk over to the car.
“Get in,” he says.
I gape at him. “What?”
“Get in the car.”
I shake my head. “No.” I shift my weight from one foot to the next, trying to ignore the pain in my arches that’s come from wearing super high heels all night.
“Two hours.”
“What?”
“Give me two hours. And then, if you don’t want to ever see me again, I will leave you alone.”
His gaze is sill locked on mine, so penetrating and searching that I can feel it invading every cell of my being as every nerve ending comes alive under his scrutiny.
The feeling is so intoxicating that it starts to pull me under.
One night, a voice whispers. Not even. Just two hours. And then you’ll never have to hear from him again.
But even as the devil on my shoulder whispers these words, even as I know that I’m going to be giving in to the pull he has on me, I know I won’t be doing it because I want him to leave me alone.
No, it’s because I’ve tapped out on my limit for self-control.
And I want two more hours with him.
Two more hours of his presence, his voice, the smell of his cologne and the power of his being.
I just want to be with him.
I’m like a junkie, telling herself that this will be her last fix.
And so when he says my name again, I only reply with one word.
“Yes.”
This is a horrible idea.
It’s the first thought I have once I’m settled into the ba
ck of the limo, the leather seat smooth and supple under my legs. The thought mirrors the words Hailey said to me when I told her what I was doing.
But I got into the car anyway, sending her on her way to get cookie dough and meet me back at her apartment later.
“You look like shit,” I say to Elijah.
He raises his eyebrows at me. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.” But I am, kind of. I mean, he looks less put together than he did even a couple of hours ago when he accosted me in the hallway. His five o’clock shadow seems to have darkened, and his dress shirt is even looser around the collar than it was before. But to say he looks like shit is a complete and total lie. He looks rumpled and sexy. like he just got done fucking someone silly.
“If I look like shit, it’s because of you.”
“Why is it because of me?” My feet are killing me, and without thinking about it, I toe off my shoes.
“Because I can’t live without you.” Before I can react, he hooks his hand under my knee and spins me around on the leather of the seat until I’m sitting sideways with my back against the door and my legs over his lap.
He begins to rub the arch of my foot.
I fight against my instinct and try to pull away, but he holds me firmly, and his touch is the exact right amount of pressure as he begins to knead away the aching in my foot.
“Really? Because you seem to be alive,” I say. “I mean, as far as I can tell.”
“Let me rephrase that. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t concentrate. I can’t think about anything but you.” His eyes are on mine, and I take in a breath.
“Then why did you break up with –” I stop myself. Because what he did was more than just break up with me. What he did was shatter my heart and my soul. So I rephrase it. “Then why did you call off our engagement and break my heart the way you did?”
“Because I’m an idiot.” His hands are moving up my leg now, to my calves, his touch strong and firm. My body begins to do the thing it always does when he touches me – melt into him, my limbs going soft, my body trained to be submissive.
“Where are we going?” I ask, as his hands continue their ascent.