Anything You Say: An Enemies to Lovers Standalone Romance

by Chloe Finch

  * * *

  Grace

  It was getting late, and elevator duty would soon get busy again with guests leaving the party. It wasn’t like Grace had anything to do at this stage other than open the elevator door to let them out at street level, but she didn’t want to abandon Jessica all the same. She decided to use the bathroom before the rush started.

  She exited the elevator at the party level and hurried across the room toward the restrooms. Even though she belonged there as a volunteer, she felt totally out of place, like a child who came downstairs to the adult party after they were sent to bed. It was difficult to say whether she was hoping to see Zach or avoid him, but either way her heart was pounding at the thought of running into him.

  The bathrooms were off a small room at the front of the building according to Jessica’s directions. Grace found the room but didn’t see a door that could be the bathroom. There was an unmarked door that might be a closet or maybe the restroom, and she was contemplating knocking on it, when she heard Zach say her name.

  She jumped at the sound of his voice. He was walking toward her with an empty glass in one hand. He was swaying slightly. He set it down on a cocktail table full of other abandoned drinks.

  “Are you ready for Saturday?” He came close and cornered her against the wall, putting his hands up on either side of her head, trapping her with his arms.

  “Yeah,” she said in a weak voice. As soon as the word left her mouth, she felt foolish for not coming up with a better answer. Something sexier. She cleared her throat.

  “Good. I have something out of this world planned for you.” His breath smelled like whiskey and sweet cigar smoke. He leaned in even closer and she realized he was drunk. “I’ve been thinking about you all week. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been wearing those hot little pencil skirts every day.”

  A thrill ran up her spine. He stroked her cheek, and she tensed, not sure what he was going to do next.

  “I was hoping you’d notice,” she said. Every day that week she woke up thinking about last Saturday, choosing pencil skirts because they reminded her of him hiking her skirt up over her ass.

  “Oh I noticed all right,” he said. “Wear your tightest, shortest one Saturday morning. No underwear.”

  She nodded, afraid that if she tried to speak, her voice would crack. Two more days. The anticipation was killing her already. Holding her face in his hand, he kissed her, rough and possessive.

  The door next to them opened and a woman emerged, tossing a paper towel at the garbage on her way out. It was the restroom after all. Just like that, before she had time to catch her breath, Zach was already walking the opposite direction.

  Chapter Eight

  Grace

  On Friday after work, Grace was walking to the train, thinking about seeing Zach tomorrow morning. The week had gone on forever, and she could hardly wait, practically vibrating with anticipation.

  She was lost in her thoughts and not paying attention to her surroundings when she heard her name. She looked up instinctively to see who was calling her. An overweight man in a tank top and flat-brimmed cap was hurriedly walking toward her.

  The human brain is surprisingly good at rooting out real danger without conscious thought. Even for someone with an anxious mind, it’s surprising how clearly and instantaneously the brain knows there’s danger afoot. Now was one of those times. There was no obvious reason why, but Grace immediately knew the guy was bad news. Dread filled her stomach, and her blood turned to ice. As soon as she saw him, she started in the other direction, moving quickly.

  It was too late. The man had already caught up to her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and half-carried, half-dragged her into a white work van idling by the curb. Her head hit the corner of something, and she yelped. Adrenaline crushed through her veins.

  She was being kidnapped.

  Grace was someone who usually dealt with stressful situations by slowing down. The more extreme the situation, the slower and calmer she got. When her company was dissolving, she was talking like a sloth at the last board meeting. But now, she was freaking out. The man was over her, grabbing her hands and pulling them together. She kicked and yanked her hands away, trying to break his grasp and entirely forgetting everything about self-defense. She thrashed uselessly like a wild animal.

  “Listen, Grace, calm down,” he said. He had a thick Queens accent. “I don’t want to hurt you. This isn’t about you.”

  How did he know her name? What was he even talking about? He had a roll of duct tape in one hand and pulled at it with his teeth while he tried to hold her hands together. He put a knee on her chest while he struggled with the duct tape. She was frantic, clawing at whatever she could get her hands on, kicking the air, trying to land one on him. It seemed to have no effect. He wound duct tape around her wrists, then moved on to her ankles. The tape was all folded over and messy, but it held. And suddenly, she was really trapped.

  She panicked, not knowing what options she had left. Crime shows say that once you’re taken to a second location, the odds of being found alive drop. But the van door was closed and she didn’t know how she could possibly get around the guy in this small of a space. The van hadn’t moved yet, so they were still technically on Fifty-Eighth, a busy enough street that if she screamed someone might hear. She opened her mouth and took a big breath, but he clapped a dirty hand over her mouth.

  “Grace,” he said again. “Just be chill and everything will be okay. I know what this looks like, but I’m not that kind of guy.”

  She tried to calm down and concentrate on what she was supposed to do in this kind of situation. It was the kind of thing gym teachers and parents and girl scout leaders had tried to prepare Grace and her female classmates for en masse, as if they would all someday be kidnapped. Well, it was happening now. She recalled something about remembering details about appearance so it was easier for the police to identify a suspect. He just looked like some guy with a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his chin. The blue tank top had a hole in the shoulder. Were these the type of details they needed? Why didn’t she ever look into what type of details the police needed. Her heart was thumping like the wings of a trapped bird in her chest.

