Wherever It Leads

by Adriana Locke

  “So what do I tell him? Do I just call him and say, ‘Hey, take me with you this weekend but don’t pay me to go so I don’t feel like a whore’?”

  “Or just go.”

  “Nope. Deal breaker.”

  “Okay . . .” She chews on her bottom lip. “Tell him you used vacation days. So you’re getting paid the shifts you’ll miss. It works.”

  “Then I just have to figure out what to do if they fire me . . .” I fight a grin as a course of excitement takes flight. Even though this feels right, I don’t want to jump the gun just in case I wake up in the morning with a different feeling about it. “Okay. I’ll call him in the morning.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Just in case I have second thoughts.”

  The blankets rip away and she jumps off the side of the bed. “You need to be more instinctive. Fenton is not going to give you swoon regret.”

  “Swoon regret? Seriously?”

  “It happens,” she sighs. “I swooned over this rocker guy once, let me tell you. Hot and sexy and a voice—not cashmere, more whiskey—and in the morning, I regretted my swoon. He wasn’t that cute in the daylight and he had a smoker’s cough, two things I didn’t see in the strobe lights of the bar.”

  Laughing, I climb out of bed too. “Want to watch a movie?”

  “Let’s order Italian and watch Netflix.”

  “I’m not hungry, but go ahead and order. Just get me some breadsticks.”

  “Is that some Freudian slip?” Presley laughs.

  “Probably,” I say, shaking my head and realizing I might be a little more affected than I even realize.

  The sun trickles through the curtains, casting a cheery glow through the kitchen. Perched on a barstool at the island, my third cup of coffee at my side, I easily check off the crossword puzzle in front of me.

  After talking through what to do about Fenton with Presley last night and vegging out in front of the television, I slept like a baby. The fresh air on my walk this morning helped too. Although everything Pres said was right and all her points legit ones, my final decision to go with Fenton came after I remembered something Brady said about making decisions. “When you aren’t sure, imagine you’ve already said yes and then pretend you’ve already said no. Choose accordingly.” Thinking that I’d said yes made me feel excited on a level I haven’t felt since I was accepted into the college of my choice. Pretending I’d said no makes my spirits sink, a continuation of the doldrums that have hovered over me for months. Looking at it like that, the choice was easy—I go. I enjoy myself. Rebounding at its finest.

  I check off another answer to the puzzle when my phone rings. Lifting it up, I don’t recognize the number, but a flutter of worry ripples through me. I was the one to answer the unknown call when we were notified that Brady was first missing. It was me that answered the door when the uniformed man came to tell us about the “proof of life” video posted on the internet. The roll of bile will always find its way up my throat now when I get an unexpected call for the rest of my life. First hearing that he was at the mercy of some psychopaths, and then weeks later, seeing him bound and on his knees in front of two men with guns is something you can’t shake. It will haunt me forever.

  “Tell them your name,” a hooded man said in broken English, waving the barrel of a gun near my brother’s face. Brady shied away from it, like a dog that scoots away from a foot after it’s been kicked too often. “Now.”

  “Brady Stewart Calloway.”

  He was clothed in light colored garb, his face half covered by facial hair. His voice was steady, strong, and when he looked in the camera, I could see the hope he was trying to give us. He was trying to tell us he’d be okay and not to break down. But that was impossible.

  I held my mother all night that night while my father slipped outside to drown his tears in the stiffest liquor he could find.

  My phone rings again, startling me. I pick it up. “Hello?” I ask, my voice wearing a slight tremble.

  “Ms. Calloway?”

  “Yes. This is Brynne.”

  “Hello, Brynne. I’m Edie Stark from Fred Segal and I was asked to get in touch with you about your needs for this week.”

  “My needs this week?” I place my pencil down on the counter. “I’m sorry, Edie. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Presley comes into the room and gives me a look, clearly seeing my confusion. I shrug and try to figure out what’s going on.

