Love Me Later

by Libby Rice

  Seemingly lost to the story, Brian continued, “I’ll also never forget what she said, so quiet, yet panicked.”

  “What?”

  “Most of it was incomprehensible—things like ‘cold’ and ‘no.’ But then she said, ‘Ethan, don’t.’”

  Jesus fucking Christ. “Not possible.”

  Brian’s face went hard. “Happened. I walked her back to her room. She let me lead her along, totally listless, and she admitted that she doesn’t sleep well in hotels. That’s an understatement. She doesn’t sleep at all.”

  Ethan thought his chest might explode. The faraway look on Brian’s face hinted at how difficult the episode had been to watch. And while Ethan wanted to kill the guy over his closeness to the woman who was driving him slowly insane, he was grateful Brian had been there, had helped.

  Yet as much as he disliked what he was hearing, he didn’t get how Scarlet’s frailties justified her present betrayal, one that wasn’t playing out in the vacuum of a flashback where she apparently still thought him a killer. “So Scarlet doesn’t like hotels or people sneaking up on her. Two extremely rare afflictions, let me tell you.”

  “You demand info and then mock it?”

  “That’s how I roll.” Stroking his wrist as though he were petting a trusty dog, he sent Brian a pointed look. “Get on with it. Now.”

  “You were right. Scarlet didn’t go to the drugstore.”

  No. Shit. Projecting his voice like the loudspeaker at the circus, Ethan wailed, “Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for Brian Wentworth’s shocking exposé.” His tone shriveled. “Oh, wait…”

  Brian was so fired along with his little massage-ee. Ethan pushed off, making to exit the booth. He’d been on this merry-go-round long enough.

  “She went straight to the hotel.”

  Eyes flaring at Brian’s upheld hand, Ethan sank back down.

  “Before you go off half-cocked about how no one would get a cab for a block, think about what I’ve been saying.”

  Ethan gritted his teeth. “Scarlet came away from her attack with baggage.”

  “She hides hers well—”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “She’s afraid she’ll be hurt. Physically, Ethan. The type of thing that leaves a person bleeding in the street, a car, an apartment, a hotel room. Alone and with no one to help.”

  Ethan stilled, a queasy feeling piercing his insides. That’s why you don’t sleep in hotels, isn’t it, sweetheart? No trust in the security.

  With each word, the accusation in Brian’s tone climbed. “Think about the cab, you son of a bitch.”

  She’d been attacked walking alone at night. “She blames herself? For going out alone?”

  Brian nodded. “She regrets accusing you, of course, but also for being so irresponsible as to put herself in danger in the first place. I don’t think she’s repeated that”—he raised his fingers in air-quotes—“mistake ever since, no matter the location or the distance.”

  Ethan drained his beer, wishing it’d been sixteen ounces of whiskey. Not even that could have prepared him for Brian’s coup d’état.

  “That’s why she lied about the drugstore. She finds the truth embarrassing. Fact is, she’s afraid of the dark.”

  A dull ache pulsed at Ethan’s temple. “You’re saying it’s feasible she waited for the cab much longer than it would’ve taken to walk one block along a well-lit, crowded street, and then she paid the cabbie to trace the same path to the d’Angleterre.”

  He pictured Scarlet’s expressive face at Optik when he’d accused her of scamming his company. If her lie about the drugstore hadn’t catapulted him over the edge of his anger, he might have recognized her genuine confusion and then embarrassment.

  “I’m saying she did do that.” Brian leaned forward in the booth, still keeping his hands tucked away. “When I left dinner, Scarlet was talking to Susan. The timing of their conversation, the cab ride, and my walk must have coincided. When I approached the hotel, I saw the doorman assist Scarlet from her cab. She beat you home, asshole.”

  Ethan’s exhale came in a rush. Scarlet was already in her room when I set up camp in the lobby. She had lied about the ride, but for very different reasons than he’d assumed. He’d trampled all over her real fear and anxiety, not feigned, and he’d scoffed at her hesitant efforts to make him stop.

