by S. Ann Cole
“Lotty.” My name is steady and definite on his lips. Like a call out of heaven from God himself.
Despite my frightful, anxious state, I force myself to meet his gaze.
“You will be okay for two days, right?” His jaw is set tight, and he has that infuriated look he had that night in his penthouse when he discovered Andrew’s fingerprints on my neck. “I have a car waiting for me just outside the park. If you want to come with me now, just say the word.”
I want to. I want to say the word, but I can’t. I can’t leave with him now. That would be too messy. Not to mention Andrew would have a clear description of who to track down to get to me. I’ll only end up dragging this man’s life into chaos and possibly death. He may think he wants to help me now, until he realizes I’m not worth all the trouble and tosses me back to the wolf.
I have to leave without a trace, so it’ll take Andrew some time tracing me. Running with this man right now will be too easy, and easy is never good. Easy is deceiving and deleterious. So, no. As much as I want to, I can’t say the word.
With mock incredulity and a forced laugh, I reply, “Leaving right now would be a bit crazy, don’t you think? Yes, I’m desperate for the job, but I also have a life I need to pack up and a landlord to notify. Two days is less than enough time, but I’ll be there on Tuesday.”
Still unconvinced, he shakes his head at me, his jaw ticking. “What’s your number?”
“Uh, I don’t…I don’t have one.”
A couple of months ago, Andrew smashed my cellphone into a wall because one of his own friends called me, asking if I was near Andrew so he could speak to him; the matter was urgent and he wasn’t getting through to Andrew’s phone. That’s because his battery was dead. And my phone ended up suffering for it. Worst part is, I don’t even know how the friend got my number. Since then, I haven’t been allowed to have one. If I need to call him, I have to use the pay phone a few blocks down from my apartment. And if Graham or Kiera want to get to me, they have to call Andrew’s phone.
Disbelief stretches Sexy Demon’s eyes. “You don’t have a phone number?”
“No,” I snap out. “I can’t afford one, okay? Listen, I have to go now. See you in two days. Hopefully you’ll have a shirt on this time. On second thought…” I rake him over, stealing an eyeful to tie me over, “…not so hopefully. Burn all your shirts. You’re a delectable feast for starved eyes, Abercrombie.”
As I make to move past him, he seizes my upper arm, brings his mouth to my ear, and promises in an ire-striated whisper, “If you don’t show up on Tuesday, I’ll be back, searching for you. And I won’t stop until I find you.”
I swallow.
He releases me with that promise, and I continue walking, fighting the desire to look back. A couple feet off, I break into a jog until I’m face to face with Andrew’s buff, bald-headed friend. With a pug nose and dimpled chin, he’s not exactly a looker, but has a nice height and a strong body.
“You’ve been bad, Lotty,” he drawls in a teasing, yet sinister, voice.
“Dan,” I start to plead, “he’s a distant cousin on my father’s side and I was just so excited to run into him after not seeing him in such a long while. You can’t tell Andrew. He won’t understand. He accused my own brother of wanting to sleep with me. You know he’s hotheaded and will never see reason. Please.” I’m almost in tears now, needing him to keep his mouth shut. At least for the next two days.
Dan tosses me a grim smile, and it lands on me with the weight of ten bricks. “Your brother might not want to bag you, but that distant cousin sure as hell does.” His glare is trained over my shoulder, so I figure Sexy Demon is still across the park, watching me. I don’t look, keeping tear-filled eyes on Dan.
“I’m in love with Andrew,” I mumble, the words like acid on my tongue, burning, melting every bit of pride and dignity I have left. “I would never do anything to hurt him.”
Dan’s eyes slice back to me, and I’m shocked to find something akin to empathy in them. “Maybe you should.”
Maybe I…“What?”
Sighing, he begins doing arm stretches. “Hey, I don’t plan on saying anything to Andrew. Not all of us agree with the way he treats you. You’re precious and he’s an idiot who doesn’t deserve you. But, out in public like this, you gotta be more careful, baby girl. I might not be the only one who saw you this morning. So if someone else saw you and informs him, and he asks me to confirm it, I won’t lie about what I saw.”
