Unleash Me, Vol. 2 (Unleash Me, Annihilate Me Series)

by Ross, Christina

  “I don’t. But you do…?”

  “I don’t know what I think. You just dropped this on me. You have to know I wasn’t expecting that this morning. And you have to admit that it would be a pretty major step in our relationship.”

  “Fair enough. I agree—it is. But I want it. I want to live with you, I want to be with you, I want you all around me.”

  With those words, my mind jolted back to the note left alongside the black rose that I received last night. The scent of death is all around you. Tank must have seen something close to terror cross my face, because his brow immediately furrowed. Then his lips parted in recognition of what he’d said. He closed his eyes shut, and then held me close to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to evoke—”

  “It’s fine.”

  “It isn’t fine. I wasn’t thinking.”

  I relaxed against him. “You meant nothing by it. Come on, Tank—I know better. I just had some stupid, random response to it. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I apologize.”

  “There’s no need to. OK? I’m just on edge. Now, come on. We’re bigger than that threat, aren’t we?”

  “We are.”

  I admired him for a moment. He was such a devoted, strong, and loving man. Tank didn’t say much, but when he did—probably because he was a former Marine—I always knew that what he said to me came with great thought. “So, you really want to put yourself through the hell of living with me? What’s wrong with you?”

  His face softened. “Not a thing.”

  “I think you might want to consider this.”

  “I have. Several times.”

  Oh, Jesus. He’s serious. I need time to think this through. “Would you be offended if I take some time to think about this? To talk it over with Jennifer? It affects her, too, after all. I’d be leaving her alone here.”

  “Of course. I expect you to talk with her.”

  “Maybe I’ll see if she’s available for lunch today. I actually have nothing on my plate.”

  “So, you’ll consider it?”

  “I’ll consider it. But I need to talk with Jennifer first.”

  “If you go to lunch, you’ll need security detail.”

  “I want security detail. But you can’t be among them. I need to feel as if I’m alone with Jennifer when I talk with her. Otherwise, I won’t feel free to talk openly with her. Does that make sense?”

  “It does. See if she’s available. When you know, let me know, and I’ll have you covered.”

  “I love you, Tank. And I’m honored that you want this.”

  “I just hope that you accept,” he said.

  And then, unexpectedly, he made love to me.

  * * *

  Later that morning, just before the stores opened, Tank left for Floral on Fifth to see if he could find out who had sent me the black rose. When he returned an hour later, I had just gotten out of the shower and was preparing for my lunch with Jennifer at noon.

  “Anything?” I asked when he stepped into the bathroom and kissed me on the back of my neck.

  “Because of its exclusive list of clients, Floral on Fifth has a policy never to reveal the identity of anyone who has sent something anonymously.”

  I looked at him in the mirror. “Excuse me?”

  He held up a finger. “Naturally, I spoke to the manager on duty about that. He started to give me some attitude until I told him what else was inside the box—the threatening note you received, and I showed it to him. Then, I told him that since his store delivered both the rose and the note to you—which your doorman George would confirm because he was there when we opened the package—Floral on Fifth was now a co-conspirator in this case because of their involvement, and thus were ripe for a lawsuit unless they cooperated with me. The manager said the lawsuit would be fruitless. I said that neither of us knew what would happen, but I did know this—the negative publicity would kill their business. When he asked who I was, I told him that I was the head of security at Wenn Enterprises, and that Wenn would issue the lawsuit, hold a press conference, and make it as public as possible. That’s when he cracked.”

  “You’re a genius. What did he tell you?”

  “He didn’t tell me anything. He went back and got the woman who had dealt with the man who bought the rose herself. What she told me confirms that it was the same man who sent you the martini. She gave a similar description. When I showed her Kevin’s composite, she had the same reaction as the waiter at JoJo—she said that it wasn’t him. When I asked her to imagine him without a beard, and with a fresh haircut and cleaner clothes, she said there was a chance that it could be him, though she wasn’t sure.”

  “So, we’ve got nothing?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Kevin has yet to be ruled out. That’s something. If it isn’t him, then someone was hired to do the job. This morning, I put four more men on the streets. They’re looking for Kevin, all trying to score some meth undercover. He’ll turn up. You’ll see.”

  “But when?”

  “I wish I knew, Lisa.”

  “Did they have security cameras at the florist?”

  “They had one above the door—but it doesn’t work. Hasn’t for over a year.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I wish I were.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  He wrapped his arms around me, and I rested my head on his forearm. “Nobody is going to hurt you,” he said. “Trust me. OK? Go and have lunch with Jennifer. Try to let go and have some fun. You need to live your life. Cutter will drive you. I’ll ask him to bring another man with him. You’ll be safe with them. I promise.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was just before noon when I met Jennifer for lunch at Le Bernardin at 155 West Fifty-First Street. I was determined to enjoy our time together as much as humanly possible, so I was going to try not to think about the threats against my life. Tank was right. I needed to live my life.

  So, that’s what I planned to do.