  Hitting Brian with the dead stare he typically saved for the boxing ring, he asked, “What have you had, other than her feet?”

  Brian smiled darkly. “More all the time.” Then he hesitated the briefest second before adding, “And I don’t suffer from a lack of trying.”

  Already halfway up, Ethan froze. “More all the time better mean nothing.” Then he reached out, his finger straying to the developing bruise peeking from beneath the man’s lavender cuff. “And stop trying.”

  At Brian’s uproarious laughter, Ethan saw why Scarlet trusted this particular colleague, who could both take it and dish it out with the best of them. “I’d tell you to make her make me, boss, but the fact is, you can’t have her.” The man still shook with humor.

  Ethan merely arched a brow.

  The mirth cooled quickly, and Brian grew serious. “She’s your lawyer. There are rules. Number one? Don’t fuck your clients.”

  Sitting up, Brian leaned in, wrists and all, as if to share a secret. “I think I’ll actually up my efforts.”

  ******

  Scarlet kept her end of the bargain. Bright and early, she found Susan’s room on the third floor. The woman answered her door before Scarlet’s fist could hit the wood a second time.

  Silent, Susan stepped aside to let Scarlet into her lair.

  Before she could open her mouth, Susan held out a folder. “Your itinerary. An E-ticket. Your flight leaves at nine a.m. A car will fetch you at seven. I can’t get you out of here till tomorrow.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Susan added, “Unfortunately.”

  Unwilling to take yet another person’s shit, Scarlet nodded brusquely. “Thanks. It’s been a pleasure.” Yeah, and I’m looking forward to my next pap smear, too.

  Schedule in hand, Scarlet spun on her heel, intent on leaving the way she came—fast and without a fuss.

  “He’s not what he seems, you know.”

  Susan’s voice sounded so grudging Scarlet almost didn’t believe she’d heard correctly. “I do know,” she said over her shoulder. “He seems like a well-respected, well-mannered businessman. He’s actually an evil genius bent on my destruction.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Susan took a seat and poured a cup of coffee from a silver pot. She didn’t offer Scarlet a chair or a mug. “He can be hard. Controlling. Being thrown in prison without provocation changes a person. So does the hill climb from a reputation-maligned boxer to one of the country’s leading minds. Everyone he meets wants a piece of him.”

  “I don’t.”

  Susan took a sip, then added a sugar cube and stirred. “I met him right after he got out.” She threw Scarlet a speaking look. “Of Rikers.”

  “I know. We spoke briefly after he was released.”

  “When you tried to pay him off?”

  Yes. Scarlet nodded at a chair opposite Susan. “May I?”

  Susan gifted her with a regal incline of her head, and Scarlet bit back a sarcastic thanks as she sank into the cushioned seat. More and more, it appeared Ethan and his minion shared a rapport that went far beyond dictation and travel plans. “You know a lot about your boss.”

  “I know a lot about everyone,” Susan provided, skewering Scarlet with an unapologetic glare. “Even you. I figure people out for Ethan. Along the way, I’ve learned about him.”

  Scarlet could banter with Susan all day, but why bother? In her kindest pre-cat-fight voice, she said, “Not that I don’t enjoy an early-morning chat, but do you have a point?”

  Susan wagged her head, not rushing to expound. Once Scarlet began to squirm in her seat, Susan sipped her coffee again and set it aside. Seeming mesmerized by her porcelain cup
, she started to talk.

  “A few years after I started working with Ethan, I went through a divorce. The situation got nasty, and I was spending all my resources—money, time, energy—fighting my ex for our kids. After six months of hell, my lawyer called out of the blue. My husband’s attorney had suddenly offered a reasonable deal. One might say too reasonable. To this day, Ethan hasn’t admitted involvement, but my ex was bitterly open. Ethan had made it clear that absent my husband’s quick cooperation, he’d use whatever clout he had at the time to sink the man’s contracting business. Capitulate, or never get another customer.”

  What a gem, Scarlet thought uncharitably. He also probably saves kittens from the streets. “Ever wonder if Ethan wanted to test his own influence?”

