The Choice

by Alice Ward

  A part of me was glad. I still felt shaky from all the day’s events and wasn’t sure I could lead them back into that Zen space. And I just wanted to go home, pack mine and Jaz’s things and lose myself in a couple days of hotel living.

  Nash scratched at the scruff of a beard shadowing his face. “Can I tempt both of you into joinin’ me for some dinner?” he asked, looking directly at me.

  I could feel my cheeks begin to heat up under his gaze. I looked down at what I was wearing. Yoga pants, sweaty tank that covered a sports bra that was soaked through completely. “I don’t think—”

  “Pizza?” Jazzy asked, her eyes wide. “I love pizza. Journey does too, but not olives or anchovies because…” She stuck her tongue out, letting the disgust speak for itself.

  Nash laughed. “I happen to know an excellent pizzeria not far from here.” He turned that blue gaze back onto me. “Will you join me?”

  I wiped the sweat on my palms onto my tank, a reminder of how gross I probably looked and smelled. “I’m not really—”

  “That sounds awesome,” Jazzy bulldozed over me. “We only ate a puny sandwich because I caught the microwave on fire and now we have to move out of our apartment and live in a hotel, which is cool because I’ve never lived in a hotel before. There’s a swimming pool and everything.”

  Nash had a puzzled look on his face as he attempted to sort through Jazzy’s words. Although she’d gone through a number of speech classes and spoke exceedingly well, her tongue was a bit thick, causing her words to sometimes slur together, especially when she was excited. And, boy, was she excited now.

  “I’m actually in the process of movin’ right now too,” Nash said, smiling down at Jaz.

  Her eyes grew big. “Did you catch your old place on fire too?”

  He laughed. “Not the kind of fire you mean, but I did burn a few bridges along the way.”

  Jazzy frowned, not understanding. Before she could begin quizzing him, I jumped in. “Pizza does sound nice.” My stomach rumbled, a reminder of just how puny that sandwich really was. “But we need to get back and pack.” When Nash’s face fell, I added, “But maybe another time?”

  The grin returned. “Friday night?”

  I never had plans on Friday nights, nothing past hanging out with Jasmine or maybe really living it up and taking a long bath. But this Friday evening was different. “I’m sorry. Our apartment is supposed to be ready on Friday, and—”

  “Move that bus,” Jasmine chanted. “Move that bus.”

  I grinned. “And we’ll be moving back in, then packing for Jaz to leave for art camp on Saturday morning.”

  Nash’s gaze swiveled to my sister. “Camp sounds fun. You like art? Are you ridin’ in a bus?”

  I smiled at his confusion but didn’t have time to correct him because Jazzy kept on going. She raised her hands, palms up. “Yes. A big bus, and camp is going to be amazing. I’ll be gone for three weeks. I’ve never been gone for three weeks before. They’ve got a pool there, not at the hotel, I mean. At the camp too, but I’ll be busy painting and sculpting so I don’t know if I’ll have time to swim or not.”

  The blue eyes came back to me. “Three weeks, huh?”

  Earlier today, my stomach had tightened, twisting each time Grant Sommerfield looked at me. It was doing the very same thing now. My libido had been in hibernation for so long, I’d forgotten what lust and desire felt like… if I’d ever really felt it at all.

  I was feeling it now. Today.

  First, from my landlord, a man completely out of my reach.

  And now… would it be so bad to enjoy the attention of a handsome man? Maybe even, gasp, have sex while Jasmine was gone? Just a fling. Nothing more. A fun way not to miss and worry about my sister too much.

  I looked at him through my lashes, feeling a flirty smile curve up my lips. I was flirting. Me. Journey Walker, practically emoting a sexy vibe. Which would probably have been more effective if I wasn’t wearing yoga gear with hair clinging to the sweat drying on my face and neck.

  “How about Saturday night then?” he said, those eyes nearly penetrating me. “Dinner. Maybe catch a show.”

