The Escape

by Alice Ward

  I wanted to find out. I wanted to thread my fingers through the hair, touch his warm skin beneath. Wanted to run my tongue over the scar. Wanted to—

  “Oomph.” I grasped my side where Jasmine elbowed me and blinked myself back into reality. “Why’d you do that?”

  Jaz shook her head like I was an idiot. “Because you were being rude. Grant asked you a question.”

  I gave an embarrassed laugh and looked up at him. I was average in height. Five-six in my bare feet, but the top of my head barely came to Grant Sommerfield’s chin. “I’m sorry. Was lost in thought. It’s been an eventful past few minutes.”

  That smile. That chipped tooth. “It appears so. I was asking about where you and your sister…” He looked at her with raised eyebrows, and I loved that he addressed her directly instead of talking around her like so many people tended to do.

  “Jasmine,” Jazzy added helpfully. “But you can call me Jaz. Everybody does.”

  Grant held out a hand to her. “It’s very nice to meet you, Jaz.” He looked back to me. “The fire didn’t appear to do much damage, but I’d imagine the smoke will have settled into your furniture and belongings. You’ll want a deep cleaning.”

  I turned to study the small apartment, and for the first time, I didn’t see the floral sofa as cozy but as the old, threadbare piece of furniture it really was. Didn’t see the two twin beds crammed into the alcove as space efficient. But I refused to be ashamed of our meager belongings. I was proud of how well we did live. Proud that I made enough money to allow us to live in this place. And I knew I’d do better in the future. I was already on the path of making it so.

  “I teach a yoga class in an hour, so I’ll let the place air out while I’m gone, then wash down the walls, floors and fabrics when I get back.”

  Grant’s brow furrowed, and he took in the scrub pants I wore, the cotton jacket on the floor where I’d tossed it next to my bag. Murray Hill Home Health was stenciled on the front. Journey Walker, PTA underneath.

  He met my gaze. “Allow me.”

  I blinked. Had the smoke inhalation dimmed my ability to think and process? “Allow you to do what?”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Allow me to secure alternate living arrangements for you and Jasmine for a few days while I have a crew come in and take care of those details for you.”

  I felt more than saw Jasmine’s head swivel to look at me. Felt more than saw the bright smile beaming from her face.

  But I couldn’t accept his charity. “Mr. Sommerfield, I couldn’t possibly—”

  “Grant.” His voice was quiet but determined.

  I licked my lips, felt Jaz tugging on my arm. Giving in, I faced her, and as I expected, the smile was incredible, eating up every inch of her sweet face. “He’s a nice man. Listen. You work too much.”

  My heart squeezed. “Yes, Jazzy, he’s a very nice man, but I can clean and—”

  “What kind of living arrangements?” Jaz asked Grant, her eyes shining. But she also had the mulish expression I’d come to know too well.

  Grant stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Well, the Westin is nearby, if you’re worried about—”

  “Does it have a swimming pool?” Jazzy’s voice was filled with excitement now, and I could feel the protests draining from my body.

  “Hmm… I don’t think so, but the Marmara does.”

  Jazzy clapped, rising up and down on her tiptoes. “I love to swim. Journey does too. And I’ve never stayed at a hotel before. This will be so much fun.”

  Rooted to the spot in which I stood, I tried to find a way out of this. We lived well. The apartment was small, but we didn’t need bigger. We always had enough food to eat and enjoyed trying out new recipes together, and we occasionally ordered out as a treat to ourselves. We had memberships to the local Y and access to the pool and facilities there. That pretty much ate up our luxury money. With Jazzy’s school tuition and art supplies, the camp she was going to this weekend, my bank account was strained. Even so…

  “I don’t know, Jaz. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience Mr. Sommerf—”

  “Grant.” It was nearly a growl this time.

  I blew out a breath. “Grant.”

  “And it’s no inconvenience. I happened to be in the area today for a meeting with my building supervisors, ironic as that is. I saw the fire truck outside and decided to stop, see if I could be of assistance. My agenda was to see which buildings needed improvements or updating.” He nodded into the direction of our kitchen. “Your apartment could provide me the template for the others.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Was he just making this up on the spot? I couldn’t tell.