I nod my understanding, making to leave, but he touches my shoulder to stop me, and I resist the urge to cringe.
“Be careful, Lotty,” he advises in a voice that seems sincere. “But also be brave. Andrew’s just a man.”
With that, he jogs off.
Taken completely aback, I turn with a frown to watch him go, but my eyes instantly collide with Sexy Demon’s. He’s standing in the same spot I left him, arms crossed. Watching me.
Fearless. Stubborn. Determined.
Somehow, I just know he’s not going to leave this park until I do. So I turn, and run.
FOUR
THE NEXT FORTY-EIGHT hours were nerve-wrecking. I barely slept the first night. Kept waiting for Andrew to kick down my door and fist the hell out of me because someone ratted on me.
Fortunately, Andrew has been in an exceptionally positive mood since his proposal. He hasn’t railed or hit on me for stupid stuff, but has been uncharacteristically gentle, sweet, and attentive, reminding me how much he “loves” me every other hour.
Last night, he ordered in a large pizza, half and half, and we stayed in and watched movies. It felt normal and begrudgingly good, the way the relationship used to feel in the beginning. Maybe he’s trying to change. Maybe marriage is sacred to him. Sadly—not so sadly, I won’t be sticking around to find out.
Two pairs of jeans, two short shorts, one workout gear, four lightweight T-shirts, six pairs of underwear, one pajama set, and two brassieres. I pack them all into my ratty, oversized handbag; a safety pin holding one of the flimsy straps together. I have another bag that’s in better condition, but it doesn’t have enough room to fit all of my runaway habiliments without drawing the attention of whoever might be watching.
When Mom and I ran out of savings, we traded all our expensive designer handbags, shoes, and jewelry that we’d managed to get away with for survival cash. While I do still have a fair amount of decent clothing, I can only pack the practical stuff if I want to run without suspicion.
From the dresser, I pick up an old, framed photo of Mom and Dad on the beach during a Caribbean vacation, and tuck it in the side of my bag. Mom’s. She’d slept with it under her pillow every night. It’s all I have left now to remember them.
Taking a step back, I examine the bag for a bulky appearance. It indeed appears slightly bulky, so I zip it closed and then sit on it, bouncing a few times to press it as flat as possible. At the sound of a muffled crack, I wince, remembering the framed picture. Oh well, it needed a new frame anyway.
The cracked bedside clock reads 5:59 PM. I have to get out of here if I want to make it to Wells Height on time.
Picking up the bag, I sling it over my arm and flee the apartment, managing to hail a cab five minutes later. Taking the subway is too risky when trying to run, and it won’t get me there on time.
I instruct the driver to take me to Andrew’s condo first. This might seem like another dumb idea, but I don’t want to give Andrew another reason, other than being obsessed with me, to hunt me down.
Inside my denim jacket pocket, burning a hole through the over-washed material, is the little black box with his uber-expensive engagement ring. Yes, yes, I did contemplate selling the ring and running off to Brazil instead of hiding out just half-an-hour away. But knowing he sold a car in order to purchase the ring? Even if he decides I’m not worth chasing down once he finds out I’m gone, if I take the ring, he might chase me for it. Or at least what it costs. Thus, still chasing me down.
In ord
er to lower the chances of him coming after me, the most sagacious thing to do is leave the ring behind.
At peak hour, aka money hour for cab drivers, chances of Andrew being home are nil. So stopping at his condo first to leave the ring is a risk, but not a risky risk.
“Be back in a minute,” I tell the driver once we’re outside Andrew’s condo.
Sprinting up the stairs, I let myself in with the key he cut for me months ago, a key I almost never use. Moving across the open-floor-plan as quickly as I can, I set the box down on his coffee table and am halfway back out the house when a voice stops me.
“Who the hell are you?”
I freeze.
Female. The voice is female.
On a deep inhale, I send a quick, silent invocation up to God. Please don’t let Andrew be here.
On a slow turn, I come face to face with a skinny, platinum blonde wearing one of Andrew’s jerseys. She’s taller than I am, sneering down at me with malevolence, her arms crossed.