  A soft laugh drifts through the phone. “Mr. Abbott said you’d be needing a few things—dresses, swimsuits, some leisure clothes. I just wanted to get a time you were available to swing by the store and—”

  “Whoa,” I interject, hopping off my stool. “Let’s back up a second. Fenton told you to call me about things I’d need to go away with him?”

  “Well, Ms. Calloway, I’m not sure what you need these things for. That’s between the two of you. He just asked me to arrange for it to be taken care of . . .”

  “That cheeky fucker.”

  I glance at Presley. Her jaw is grazing the tile on the floor.

  Edie maintains her professionalism and if she’s thrown by my comment, she doesn’t let it show. “I can have a car come pick you up at any time. Just let me know what works for you.”

  I’m at a loss for words. Even though I was going to say yes, I haven’t yet. He just assumes I’m going to. That rich, good-looking bastard.

  “Edie,” I say, clearing my throat, “Can I reach you at the number on my caller ID?”

  “You sure can. Just give me an hour’s notice, please, to arrange for transportation.”

  “If it comes to that, I will. Thank you.”

  “Talk soon.”

  I click the phone off and spin to see Presley’s startled face. “What the hell did he do?”

  “Apparently, I have an appointment to go shopping for the week at Fred Segal?”

  She yawns, stretching her arms over her head. “I knew I’d like him. That Guy Radar was lasered in on this one. What can I say?”

  “I haven’t even told him I’d go!”

  “You must have come across as a given. Or he isn’t used to being told no. Either way, it’s really hot, Brynne.”

  It is really hot.

  Presley pours herself a cup of coffee and takes my place at the bar. “I think you need to call him.”

  “Probably,” I murmur. I thought I had it all figured out. The ball was in my court and I was in control. I was happy with that situation. And now he’s twisted it all up and somehow wrested the control back again. “I don’t want to seem like a shoe-in though.”

  “I agree. Toss him some conditions. Let him know you aren’t just rolling over . . . yet.”

  The look on her face makes me giggle. “Good idea. But if he acts like an asshole, I’m bailing. I don’t care how hot he is.”

  She sips her drink and watches me over the cup, not saying a word. Taking a deep breath, I find his number in my contacts and head into my room, closing the door behind me. I can hear my pulse beating in my ears as I press the call through.

  It rings twice before he picks up.

  “Abbott.”

  “Hi, Fenton. It’s Brynne.”

  A chair squeaks in the background. I imagine him leaning back in some oversized leather chair, wearing that smirk of his that I’ve thought about for the last fourteen hours. “Well, good afternoon, Brynne. How are you?”

  “Good. I just had a very interesting phone call.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is,” I quip. “A lady named Edie called. We had a very enthralling conversation.”

  “Those conversations are my favorites. You never know what you can glean from good dialogue.”

  Smartass.

  “What did she say?” he teases.

  “She said you asked her to make arrangements for me to pick up things for this coming week.”

  His chuckle resonates through me, bringing my body to life.

  “Wel
l, I just got off the phone with her a few minutes ago, so that’s a point for efficiency,” he replies.

  “Fenton, I haven’t agreed to go with you.”

  “Brynne, you know you’re not going to say no.”

  My chest tightens. This is the moment of truth.

  “If I go with you,” I say, my voice as stern as I can manage, “I’m not going as an employee.”

  “Is that what’s holding you back?”

  “Yes.”

  The chair squeaks again. “Brynne, I only offered to pay you to accompany me as a means to an end. You said you had to work, so I assumed you needed the paycheck. It was never my intention to disrespect you.”

  My throat goes dry. The tone of his voice, so much rawer than I’ve heard it, blindsides me.

  “You needed a vacation and I’m going away anyway. Why not go with me?” he asks.

  “I barely know you.”

  “But do you like me?”

  “I think so.”

  “Didn’t you say last night that sometimes that’s all that matters?”