  Before I could ask, he went on, moving farther into the space. His hand traced the back of the worn sofa before he turned to me and Jaz again. I stiffened, feeling as if it was being judged. It might be old and extremely uncomfortable, but Jaz and I had cuddled on it for uncountable hours with Mee-maw. It was precious to me. I lifted my chin, daring him to say something negative. He said it anyway.

  “I’m not sure this fabric will survive the deep cleaning needed to remove all the smoke.”

  Okay, so it wasn’t exactly negative, and it wasn’t untrue, but the criticism hurt anyway. I swallowed. “It’s important to me.”

  “I see.” His hand touched the fabric again and goose bumps raced up my arms, almost as if he were touching me. “What if I can find a way to honor the memory but also provide you and Jasmine with something more functional? Would you be open to that?”

  The tears that had been threatening me all day welled in my eyes again. I blinked hard to force them away. “Why?” I shook my head, not understanding. “Why would you do all this for us?”

  The whisper of silk resumed as he walked to stand in front of us again, the oxygen in the room growing heavier, thicker with his approach. “Because I want to.”

  “Why?”

  His nostrils flared, his eyes skating over my features. He didn’t appear to be a man many people questioned. “The man under my employ was cruel to you and Jasmine. If nothing else, allow me this as an apology.”

  Jaz tugged on my arm and whispered loudly, “Mee-maw always said that an apology was through actions, not words.”

  My sister was right. Mee-maw did say that.

  “How long do you think it’ll take?” I asked, and Jasmine began bouncing on her toes again, feeling my capitulation coming.

  Grant smiled. He clearly felt my surrender coming too. “Today’s Tuesday, so by the weekend, I’d imagine.”

  The bouncing beside me stopped. “Awww… I’m leaving for art camp on Saturday morning. I’ll miss the whole reveal thing.” She began chanting, “Move that bus. Move that bus.” Home improvement shows were her favorites.

  Grant’s smile grew wider. “Then how about we do the reveal thing on Friday evening? I’ll make sure it’s done by then. Not sure about the bus, but it could be fun.”

  Jazzy clapped, the bouncing starting up again. “This is the best day ever!”

  I met Grant’s gaze, my stomach tightening as he looked back at me. “Thank you.”

  The smile melted from his face, his expression growing serious. “You’re welcome. After your yoga class, check in at the Marmara. In addition to a reservation, I’ll have them provide laundry service. Just pass over your clothes and they’ll remove any lingering smoke.”

  I shook my head, unable to believe this was happening. “That easy?”

  His expression didn’t change. “Yes. That easy.”

  “And I can swim!”

  The tension broke, and we both smiled at Jasmine’s enthusiasm. “Yes, you can swim,” I said, taking her hand, “until you’re pruney.” I exhaled a long breath. “Thank you… Grant. I accept with a grateful heart both the room and the offer to restore the apartment.”

  His pupils dilated, and he murmured, “Grateful heart.”

  For a second, I wondered if he was mocking me, but on closer inspection, I
didn’t think so. I jumped when the alarm went off on my phone. Forty-five minutes until yoga class. I needed to shower, change clothes, fill the empty pit in my stomach, and still bike to Central Park in that amount of time. But I didn’t want to leave the exact space, this exact proximity to this man who did such funny things to my insides.

  Which was stupid.

  This was the owner of my building, doing something nice because he probably felt sorry for me and my sister. The cleaning and renovation or whatever he did was probably all going to be a tax write-off. Heck, the hotel room would probably be a write-off too. Charity write-off at that.

  Standing straighter, I let go of Jaz and pulled myself together. “Thank you again, Mr. Sommerf—”

  “Grant.”

  I smiled, but it felt tense and forced this time. “Grant. Thank you for everything. I do need to get ready for the yoga class, then Jaz and I will relocate to the Marmara while you do whatever you think is best.”