  Jasmine clapped her hands. “Journey keeps saying that she wants to see Wicked, but I don’t like witches or winged simians, so I won’t go.” Jaz gave a visible shudder, and I smiled at her use of simian. Jaz liked using “big words” so that she would “appear smart.”

  Nash faked a shudder too. “Yeah, poor Scarecrow really got his ass handed to him during that movie.” He laughed, and it was such a fun, pleasing sound. “Literally.”

  Jazzy looked at him seriously. “That wasn’t funny. Scarecrow is my favorite.”

  Nash’s eyes widened, the smile falling off his face. “Um… sorry. I—”

  Jazzy laughed and pointed at him. “Got ya.”

  Nash threw his head back and full-on howled this time. “Yeah, you did. Thought I’d just blown a date with your sister.”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m still standing here, you know.”

  His grin didn’t fade. “Trust me. I’m very aware of your every movement.”

  His candor surprised me. Embarrassed me. Pleased me.

  “My bus leaves at nine o’clock Saturday morning,” Jasmine provided helpfully and turned her light blue eyes to me. “You should go on a date, that way you won’t miss me so much.”

  My heart squeezed. “I miss you already.”

  Jaz rolled her eyes and shot a thumb in my direction. “She really does need to get a life.”

  Well, my sister wasn’t wrong.

  Jasmine pulled my phone from my bag still slung over her shoulder. That was when I realized Jaz had gathered up all my things after I’d run after the creep. Even my yoga mat was next to hers on the ground. She pressed her thumb to my phone’s button, which she had complete access to, and opened it up before tapping the icon for my contacts. She thrust the phone at Nash. “Here, put in your phone number.”

  I just stared at her. “That’s my phone, you know?”

  She rolled her eyes again. “I know, that’s why I gave it to him. Somebody needs to take control of this situation.”

  I swear, I could look into those bright blue eyes for days, especially when they were gleaming with humor as they were doing now. He looked down at my phone and began tapping the screen. A second later, the phone encased against his bicep rang, drawing my attention to the muscles in his arm.

  Nash tapped something in his ear, a wireless receiver I realized, silencing the call, and handed me my phone. The touch of his fingers was warm against mine as our skin touched. “Now we both have each other’s numbers.” He stepped closer to me, close enough so that I could smell the heat emanating from him. Sweat, yes, but something primal and raw and exceedingly masculine that seemed to curl around me, pulling me to him. “Want to get Wicked on Saturday?”

  Yes. My answer is yes.

  I licked my lips. Would having sex on the first date make me a slut? Should I change my mind about pizza now, so that I’d officially be having sex on our second date instead? And why was I thinking about sex, like it was a done deal, a sure thing?

  I knew why.

  Because of the way he looked at me. If Nash Levington looked at me like this in the middle of Central Park, causing my insides to go all jittery, I could only imagine how affected I’d be when we were alone.

  I wanted to have sex with him.

  But I wouldn’t.

  Long ago, I swore that I’d never do anything that even came close to resembling my mother. I didn’t drink. Didn’t smoke or do drugs. And I only had sex after I’d known someone a decent amount of time.

  It sounded outdated and Pollyanna-ish, but I didn’t care.

  I’d had a rough start in life. My own mother had literally exposed me to many men. As I grew older, I learned more and more about the child pornography I’d been involved in. It was believed that she’d had babies — more babies than just me and Jaz — in order to sell them to the black market. A
pparently, there were many people willing to adopt a baby by any means — and any price — necessary. While illegal, those children could belong to good homes. But there were other people — evil people — who wanted babies and young children to… I shuddered as I tried not to imagine why those people wanted them.

  I knew how lucky I’d been. For some reason, the woman who’d given me life decided to keep me and make money off me another way.

  Ticket.

  I was her ticket, she said often.

  And I was lucky in another way too. She’d stopped at the pictures and videos when she could have pimped me out, even at such a young age. There was a market for it, I’d learned. A big market. Men who wanted sex with babies, young children. I shuddered at the thought. Wondered how many of my own siblings were still alive and forced to submit to horrible men and women.