  I’m not sure if that is what I said. I can’t focus. I’m lost in his voice, in the way he seems completely unrushed to convince me to take this trip with him. All I know at this minute is that I want to be across from him, looking into those steely eyes, and feeling like this.

  “Brynne?”

  “I’m not taking your money.”

  His laugh reverberates through the phone. “Fine. But if you can’t afford to miss work, I’m happy to compensate you. Money is no worry for me.”

  I nod, then realize he can’t see me and laugh. “I’m not happy about you thinking I need to go shopping either.”

  “I might need you to attend a dinner with me and some of my associates. I would expect you to dress a certain way and won’t allow you to come out of pocket to purchase those items, Brynne.”

  “I have nice things and Presley’s closet at my disposal. I don’t want you buying me clothes.”

  “I’m not compromising.”

  What do I say to that? “Fenton . . .”

  “Edie will have someone pick you up later today. Get with her on a time that works for you.”

  “How do I even know what to buy? I don’t even know where we’re going.” I’m kind of giving in by asking that, but it seems like a moot point to argue at this juncture. I can almost hear his grin through the phone.

  “We’re going to Las Vegas. Edie has a list of things you will need. Just leave it up to her.”

  “You are overwhelming.”

  “Just wait,” he teases and my hesitation dissolves. “And Brynne?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. If you need anything at all, please let me know. But right now, I have a meeting I have to get to.”

  My cheeks flush. “I’m sorry. Go. I didn’t mean to interrupt your day.”

  “You’re the best interruption I’ve had in a long time.” The smoothness is back, wrapping itself easily around me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow . . .”

  The line clicks and I sit and stare at the phone.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  “Is that everything?”

  Glancing around my room, it looks like I’ve been burglarized. Clothes, shoes, and jewelry are strung everywhere. My attempt at being prepared for this trip has resulted in a mess of epic proportions, and truth be told, I don’t know if I have everything. It’s hard to know if you’ve packed all you’ll need for a trip with a man you barely know, to a place you’ve never been, and aren’t exactly sure why you’re going.

  Well, besides the obvious.

  I look back to my suitcase. It’s stuffed to the brim, overflowing with dresses and swimsuits, footwear and accessories. Most are brand new, tags still attached, sporting prices I don’t even want to look at if I want to keep my panini down.

  I gaze at the pile of items and the clock on the table beside my bed. A little less than twelve hours to go.

  I shuffle to the chair in the corner and drop into it. Presley, in turn, tosses me a puzzled look.

  “Don’t even,” she warns.

  “Don’t even what?”

  She wags a finger my direction. “Don’t get that look on your face. The one that says you’re overthinking this. Again.”

  “I’m not overthinking it,” I contend. “I’m just thinking that maybe this isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Maybe it’s not,” she says, surprising me with her candor. “But it is the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever seen you do. You’ve been more fun today than you have in a long time, and I think you’re doing the right thing by going. Even if it’s not,” she says, sitting next to my luggage, “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  I take a deep breath and hold it, because I’m not sure how to answer that.

  “Exactly,” she points out, thinking her point was made. “You’ll get properly ravaged if you’re lucky and will come home on the other side of a plethora of orgasms at the hands of a man I’m quite sure is skilled enough in the sack to rebound you. It’s a wildly amazing plan if you ask me.”

  “Yeah. I agree.”

  “Don’t sound so excited about it.”

  “It’s just . . . I don’t know what he expects. I don’t know what to expect myself. I think I’m in too deep here. I mean, yeah, I’m all about having some fun, but going away with a guy I don’t know for a few days seems . . . extreme?”

  “And amazing.”

  “And potentially a nightmare,” I sigh.

  I push off the chair and walk to my bureau and grab the bottle of water I set there earlier. I take a long, leisurely drink, pretending the clear liquid is vodka that will soothe my nerves as it goes down. But it doesn’t. When I place it back down, my anxiety level is still climbing.