  “And you trust me to do what I think is best?”

  I met his gaze, was lost in it for a moment. Then I swallowed, lifting my chin just a little more. “Yes.”

  And I did.

  His head dipped into a single nod, the gesture almost reverent. “I’ll go and make arrangements then. Good evening to you both.”

  Then he was gone, and Jazzy was jumping around the apartment, clapping, smiling, singing while I made us both sandwiches then showered quickly and changed into my yoga clothes. We’d pack the rest of our things after the class.

  “Your bra is in my drawer again.”

  Not looking up from tying my shoes, I asked, “Sure it’s mine?”

  She snorted. “Yeah, since I couldn’t fit one of my boobs in it, I’m pretty sure.”

  I snatched it from her hands. “Not all of us can be as boob blessed as you.”

  She gave me her best model pose, making me smile. Grabbing my keys and making sure Jaz had her bike helmet, I touched Mee-maw’s sofa for what might be one of the last times. On the anniversary of her death, I was saying goodbye to something else that was connected to her.

  Time marches on.

  That was another saying of hers. She was right. She had always been right.

  As Jaz and I got on our bikes to head to the Central Park classes, we marched on too.

  “Hey, Journey.”

  I glanced over at Jaz as we stopped at a cross street, waiting for a light. “Hmm?”

  “We need a sugar daddy.”

  A laugh shot out of me, but when I looked at her, she appeared to be serious. Just then, the light turned green. “Why stop at one? Let’s at least get two.”

  Jazzy laughed and began peddling. “Two it is.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Nash

  Shit.

  The glove connected with my jaw, causing stars to dance in front of my eyes.

  I shook my head to clear it. “Good one, old man,” I taunted Grant, then ducked the next punch. And the next.

  Diving forward, I got a good one in my best friend’s gut, listened to the air whoosh out of his lungs. We were sparring, but it was turning into more than that. After his encounter with Melinda or Melissa or whatever the money grubbing bitch’s name was, I knew we’d both had shitty days, and we were taking it out on each other.

  And it was exactly what I needed.

  “Old man, huh?” Stars leaped into my vision again as the uppercut hit me under the chin. My teeth would have clicked together if not for the mouthpiece I wore. He grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “That old man enough for you?”

  I snorted and circled down, bringing my leg around to take his feet out from under him. He landed hard on the mat, and I grinned down at my friend. “Sorry… for a minute there, you looked like my grandfather.”

  Damn, what I wouldn’t give to take that pompous bastard down a notch or two as well.

  Grant took the glove I extended and pulled himself up from the floor. “I can’t believe he threatened your inheritance like that,” he said, swiping at the sweat dripping into his eyes. “I thought that only happened in those sappy romance novels and movies. Doesn’t he know that arranged marriages are archaic?”

  I snorted and began circling Grant again, rage traveling up my spine at the memory of William Levington telling me that my wedding date was set. August eighteenth at the Plaza, of all the damn pretentious places.

  “Oh… is that so?” I’d asked him just a few hours ago. I’d been summoned to Grandfather’s office that morning. “And who exactly is this bride yer wantin’ to hitch me to?” I gave him my best country bumpin’ accent to irritate him further.

  It did.

  At the time, I thought he must be shitting with me. That this must have been an uncharacteristic joke coming from the man who ruled his family with an iron fist. There had been a lot of noise made lately about me settling down and preparing to run the “establishment,” as my grandfather was fond of calling it. But, surely, he hadn’t chosen a bride for me. A wedding date. Surely, he hadn’t done that.

  Oh, but he had.

  “Cassandra Brown of the Massachusetts Browns. She’s a fine match. We are hosting an engagement party in July in your honor.” Grandfather had pulled down his glasses to peer at me over them. “You will be there, won’t you?”

  I’d been too stunned to answer, my throat closing up with the noose he was tightening. Finally, I managed to clear it enough to say, “No. No… I believe I’m busy that day.”

  My response hadn’t even phased him. “I didn’t give you a precise date.”