  Why my own mother stopped at the porn, I didn’t know. And I remembered very little about it. Almost nothing, in fact. And I’d never be able to ask her because she disappeared right after Jasmine’s birth. I wondered about her sometimes. Wondered if she was alive or dead. Wondered why I even cared enough to wonder.

  “Journey!”

  Jasmine pulled me back from the dark place my mind had gone down. Going on a date with Nash Levington, even thinking about having sex with him, didn’t make me anything like the woman who’d given me life.

  It was time I embraced new people.

  New situations.

  Time I became more open to the world around me, the one I’d sheltered myself from for too long.

  “Yes,” I finally answered him after taking a deep breath. “Wicked sounds fun.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Grant

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here any earlier, Mr. Sommerfield.”

  I shook the interior decorator’s extended hand as we stood inside 3C — her apartment. The sharp scent of burned plastic hadn’t faded much, but the air was clear, thanks to the industrial fans I’d ordered the maintenance crew to put in place. Tomorrow, the cleaning would start but I wanted Dina Howard to get a sense of the space before everything was taken away.

  “No apologies necessary. I appreciate you coming at such short notice.”

  I went on and gave her my bullshit story about using this particular apartment as a template for other renovations. It sounded good. It sounded plausible even. But the real reason I wanted this apartment completely overhauled and made beautiful was her.

  Journey Walker.

  A woman with an interesting name and the clearest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

  The woman I’d hoped to get another glimpse of tonight, mostly to see if the strange dagger of desire pierced just as deeply the second time around as it had the first. But neither Journey nor her sister were there, although it was clear that they had been.

  Some of their belongings were gone, including the bag and physical therapy jacket I’d seen earlier. The bathroom had been cleared out too, the expected toiletries nowhere to be seen.

  I’d missed her.

  Shit. I miss her.

  How did you miss someone you’d only known for fifteen minutes?

  I’d surprised even myself with the offer to fully renovate her apartment, but once it was out there, I’d known that I didn’t want to just stop at a cleaning and new furniture. I wanted her to think of me every time she opened the door.

  “For some reason, this sofa is special to the occupants,” I said as I walked over to lay a hand on its worn back. I remembered the look of panic in Journey’s eyes at the thought of losing it, how the panic had turned to a deep sadness that seemed to seep from her every pore.

  No, Journey Walker had probably never won a game of poker in her life. Her eyes were too guileless, her face exposing every emotion she was feeling.

  Her love for her sister.

  Her affection for this sofa.

  Her desire for me.

  What was between us wasn’t one-sided, I knew that right away. And I also knew to have gained her attention was special. I fully believed that Journey wasn’t a woman who made foolish or headlong decisions.

  With one ear, I listened to Dina talk about the space and how fortunate we were to have ten-foot ceilings to work with. “I’m thinking we go vertical to enhance the space. How tall are the sisters?”

  I blinked, forcing my attention back on the designer. “Excuse me, you asked how tall the women are?”

  She gave me a patient smile. “Yes. Their height.”

  Journey wasn’t a short woman, nor was she overly tall. The top of her head would fit just under my chin, I knew because I’d already imagined doing just that. Tall enough that I’d only have to bend my head just a little to kiss her. Slim enough that it would take no effort to lift her up until her legs were around my waist and we were eye to eye.

  “Mr. Sommerfield?”

  Damn, my concentration was shit. “Five and a half feet for the older sister. A little under five feet for the younger, I’d guess.”

  Dina smiled. “This would be perfect then. Even if they were taller, this would…”

  Some pictures drew my attention, and I wandered over to a table with five or six frames gathered there while Dina went on about sleeping arrangements. There were three people in each of the photos. Journey, Jasmine, and an older woman. In the oldest photo, Journey looked to be five or six years old, Jasmine still an infant in the older woman’s arms.

  Their grandmother, I guessed.

  I’d gone through tenant files, wanting to learn more about the living situation, and discovered that Melinda Walker had passed away a year ago today, leaving the apartment to her grandchildren. As the dick building supervisor had complained about, their apartment was rent control because of how long the Walkers had lived there. But still… I glanced around the small space. Eighteen hundred a month for so little space was a rip-off, and it embarrassed me to know how much I was profiting from Journey’s hard work.