  “Do you know Derek Smith?” The man continued, slowly, like she was too stupid to understand him. “He owes me a lot of money. I don’t want you, I want the money, okay? So I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Everything dropped into place. Derek. Fuck. This had something to do with the chain of events that started with her giving him Zach’s address. Despite the menacing connotations, the tiniest seed of hope planted in her chest. Maybe if she could just explain, he’d let her go.

  He must have seen the realization in her eyes. He said, “If I take my hand off your mouth, will you be cool?”

  She nodded, eager to explain the mix-up. He lifted his hand, and she began talking quickly. “You made a mistake. I don’t know Derek—I only met him once. I know his brother. They’re twins,” she said triumphantly.

  He laughed. “I know there’s two of them, I’m not an idiot.” The scrap of hope crumbled. “They may be twins, but you’d have to be fucking blind to think Derek wears Armani suits and works in a ritzy office in Midtown.”

  Grace blinked. There wasn’t a mix-up after all. He’d taken her on purpose. “Oh,” she said.

  “Derek owes me money, Zach has money. And a girlfriend. But Zach didn’t pay. So I have to take some collateral. That’s you, honey.”

  Her heart sank. She understood for real now. She was human collateral.

  “Listen, I don’t have a beef with you. If you’re cool, I’ll be cool. And if Zach pays me, then we can all go home and watch This is Us.”

  She wasn’t even sure Zach had fifty thousand dollars sitting around. Sure, he made a lot, but what if he was one of those people who made tons of money and still lived paycheck to paycheck? What if he couldn’t pay up? Especially on such short notice. He might have to take a loan from his 4
01k or something to come up with that kind of money. That kind of thing couldn’t be quick, especially on a Friday night. What happened then? Was she going to be stuck with this guy until the transfer went through? Or, more sickeningly, what if he didn’t get the money at all? What if he abandoned her, as punishment for getting him tied up in this mess in the first place? No. There was no way. Even Zach couldn’t be that callous. Right?

  The guy took out his phone.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice was high-pitched and anxious.

  “Just making sure Zach shows up this time.” He wiped his hand across her mouth, and she flinched away from his touch. “More dramatic if your lipstick is smeared,” he explained. Was he seriously art directing this right now?

  The flash went off on his phone.

  “Perfect. That face you’re making is a nice touch.” He typed something on his phone. “Something tells me Zach is going to stop ignoring my messages.”

  He climbed into the front seat and started the engine. She realized with rising panic that this was her last chance to get help before he took her to god knows where. She took a deep breath and screamed at the top of her lungs.

  The guy swore and put the van back in park. He climbed awkwardly to the back of the van again, and she kept screaming for help.

  “Grace, just chill,” he said.

  She wriggled toward the back of the van, kicking her bound feet like a mermaid to propel herself away from him. She prayed someone could hear her and was calling 911 or would throw open the door of the van any moment. Something. Anything.

  There was a bunch of random equipment in the back of the van and big metal shelves on either side holding tools and things. Her clothes were getting all bunched up, and there was something digging into her side, but she didn’t care. All she could think of was getting away. The guy was on his knees and fumbling with the duct tape.

  “Goddamn it,” he said. “Shut up.”

  She scrambled back farther, but there was nowhere else to go. She hit the back of the van.

  He clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling her scream, then fumbled to replace it with duct tape. He smelled like cigarettes and sweat.

  “I didn’t want to have to do this,” he said, shaking his head.

  * * *

  Zach

  Zach was speeding home down the interstate in Connecticut, headed back from an off-site client meeting in his BMW. He was listening to Kanye’s Graduation album. Zach had listened to it on repeat in high school. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. He was in a great mood. The “meeting” was playing golf at a country club with the client’s friend, who coincidentally needed Sterling’s services himself. If the deal went through, it’d be a thirty-thousand-dollar commission.

  The track automatically quieted, and a robotic British woman’s voice started reading a text aloud. Text message from 917-555-5555. Time to pay up. No games this time. Picture.

  “Big L, my man!” Zach addressed the dashboard. Nothing was going to ruin his mood, even Big L. He still hadn’t been able to get a hold of Derek and his hope of getting the original fifty thousand dollars back was dwindling. He had resorted to not answering Big L’s calls the past few days, out of ideas to stall him any longer. “A picture. You shouldn’t have. What is it, your gun? A dick pic?”

  He plucked his phone from the cupholder to see the picture. When he opened the message, he nearly crashed the car.

  It was Grace.

  She was tied up in the back of a van, and she looked terrified.

  He never thought it would get to this point. Never thought brushing off Big L could hurt anyone but himself. He now saw his monumental error. He knew enough about Big L to know he didn’t play nice. He had the barely healed injuries to prove it. What would he do to Grace? It was too much to think about.

  He called the number the message came from.

  “Zach,” Big L answered the phone jovially. “You’re a hard man to get a hold of lately.”