Throwing her a wide, amicable smile, I ask, “Is Drew here?” Only Andrew’s family, the handful I’ve met, calls him Drew. And as far as she is concerned, that’s what I intend on being right now. Family.
“No,” she clips. “But I have him on speed dial, and I’m calling him right now to let him know some stalker bitch just broke into his apartment.” She flounces over to the side table and grabs the cordless. “If I were you, I’d run as fast as I can. Andrew is a mad man. He’s very protective of me, and if he finds out I’m endang—”
“I’m his familia, silly!” I burst through a fake laugh. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this. It was supposed to be a surprise, but…oh well…” With an apologetic shrug, I jerk my chin to the ring box on the coffee table.
Blondie’s skeptical gaze swings to the table. She blinks. And then her chin hits her chest. “No. Way.”
“Way.” With feigned ebullience, I clap my hands a few times before clasping and tucking them under my chin, giving her excited bright eyes. “I just came here to drop it off. You weren’t supposed to be here.”
“He doesn’t know I’m here. I wanted to surprise him because he’s been blowing me off all week…Ah, now it all makes sense! This is what he’s hiding! He loves me. Ohmigawd he loves me!”
Oh dear. “Listen,” I break through her rambling, “don’t let on that you know anything, okay? Yes, part of his plan was to let you think he’s not into you anymore, makes the surprise more intense. Trust me, he has a special night planned for you, so just don’t say anything. Put the ring in his sock-drawer so he won’t know you saw it, and I’ll just tell him I left it there. But don’t say anything.”
Blondie is squealing before I even finish my lie. Jumping up and down and repeating “ohmigawd” over and over.
“I’ve got to get back to work so…” I’m out of there at bullet-speed, collapsing in the back of the cab, heart galloping in my chest. Close call.
Andrew’s irredeemable. How can he ask me to marry him but still be screwing around on me? How can he ask me to move in with him when his sidepieces can just show up at his apartment whenever they want?
Andrew was my first foray into exclusive relationships, and it has turned out to be the absolute worst experience of my life.
If I survive escaping Andrew, I don’t think I can ever trust another man with any part of me. Ever again. If this is what love is, then I want no part of it.
I want me back. The fearless, reckless, wild, and flirtatious me.
That Lotty might be muted and suffocating, but she’s still alive. And I fully intend on reviving her.
Traffic at peak hours is less traffic and more standstill. At 6:55 PM, I’m ten minutes away from Wells Height Complex, in an unmoving line of traffic. This is where cell phones are practical, to send a quick “I’m running late” update. Then again, I don’t even have the man’s phone number.
It’s on that line of thought that realize I’ve had two long, intrusive chats with this man, been inside his penthouse, had his fingertips on my skin, his hands on my waist, his sweat on my cleavage, his breath on my ear, and yet I have no idea what his name is.
In my head, I’ve referred to him as Sexy Demon, and aloud I’ve addressed him as Abercrombie. But I’d never thought, even though he pressed me for mine, to ask his name.
I’ve made live-in arrangements with a complete stranger. What if this turns out to be one of those frying pan into the fire cases? Well, aren’t I the biggest idiot on the planet?
Nonetheless, I’d rather take my chances with Sexy Demon than go back to Andrew.
It’s 7:33 when the cab finally drops me off outside Wells Height Apartments. The doorman does his job and I shuffle in, amble to the concierge’s desk and stare at him like a buffoon.
“How may I help you, Miss?”
“Ah, I’m supposed to be meeting here with…someone…”
Adam, as is read on his name-tag, cocks his head ever so slightly. Judging me by appearance, no doubt. Surely, the residents, or associates of this complex, don’t wear old, washed-out jeans, ratty Chucks, or unraveling denim jackets. Nor stink of cheap perfumes. I don’t belong here; his winged eyebrow says as much.
“Who might this ‘someone’ be, Miss?”