  “Maybe he did. That doesn’t change the fact that he used the test to help me escape a bad situation. He didn’t even know how terrible things had been. A test also fails to explain why my sons attend private colleges on Ethan-funded scholarships. I’m not supposed to know about those either.” She picked her cup up again. “Ethan has a habit of doing what he thinks needs done. Perhaps he can be forgiven for only sporadically asking permission.”

  Scarlet eyed Susan’s coffee pot, reminding her fingers to sit still in her lap and not reach for a cup. Minion’s story sounded good when you said it fast, but only because nobody was all bad. Not even Ethan.

  “Are you familiar with Ethan’s charitable contributions?” Susan asked.

  “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?”

  “I write the checks. He keeps it private. You won’t be reading about the twenty million he’s given on CNN.”

  Scarlet felt her brows crawling up her forehead, but she gave her watch a pointed tap.

  Susan responded with a look that said like you have anywhere to be. “He can be loyal, even selfless, but he’s ruthless when warranted. You’ve abused his trust. This reaction to you is the exception, not the rule.”

  “I didn’t—”

  Susan held up a hand. “Frankly, I don’t care whether he likes you. But I won’t watch you wallow in your self-righteous dislike for him.”

  The information was helpful even if the source wasn’t. Ethan might be into silent acts of mercy for the good, but he preferred blunt force trauma for the bad. Simple, controllable, effective.

  “I get it,” Scarlet conceded, her voice bored and flippant. “He’s got an isolated cold spot in his warm, fuzzy heart for me. Thanks to you”—Scarlet held up the folder containing the details of her escape—“I can leave him to it.”

  Because divorces and college tuitions and charitable donations aside, Ethan had her on his trauma list, and she’d given up dangerous places a long time ago.

  Chapter 12

  No extravagant gifts. Bust out the diamonds—and, oh, how he wanted to—and Scarlet would liken him to her father in two seconds flat. Feeling entombed in the ornate hallway, Ethan walked toward her room with a single white tulip that, if he’d found a competent florist, stood for forgiveness. He would also offer three handmade truffles, straight from Peter Beier’s chocolaterie.

  No alcohol. Not even a bottle of champagne. He didn’t want her to believe he asked for more than a truce. He did, of course. He wanted that and much more, but his gifts were a peace offering, and champagne, when combined with the decadent chocolates and the flower, might be misleading, or worse, frightening.

  No Empress. That rule trumped the others. He would never call her the name again, not in anger or frustration or under the influence of any other emotion. He’d known, at least subconsciously, that the endearment had ceased to function as such long ago. As Scarlet said, he’d used it cruelly, as a reminder of a painful past she’d worked to forget. Never again would he deliberately use her fear against her.

  Scarlet’s plane left early the next morning. Susan insisted she’d been unable to get Scarlet on a flight any earlier. His girl was still in residence.

  He’d dressed carefully. While he couldn’t do much to subdue his size, the worn jeans and T-shirt didn’t scream money or power. His stocking feet left him as short as he could get, and he hoped the stubble on his jaw conveyed casual. Just a regular guy bringing a lady some chocolates. Nothing to be worried or upset about. Happens every day.

  At her door, his whole body clenched with nerves. Hopefully one day he’d look back and laugh at how badly he’d fucked this trip up. Right now, Scarlet would likely kick him in the stones before tossing him to the curb. If that happened, he’d have to respect her wishes and stay away. It was that or succumb to the inner stalker that couldn’t leave her be. Not back then and not now.

  His first knock was tentative, a light tapping. He stood sharply to the side, hoping if she couldn’t see him through the peep hole, she might actually open the door.

  When she didn’t respond, he knocked a little louder.

  Still nothing.

  Scarlet hadn’t checked out. Considering the distress she’d endured the night before, combined with the fact that darkness approached, overwhelming odds favored her being holed up in her room. He slammed the curled edge of his fist against the door. When she still didn’t answer, he did it again. This time, the door rattled, threatening to vibrate off its hinges.