  “That’s ‘cause I’m busy every day in July. August too, actually.”

  The bastard had smiled. Smiled. And the damn presumptuously arrogant curving of those thin lips caused the fury that was lodged in my gut to spread out into every cell. I knew why. Grandfather Levington hated my mother. He hated that his only son, the prince of the Levington kingdom, had married a “commoner.” Worse, that his son had fallen in love with a little country hick.

  It didn’t matter that my mother was the darling of country music. It didn’t matter that she had been very rich in her own right by the time she met my father. None of that mattered because she was a down to earth woman with a twang. She hadn’t been chosen. And when they’d eloped, rumor had it, my grandfather had been apoplectic.

  No… the Levingtons weren’t royalty, not of the blue-blooded British type. But you couldn’t have told that to my grandfather. To him, if America had a sitting king, it would be him on that throne. Him ruling with an iron fist.

  And he hated that he couldn’t rule my mother. Couldn’t rule me. It was one of the reasons I talked with a Southern twang too. I hadn’t lived in Nashville in years, but I talked like I did, just to piss him off.

  “And you really told him to go to hell?” Grant looked impressed.

  Bouncing on my toes, I recalled the immense satisfaction I’d felt as I told my grandfather to bite my ass. He’d been so shocked, the smug look on his face fell, but only for a moment.

  “You’ll come to your senses, son.”

  He never called me Nash. He hated the name. Hated that my mother had gotten her way and named me after her favorite city in the world.

  “My senses are just fine,” I told him.

  “Then you’ll need to move out of your cushy penthouse by the end of the day.”

  I didn’t waver, even though I knew tenant laws didn’t work that way. “Fine.”

  “You will no longer exist in my eyes.”

  That got a laugh out of me. “Even better.”

  His face grew harder. The hardest I’d ever seen it. “You will be written out of my will. Your father too. All bank accounts closed immediately.”

  That stopped me. “What does this have to do with Dad?”

  The sly look reappeared on his face. “The genesis of this issue originated with him, and so shall the conclusion.”

  Because he married my mother.

  “Why do you hate Mom so much?”

&nb
sp; Grandfather’s chin lifted, and he curled his upper lip as if smelling something bad. There had to be more to the story than what I’d been told. But what? Everyone loved my mother and her pure voice, her big, generous heart. Why didn’t my grandfather?

  Then it hit me.

  “You loved her first, didn’t you?”

  My grandfather’s face turned glacial. “That’s pre—”

  “It’s true.”

  I racked my brain, trying to remember the story about how my parents met. Something about a gala. My mother had been invited to sing. Dad had asked her to dance. That was all I remembered. Whenever my parents told their how we met story, it always ended with, “And we fell in love, waltzing to What a Wonderful World.”

  Stars exploded, and suddenly, I was on my ass.

  Lost in the memories of that nightmare meeting with my grandfather, I hadn’t been paying attention, and Grant landed another right hook to the side of my head. Instead of trying to get up, I just sat there. After a few seconds, Grant sat down beside me.

  “You think it’s true? That your grandfather had a thing for your mom?”

  I pulled a glove off, then yanked the mouth guard from between my lips. “Yeah. He never said it was true, but it sure as shit makes sense.”

  “And you think he’ll really pull your inheritance? And your dad’s?”

  I yanked off the other glove, then pulled off the sparring helmet, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my arm. “He said he was.”

  Grant did the same, both gloves and his helmet dropping to the floor beside him. “And your father still doesn’t know all that’s gone down?”

  I shook my head, droplets of sweat raining down on me. “No. Tried to call them, but he and Mom are on some lovey-dovey intimate safari thing for their anniversary. Doubt they’ll get my message until Saturday or even Sunday.”

  “You know he can’t really kick you out of your apartment tonight, don’t you?”

  I looked at my friend. “Yeah. I know that, but I’m getting out anyway. Bastard doesn’t have to ask me twice. Called a moving service as soon as I left his place. As we speak, they’re packing me up. They’ll store my shit until I figure out what I want to do.”