  “Where is she,” Zach said. His voice was tight, like it was taking every ounce of him to not explode with rage.

  “She’s safe. But she’ll be even safer if you have the money.”

  “I want to talk to her.”

  “She can’t talk right now.”

  “I’m not bringing you anything if I can’t talk to her.”

  Big L sighed. There was a lot of fumbling. A squeal of pain from Grace. Zach flinched at the sound.

  “Say hi, honey,” Big L said. He put the phone on speaker.

  “Zach?” She sounded faraway, and he was flooded with relief to hear her voice.

  “Gracie,” Zach said. “Did the limo pick you up?” It was a terrible time to make a joke, but it was how he and Derek had dealt with heavy stuff since he was a kid. The only way to keep moving when life got too dark.

  “What the fuck, Zach?” She was angry, but her voice trembled.

  “Listen, I’m coming to get you right now. Don’t worry about a thing.” He made an effort to sound nonchalant.

  Big L took it off speaker. “Same drop off place. Eleven.”

  “Don’t you lay a single finger on her, or I’ll kill you with my bare fucking hands,” Zach growled.

  Big L laughed and hung up.

  Zach looked at the clock. It was eight. Banks were closed. But come hell or high water, he was going to get that fifty thousand tonight. He’d call in every favor he had to make it happen.

  He sped up and dialed his friend at JP Morgan.

  * * *

  Grace

  Grace thought being held hostage would be worse, honestly. In movies it’s always about killing/raping/trafficking the victim, but Carl—what the guy told her his name was—was surprisingly true to his word. He actually appeared to have no interest in her other than collateral. That in and of itself was pretty messed up, but it could have been a lot worse.

  She was heartened by the brief moment she heard from Zach. It pissed her off that he was cracking a joke when she had been fucking kidnapped, but at the same time it was weirdly calming that he sounded so unconcerned about the whole thing. And at least it sounded like he was coming to get her.

  Carl had taken her to an apartment in some far-flung spot in a borough by the looks of it. From the floor of the van, she couldn’t see much other than the tops of buildings, but they’d definitely gone over a big bridge. He carried her in like a bride over the threshold. Then he locked the door and told her he’d untie her if she swore she wouldn’t try to escape. He threw in a threat of bodily harm for good measure and took her laptop bag and locked it away in a cabinet. She decided to go along with what he said for the time being. At least as long as she believed Zach was coming.

  The apartment wasn’t very nice. It was a studio, with a bed in the corner behind the couch. The walls were all scuffed up, and there was random stuff haphazardly strewn around like someone had thrown everything up in the air when they moved in and left it wherever it landed. A half-empty case of soda was against one wall, a tangle of bedsheets was piled like a nest next to the couch, a belt was in the middle of the floor. The sink was full of dirty dishes. Against one wall was a huge, new TV on a too-small stand.

  They were sitting on opposite ends of the couch watching Shark Tank. The TV still had the Energy Savings sticker on it, and she wondered if it was stolen, then decided that was presumptuous. And anyways, Carl could afford a TV if people were regularly giving him fifty thousand dollars in cash.

  On the show, an entrepreneur was trying to save his failing pitch for a nutritional supplement. Mark Cuban was ranting about how it was snake oil.

  “Mark Cuban is the man,” Carl said.

  Grace made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement. She felt bad for the entrepreneur. It reminded her of the early days of raising money for GiveAnalytics. It took a dozen rounds of pitching herself to investors to raise the capital she needed. More than once she’d had some rich guy like Cuban telling her that her idea was shit and her pitch was terrible
.

  Watching TV with Carl felt like being on the worst date in the world. Even though he made no moves on her, there was a weird sort of tension in the room. Like they were watching each other too closely. He asked if she wanted Indian food. She was starving and said yes. He made her wait in the bathroom when the delivery guy got there.

  Carl didn’t actually seem like a terrible person. Not someone she wanted to spend time with again anytime soon, but he was surprisingly considerate for being a kidnapper, offering her a soda from the case on the floor to have with dinner.

  There must have been a marathon of Shark Tank on, because one episode rolled into the next with hardly a pause. Person after person came on with their over-the-top pitches, hawking toothbrush holders and dog carriers and all sorts of things. Carl liked to comment on the pitches. He told her which business owners he thought were idiots and which would be billionaires themselves. Eventually, Grace found herself weighing in too, after she was offended on behalf of a made-up startup he insulted.

  When a commercial came on, Carl checked his phone and said, “Come on, time to give you back.” It could have been a few minutes or a few days for all Grace knew. Time seemed to slow down the moment she was taken, and with her stuff locked away and no clock on the walls, the only gauge of time was Shark Tank.

  She had relaxed a tiny bit, comfortable at least in watching the show, knowing that Carl wasn’t going to do anything crazy as long as she was sitting quietly on the couch. At the mention of the money exchange, she jolted back into adrenaline mode. Like waking from a dream, she remembered why she was in this dirty apartment in the first place. That her best shot at returning to normal life was if Zach had found fifty thousand dollars in the last few hours and that Carl would keep his word. She hoped like hell Zach had as much money in the bank as everyone at work thought he did.