  He heard her as he pulled back for another blow—a series of soft footfalls that came in fits and starts. She was moving around in there, and frantically, he’d guess. He waited… but still she didn’t open up.

  What the hell?

  She might have seen him though the viewing hole despite his efforts to stand aside. Or perhaps she’d made an educated guess and thought he’d come again to drive her out. Bellowing through the door wouldn’t go over well with the neighbors, so he opted for knocking louder.

  Then rattling the doorknob.

  After several minutes, Ethan stared in mutiny at the barred door, breathing heavily. Thinking to startle her into a confrontation, he returned to his own room. He stalked to the door that connected his suite to hers, intending to raise such a racket she’d be forced to face him. From inside his room, he could yell and beg and coax her to hear him out. If that didn’t work, brute force would.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures, sweetheart.

  But when he jerked his own internal door open to reach hers, he jumped aside. A silent and violently trembling form tumbled backward to his feet. Scarlet. She’d obviously wedged herself between their connecting doors, clutching a nasty-looking steak knife.

  The tulip hit the floor behind the truffles when, through a part in her robe, Ethan spied blood dripping from a nasty slice along her delicate ribcage.

  Chapter 13

  At the first light knock, Scarlet surged to her feet. An unexpected visitor at the door was, for her, one of life’s little trials. The evening’s goal had been to pack so she could get the hell out of Denmark and away from Ethan. Once home, she’d await his next move and piece things together in spite of the destructive swath he’d cut through her life. Lissa was on standby with a slew of bad ideas, most of which involved tequila or going out in public in a state of partial undress.

  Brian would step onto the Optik frontlines. With any luck, the deal would come off without a hitch. She wondered what kind of a fool still wanted the best for Ethan and his company when he planned to engineer the exact opposite for her.

  The repetitive thump outside her door grew more insistent, echoing through her ears at a volume that couldn’t possibly reflect reality. Tamping down her alarm, she crept to the door and peered through the eyeglass embedded at its center. The standard look-before-you-leap protocol usually brought her fevered imaginings of violence to a screeching halt.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Rather than a face or a torso, she saw an elaborate flower bouquet so common within the hotel. The blooms sat unobstructed upon the table across the hall.

  Yet the banging continued. For a moment, she allowed her head to fall back. The ceiling blinked into view as she stood, frozen and unsure, feeling the door jolt
beneath her hands.

  Her unanticipated visitor wanted, quite badly, to both enter her suite and to mask his identity. No one she knew had a reason to stand aside like that.

  Sick adrenaline flooded her bloodstream when the doorknob joined the fray, rattling in time with the hammer of a fist against wood. While her mind raced, her body refused to cooperate. Glued in place, barely daring to breathe, she stared at the twisting brass knob. She could jerk open the door leading to Ethan’s room and bang on it until he took pity on her and let her in. But over the past few days, she’d become attuned to his movements in the adjoining suite. Unwittingly, he made his presence known via the shower, the sink, even the television. There’d been nothing but silence from that direction all night.

  She had one exit. One blocked exit.

  Forcing lead feet to lift from the floor, she lurched across the carpet to pick up a knife that rested on her dinner tray. The meal had been a lonely, solemn affair, but she thanked her inner hermit for keeping her sequestered for a good mope. Room service had left her some modicum of protection.

  Knife in hand, she lifted the telephone receiver and hit “zero” for the front desk. An automated machine answered the call, droning through a list of assistance options in a paced monotone. She pressed “one” for English, but the urgent hammering at the door soon reverberated in her ears, drowning out the robotic desk assistant.

  She didn’t know the 911-equivalent in Denmark. Fool, why don’t you know this?

  Scarlet’s pulse stuttered and the receiver slid from her grip, dropping to the floor beside her feet. The intruder had to be on the cusp of bursting through the door.

  Unable to cower—never again would she willingly play the victim—she killed the lights and slipped between the flanked doors that connected her room to Ethan’s. With his door at her back, she pulled her own against her cheek. There she waited, knife clutched to chest, staining to hear above the hammering of her heart.