  I hadn’t owned this building for long. A month and a half if that, and I’d been too busy to do a full analysis of each space to see what improvements needed to be made. The meeting today was supposed to have remedied that. A meeting I needed to reschedule since I missed it because of the fire.

  Gritting my teeth, I wondered what I’d have thought of Charles Gains if I’d first met him sitting around a boardroom table instead of hurling insults at innocent women. If the timing had been different, I might have never known of his shoddy treatment of my tenants, but the sight of the fire truck had changed the course of events.

  And I’d met her.

  Picking up what looked to be the most recent picture, I ran a thumb over Journey’s face, her arms around her grandmother, who didn’t look well. Jasmine was leaning over the back of the sofa I immediately recognized as the one still in this room.

  Was that why Journey didn’t want it destroyed?

  I understood.

  I touched my scar, touched the chip in my tooth I refused to have fixed. Sometimes, you needed to remember. Needed something to hold on to, even if it didn’t make sense.

  Walking back to the sofa, I ran my hand over the fabric again. The floral was actually pretty ghastly. I wasn’t a floral kind of man.

  “Can this be saved?” I asked Dina, who was standing on a chair, measuring the windows.

  She climbed down and inspected the sofa closely… and shook her head. “There are already holes everywhere and places so thin they’ll fail very soon.” She pushed down on the cushions, which gave under her weight. I could practically hear the worn frame groan with the effort. “The entire structure is no longer solid and needs to go.” She crossed her arms over her chest, tapping a finger against her cheek. “But I have an idea that I think you and the women will like.”

  And she was off again, pointing out colors and talking about things I didn’t care about.

  “And this can be done by Friday evening?”

  Dina heaved out a breath and planted her hands on her hips. “I would have loved mo
re time, but I’ll make sure it’s done by… five o’clock?”

  I nodded, feeling something untighten in my chest. “Perfect. Then I’ll leave all the details to you. Call if you run upon any snags.”

  She started tapping her cheek again. “We haven’t talked budget, Mr. Sommerfield.”

  I met her gaze. “For this particular apartment, there isn’t one. Go all the way.”

  She beamed, even though there was a silent question behind her eyes. Why? I could tell she was itching to ask it, curious as to why this place meant so much. I’d been working with Dina for several years now, and while I wouldn’t say we were friends, we were friendly. But I didn’t give her time to ask the question.

  With a nod, I strode from the space and headed down the stairs, narrowing my eyes when I passed the supervisor’s apartment. Bastards. Chafed my ass that I couldn’t evict the sorry pair right then and right there.

  Wayne saw me the second I stepped out of the building, and he was holding the door to my Maybach open before I was even on the street. “Where to now, Mr. Sommerfield?”

  “Home.” But before the car was even in drive, I changed my mind. “Let’s drive by the Marmara first.”

  I could feel his gaze on me in the rearview mirror but kept my own eyes on my phone, pulling up the hotel information my assistant had sent me. “Yes, sir.”

  What the hell was I doing? I asked myself a dozen times as we covered the blocks leading to the hotel.

  Just making sure they were settling in okay.

  Just making sure they knew their apartment would be ready on Friday.

  Just…

  Shit.

  I just wanted to see her again.

  That was the bottom line… and I hated it. And was powerless to stop it. Powerless to stop my body’s reaction every time her face appeared in my thoughts.

  I was also curious to see if my response to her would be the same upon seeing her a second time.

  Wayne cleared his throat. “We’re here, sir.”

  I looked up, then around. I hadn’t even realized we’d arrived at the hotel. My focus had once again been so channeled, I’d not paid attention to my surroundings. My therapists said that I “channeled my thoughts into intense focusing” so I wouldn’t allow my brain to “veer into painful territory.” But by being blessed and cursed with a photographic memory, I’d needed intense focus after the… accident. I would have driven myself crazy otherwise.