  Jennifer and I had long been foodies—an interest that went desperately unsatisfied during that rotten period of our lives when we first arrived in New York in May and could only afford a derelict apartment, cheap vodka for our martinis, and Ramen noodles while we worked hard to achieve something greater.

  Coming from Maine, we especially loved fresh seafood, which is what Le Bernardin, a three-star Michelin restaurant, happened to be renowned for. Earlier that morning, Jennifer said that the way they prepared the seafood here was “almost raw, barely touched, lightly cooked—just like at home when you and I used to cook together. Well, sort of. OK, probably not even close, but you get the idea. Anyway, you’ll love it there. I’ve only been there once for dinner with Alex, but never for lunch, where they only serve a prix fixe menu. I’m dying to go again—and I also want to hear what’s going on with you, especially after last night.”

  I arrived with Cutter and a new guard I didn’t know—Max. When they were certain that it was safe for me to go inside, I left the limousine, cut across the sidewalk with Cutter at my side, and entered the restaurant, which was known for its towering and beautiful floral arrangements. I knew that Jennifer would be dressed for work, so I wore chic black pants, a slim-fitting red sweater, and a pair of Jennifer’s Louboutins. At some point, she’d kill me for stealing her shoes, so maybe a shopping trip—at some point—was due for each of us to remedy that.

  When I approached the woman at the front desk, she greeted me with a warm smile. “Ms. Ward,” she said. “Jennifer Kent just arrived and is waiting for you. Let me take you to her.”

  Another recognition? It was unfathomable to me.

  I was led to Jennifer’s table. She was dressed in a winter-white suit, and she’d put a flat iron to her long, brown hair, so that it hung down her back and shimmered in the early afternoon light. I thought she looked as beautiful as always. She stood and gave me a heartfelt hug. “How are you?” she asked.

&
nbsp; “Let’s just say it’s complicated.”

  “Wine or martini?”

  “Hello? It’s us. You know the drill. Martini, please.”

  Jennifer looked up at the server and said, “Belvedere martinis. Two with a twist.” She winked at me. “And if you could, please make them as smooth as silk and as cold as January.”

  “Of course, Ms. Kent.”

  When the woman left, I said, “She doesn’t even know what that means.”

  “But we do.”

  “I’m so glad that you were free.”

  “As if I wouldn’t drop everything and make myself free after what happened to you last night. Is everything all right?”

  I told her what was waiting for me when Tank and I returned to the apartment—the black rose and another note.

  “I’m so sorry. You must be terrified. Is there anything Alex and I can do? What’s going on?”

  I told her about how Tank was proceeding with the situation, and how he’d met with Floral on Fifth that morning. Then I got down to the more pressing, recent situation at hand. “This morning, he asked me to move in with him,” I said.

  Her eyes widened at that. “He what?”

  “That was pretty much how I felt.”

  “It seems so fast.”

  “Unofficially, we’ve been dating for months. Officially, just over a month. Which counts more?”

  “As far as I’m concerned? What counts is how you feel about him. Period. That should drive your decision.”

  “I told him that I needed to speak with you first. I’ve committed to nothing.”

  “I know you’re in love with him.”

  “I am—insanely so.”

  “I know how that feels. But let me phrase it differently. Is he the one?”

  “Who knows? I think so, but who can be sure?”

  “None of us can ever be sure. But we can regret things later in life, even if they don't turn out as well as we’d hoped. Nothing is certain but the present and how strongly you feel about the future. At least, that’s how I feel about Alex.”

  “When did you turn into Yoda?”

  She laughed at that. “Oh my God, I’ve missed you.”

  “Don’t even start. You’re the one who went to Singapore, not me.”

  “I kind of had no choice.”

  “I’m just joking.”

  Our martinis arrived faster than I expected. Jennifer and I touched glasses before we sipped. “Well,” she said, lifting her glass to mine so they touched. “To the possibility of new beginnings.”

  “And that’s the other thing we need to talk about,” I said.

  “You’re worried about moving out? Is that it?”

  “Of course I am. I know that apartment belongs to you, but we moved into it together. I also know that you’re not considering moving in with Alex until you get married in July.”

  “Some things change.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I might be considering a move of my own, especially after living with Alex on the island and being together in Singapore, which was magical. Alex and I are so close now that I don’t want to be without him. I thought that I’d wait until we were married, but now I’m thinking that I could be swayed. Especially now, with your news. If you want to move in with Tank, I say that you should do it because I know you wouldn’t take that decision lightly. If you move in, you’ll be doing it for all the right reasons. Should I move in with Alex before we’re married, it’ll be my choice. I’m free to change my mind. And I’ll also be doing it for the right reasons.”

  “So, you’ve thought about this?”

  “Are you kidding? Alex has been nothing if not persistent in asking me to consider it. And even though I told him it wouldn’t happen until we were married, I have to say that—while I initially ruled it out—I might be reconsidering. I can see myself living with him. At this point, I actually would kind of love living with him. And after the discussion we’re having? I might seriously consider it because I can see that this is something you might want for yourself with Tank.”