  “If you get there and he’s an oddball, call me and I’ll send someone to get you. It’s not a big deal,” Presley notes.

  “He’s not an oddball.”

  “He doesn’t have that ‘quiet serial killer’ look in his eyes when you’re alone?”

  “No,” I snort. “He has that ‘hypnotizing sex machine’ look.”

  Presley laughs and fiddles with the zipper on my brand new suitcase, also courtesy of Fenton. “Look, Brynne, if you really don’t want to go, then don’t. But I think you do. That’s why I’m pushing you. You just . . . you deserve some fun. You need a break from all the craziness and what better way to do it than with Fenton?” She puts the tip of her fingernail between her teeth and thinks. “This is like . . . imagine this trip as pushing a button. When you come back, you’ll be reinvigorated. You’ll have something, hopefully a whole lot of somethings,” she grins, “to think about and smile when you’re dealing with life. Right now, you don’t have a lot to go on in that department.”

  “Thanks for that, Dr. Phil.”

  “I’m serious.”

  I pad across the room and sit beside her. Ignoring the suitcase and all it entails, I look at my friend. “I’m not worried Fenton is a serial killer, Pres. I’m worried I’ll be awkward. What if I get there and have a panic attack? What if something happens with Brady and Mom calls and I can’t get to her fast enough? What if—”

  “Stop.” She places her hand on my shoulder and watches me until my breathing slows. “If something happens with Brady, I’ll make sure you make it to your mom as quickly as possible. I’ll have Daddy’s jet come get you if I have to. But, Brynne . . .” Her gaze drops to my lap before finding mine again. “You know there’s a chance you might not hear about him for months. Years. You can’t put off living because of that.”

  The words are a knife to my chest. A knife that’s serrated and stabs me repeatedly, creating a jagged, gushing wound. It’s a thought I’m just learning to live with, to accept as a realistic possibility, and to not want to hurl when it flashes through my mind. I miss Brady. To think what he could be going through . . .

  “I
’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

  “It’s fine,” I half-laugh. “You’re right. Brady would say the same thing.”

  “I’m not sure he’d like me pushing you to go with some guy though.”

  “Probably not,” I giggle.

  Her smile warms my heart, thawing the fear that threatened to grip me.

  “Grant said the day he was kidnapped, they were working in an area they normally didn’t frequent.” Presley watches cautiously because, while I talk to her about practically everything, I don’t talk about the intricacies of this much. I don’t know why I feel compelled to now, but I do. “He said they got a call to go over there—him, Brady, and another guy named Zore. And because Brady is a doctor and not former military, he’s supposed to stay with a security detail at all times. There was a little boy in the road with a soccer ball crying and Brady broke off and went to him while the other guys were talking to some locals . . .”

  Presley squeezes my shoulder. “Sounds like something your brother would do. Always the softie, even at the risk of his own safety.”

  “He risked everything for that little boy, yet Mandla won’t risk anything to get him back. They say the government won’t let them go in because it’s against international treaties to go in and basically start a war, and they can’t negotiate with terrorists. But that’s bullshit, Pres. You know they know who took him. They just stay silent. Our attorney says it’s because anything they say can be used against them if we sue them. Grant won’t even say much more about it. It’s all this big conspiracy, it feels like, and you know, as much as I don’t want to believe it because he and my brother were best friends, I feel like Grant’s been paid off to keep quiet. I really do.”

  Presley gasps. “Are you serious?”

  I nod. “I am. My dad suspects it too, but I don’t think Mom realizes it. And Dad doesn’t tell her so she doesn’t get even more upset. She can’t handle much more.”

  “I wish I could help you,” she says. “Just watching you go through this about rips me in two.”

  “You do help me. You’re here every day. You let me cry and mope and pick me up and shake me when I need it but don’t want it.” I think back to all the ways she’s been there for me. “I’m pretty sure that, without you, I’d have lost it this year.”