I adjust my bag on my shoulder. I don’t have a name. I’m half-an-hour late, and I don’t have a name. I do have a description, but in an uber-cautious, well-secured place like this, I’ll get nowhere with just a description. I’d been a rich kid long enough to know the effort and caution that goes into providing residents the peace of mind they pay for. “You know what, never mind.”
Turning away from the concierge, I walk over to one of the lofty, beige sofa-chairs and plop down. If I have to wait all night in this lobby until I see that man, then that’s what I’ll do.
I’m sitting there for eight minutes and thirteen seconds, watching the door and the elevator like a hawk, deflating at every face that passes through that’s not Sexy Demon’s, when the elevator pings open for the umpteenth time. I perk up again, waiting, hoping to see his face this time and not some skinny socialite with a shaved puppy.
A sigh of relief whooshes through me, and I’m instantly on my feet, when the door parts and he walks out. Except he has a stunning redhead by his side, her delicate hand on his bicep as she titters daintily, batting her eyelashes at him.
His steps are sure and tall, his posture arrogant and secure. In an impeccably fit charcoal suit, he’s sharp and suave and downright delicious. Groomed hair. Shadowed face.
Seeing him fully clothed for the first time, I can’t decide if I’m more attracted to him with clothes on, or without.
The statuesque beauty beside him is all smiles and flirts, but he seems distracted as he glances down at his watch, and then at his phone screen.
His strides are long, eating up the distance toward the exit. My legs aren’t long enough to catch up without jogging, so I call, “Abercrombie!”
He immediately stops moving and turns, as if his ears had been perked and listening out for that call.
Hurrying toward him, I offer a wave and a smile. “Hey. I’m so sorry I’m late. Rush-hour traffic—”
“I’m sorry, but did this…er, person just call you Abercrombie?” scorns the redhead at his side, scrunching her face at me like I’m a dirty diaper.
Sexy Demon turns to the woman and gives her a closed-mouth smile. “It was nice catching up, Marlene. But I’ll have to take you up on that offer some other time. As it is right now, I have a momentous meeting scheduled with this young lady.”
As the woman begins sputtering something in disbelief, he takes me by the elbow and steers me to the elevator. “Come with me.”
“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said 7 PM sharp. Half-an-hour late and you’ve already got a model on your arm.”
“She wasn’t on my arm.” One long finger reaches out to push the call button. “She joined me on the elevator on my way down.”
“Huh. Well, she seemed
more attached than that.”
“I waited. For thirty minutes. I went up to my apartment only for a few minutes to make some arrangements.”
“Arrangements?”
“I was on my way to—”
“Mr. Van Der Wells!”
At the interruption, we both turn to see a stout middle-aged man with a receding hairline rushing towards us, waving a manila envelope.
“Not now, Richard,” Sexy Demon grits out.
The elevator doors slide open just then, and I wait for him to take the lead, but he doesn’t. He is, instead, looking down at me with a strange expression. One of…expectation? Like he’s waiting for something from me. What? Is there something he told me to bring with me that I forgot about? Maybe he had. Unfortunately, whatever it is, I can’t go back to get it. Although I’m certain every important piece of document I have is packed in my bag. So, feigning ignorance, I step into the elevator.
With a slight frown, he watches me for a moment longer before stepping in with me. A swipe of his keycard, and the doors begins to close.
I return to our interrupted conversation, “You were saying you were on your way to…?”
Relieving me of my handbag, he stares disturbingly hard at the safety pin holding the strap. “Find you.” That stare is then transferred to me. “Like I said would.”
“You weren’t leaving with that woman?”
“I just told you I was on my way to come find you.”
“With the woman?”
He releases an audible sigh, offering no more words.
What he said and what I saw don’t coincide. But hey, what do I care if he’d been heading off to bang the redhead? I’m just glad the job is still mine.
I’m about to ask him his name, finally, when I remember the man in the lobby calling him Van Der Wells. A surname I’m familiar with.
Remember that third crush I mentioned earlier, the chubby one? Well, he was a Van Der Wells. A billionaire. From an insanely wealthy and influential family.
“Hey,” I break the silence, “are you by any chance related to Nate Van Der Wells?”