  “But how do we know if it’s the right thing to do?”

  “We don’t. I guess we just go with our gut and hope for the best. What does your gut tell you?”

  “I’m not sure—he just asked me this morning. It’s still all so new. What about you? Would you do it?”

  “Would I do it? Or are you asking me if you should do it?”

  “I’m asking what you would do.”

  She sipped her martini. “Fair enough. I think I’m ready.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “I know.”

  “I suppose one of these days we’re not going to be joined at the hip. It’s already happening. We’re spending less and less time together—and I think that’s probably natural at this point in our lives. But I’ll tell you the truth, Jennifer—it makes me sad to think that we won’t be together as we have been since we moved to New York.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  “A part of me doesn’t want to move on.”

  “But a part of you does.”

  I looked at her, but didn’t answer.

  “Can I just lay it out on the table for you?” she asked. “At least from my point of view?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve probably been thinking about the inevitability of our separation longer than you have because I’ve been with Alex longer than you’ve been with Tank. And I’m engaged to him, which only fuels—oh, I don’t know—everything! I’ll be married soon. That means that before long, I’ll be moving out of our apartment, and out of your immediate life.”

  “I understand that—I just wasn’t expecting that option to be upon us so soon.”

  “Nobody can predict when change will come. And moving on doesn't mean that you don't care about someone else anymore. It just means that you’re realizing that the only person you really have control over is yourself, and that the course of your life is in your own hands. Right? Do you disagree? Moving on to that next step in our lives means that there’s a point when we must turn the page, and I think that point might be upon us now. It could be time for us to embrace the magnificent past we’ve enjoyed together and step into the next stage of our lives—but not by forgetting all that we’ve had together. Instead, we should celebrate what we’ve had as best friends. Lisa, if each of us should decide that we want to live with our boyfriends, then we should say cheers to that because both of us will be happy—and one day, if we miss this chance, we might not be. You know what my Uncle Vaughn used to say to us when we went lobstering with him—we don’t just go through life, we grow through life. And he was right. I’ve held those words close to my heart since I first understood what they meant, which unfortunately wasn’t until after he died. But at least he passed it down to me—and also to you.”

  “You sound as if you have all of this figured out.”

  “I’ve just had more time to process it. You’ve barely had a few hours. Obviously, I knew this day would come—so did you. And yes, as I’ve said, I’ve given it some thought. At some point, I knew we’d have this conversation. We’d have to face that it was time for each of us to move on. But I hope you heard me a moment ago. Our lives will only be different in that we won’t be waking up with each other every morning. Otherwise, what changes? I go to work. You go to work. We meet up a few times each week for shopping, lunch, dinner. It is a change, but is it that big of a change if we continue to work on our relationship? I’m not sure that it is. I see you in my life forever. So, here we are. What do you plan to do?”

  I gave it some thought, told her what I thought I might do, and then the waiter stopped by our table and took our order for lunch. We moved off the subject until our lunch arrived, but then, midway through what had to be among the more decadent meals I’d ever experienced, Jennifer asked me how I was feeling about Tank’s proposal.

  “I don’t want to deal with it now,” I said. “I’ve been through enough drama
. First, I need to get through this Wenn Publishing party, which is only two days away. Then, I’ll continue to think about it and give him my answer, which could change by the end of this meal.”

  “All right,” she said. “So take your time.”

  “I think I have to.”

  “Then how about this? I’ll call Blackwell when I return to Wenn, and ask her to setup a little party of our own before the Wenn party.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll ask Barbara if Bernie can make all of us up. I’ll make sure we have martinis on hand. We’ll try to take your mind off things. Then, we’ll attend the Wenn party, we’ll meet some new people, we’ll have some fun, and we’ll just forget about all of this boyfriend shit until we need to deal with it. That way, there’s no pressure on either of us.”

  “I love you, Jennifer.”

  She blew a kiss at me. “I love you more.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Two days later, at five o’clock in the afternoon, when it was time for Blackwell and Bernie to whip Jennifer and me into shape for the party, we arrived at Blackwell’s office and followed her into the empty conference room that served as our mock dressing room at Wenn.

  Blackwell looked smashing in her fitted black suit, which she paired only with a string of pearls. At her eyes was a pair of new, severe-looking black-rimmed glasses that lifted slightly at the edges. Would she wear them tonight? Of course she would. She’d wear them for effect. Her hair, usually worn in a sharp bob, had a spikey, more dramatic flair to it—not unlike the way she’d worn it the day that she had fired Marco Boss. Watching her, it was clear that Bernie already had styled her—and that it had been a success.

  As usual, Bernie was waiting for us in the conference room. He had everything set up and because he didn’t know about the threats against my life, he was his usual buoyant self. He hadn’t seen Jennifer in months, so he went to her first. He held her in his embrace, and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle. Then, he met me with a warm hug and a kiss on each cheek. I held him back and met his eyes with my own, but I skipped his cheek. Instead, I went in for a brief kiss on the lips.