by Bromberg, K.
“It’s been a long week,” he murmurs into my hand before bringing it down to link his fingers with mine.
“Everything okay?”
I can see him mentally run through all the things that have gone wrong for him this week, although he doesn’t verbalize anything.
And sadly, by my own fault, I see him differently for the first time. How selfish have I been to always need him and not realize he just might need me too? That he has rough days and difficult clients to deal with? That maybe just as he brings me comfort, I bring him the same?
Why have I been so blind to this? So selfish? Always retreating into myself when trouble strikes instead of turning to him?
He just nods at my question and grants me a shy smile. “Everything is much better now.”
My heart swells in my chest, and a tentative, shy smile that matches his spreads on my lips. I haven’t seen him since the Brian incident—what felt like weeks ago when it’s been only days. Just seeing him does something to me—calms me, in a way that still surprises me.
“Going somewhere?”
“No,” he says without hesitation. “You?”
I lift my bag as if he has X-ray vision and can see my uniform in it. “I have to work later.”
“Where?”
“The club. Eight to closing.”
He nods solemnly, and I’m not sure how to read it as another bout of silence stretches between us.
“Is everything okay?” He asks the same question I did him, his eyes darkening, and it’s then I realize he’s afraid something has gone on with Lucy. With the Brian situation.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I lie, wondering about the odd questions Priscilla asked me when she called today, wanting to leave the outside noise aside for now.
He gives a measured nod. “Did you need something?”
You. Always you.
“No. I was just . . . yes.”
“Yes?” he asks, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Yes.” I look down at our linked fingers and then back up at him. “You.”
He squeezes my fingers, his smile widening and a swell of emotion flooding into his eyes. He could make a big deal about my admission, but he knows me well enough to understand how hard that was for me to say. What a big step that was for me to make.
How big a step that was for us.
“Have dinner with me, then? Not at a restaurant, just at my place. Something simple. Just us so we can talk, sit in silence, whatever it is you want . . . then I’ll drive you to work.”
I shake my head no. “I’d like that.”
His smile widens. “I’m not sure if that’s a yes or a no, but I’m taking it.”
The ride to his place is silent. Our fingers are tangled together on the seat between us, and other than that sole connection, we don’t touch or speak as his driver navigates the short distance to his place. He fires off a text here and there as I stare out the windows and ask myself how we always come back to this.
To him and me trying to reconnect after some kind of chaos rains down on us.
The doorman greets us when we arrive, and the take-out food I didn’t even realize Ryker was ordering via text is waiting for us when we reach his front door.
“There’s nothing much to eat in my place right now. I’ve been working a lot of late nights. This was just easier,” he explains, almost as if he’s nervous as he moves into the kitchen while I shut the door behind us.
I follow him through the unique mixture of modern and old-world style. The glass walls of windows framed by the dark woods and rich colors that make the room still feel cozy. He puts the food on the kitchen counter as he slips out of his jacket and begins to loosen his tie. I step up and for some reason want to do it for him.
Maybe just so I can share this with him—normalcy, something everyday when we always seem to steal bits and pieces on borrowed time that ends up being given back when the time expires.
His hands still as I take over. Slipping the tie off from around his neck. Unbuttoning the first and second buttons on his shirt. Removing the cuff links from his sleeves.
It’s only when I finish that I look up and hold his gaze.
“Thank you.” My voice is so soft, I almost can’t hear my own words.
“For?”
“Not punching him. For always standing up for me. For always trying to protect me.”
He nods very subtly, but his eyes fire in surprise at my words. “Mmm?”
“I’ve been walking on eggshells for so long, Ryker, fearful of every little thing that might hinder me in getting Lucy, that I stopped standing up for myself.”
“You can’t ever stop standing up for yourself, Vaughn.”
I nod, but tears fill my eyes, and he steps into me and pulls me against him. It’s the one spot lately where I feel like I can truly relax. Where I can close my eyes and feel like the outside world fades away, just like it did when I saw him today outside his office.
He presses a kiss to the crown of my head and just holds me like that for some time.
“Priscilla finally called me today.” It’s the first time I’ve mentioned it, the first moment I’ve thought to since we had dinner with small talk about our weeks leading the conversation.
“And?”
His phone alerts a text.
“Do you need to get that?” I ask.
“Nope.” A run of his hand up and down my arm. “What did she have to say?” There’s caution in his voice.
“She said a detective had a very interesting conversation with you.”
“That’s all she said?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I lie.
His chuckle rumbles through his chest into mine from where I’m sitting against him. “Interesting is the word she used?”
“I believe so.” I look up at him, but he keeps his focus on the city lights beyond. “What made it so interesting?”
“Nothing, really.” He chuckles again, and the sound tells me there was so much more to the conversation than nothing, really. His text alerts again, but he doesn’t even look toward the counter where it sits and carries on.
“Ryker?” What did the detective say? Do you need to get your text? What are we doing here? All three mix in the sound of his name.
“I toyed with him a bit and then made sure that all of Brian’s background was discussed . . . so that it now becomes part of a permanent record child protective services won’t be allowed to ignore. Or a judge, for that matter.” I can hear the pride in his voice. “Now, I know she had to have said more than that. What else did she say, Vaughn?”
“Nothing, really.” I repeat his phrase, silently surprised that he’d think to do any of that, while not wanting to ruin the evening by rehashing the rest of our conversation. How she asked for my version of events between Ryker and Brian. Her questions about how I intend to care for Lucy when I work nights, to which my reply was “The same way parents take care of their kids who work during the day.” Then I went on to outline my plans for school once my debt is paid off, which was met with skeptical silence.
“Now that we’re both telling each other half truths, I have a real one to tell you.”
“Oh?”
“I lied to you.”
My body should tense at his confession, my anger should fire, but it doesn’t. Instead, I sit right where I am in the crook of his arm—where we’re resting against the back of his couch, our feet propped up on a coffee table that I’m sure is way too expensive to have feet on—and just keep my eyes closed.
“About?”
“After Carter went to your house and you begged me not to confront him . . . I did it anyway.”
I don’t speak, because I know there’s more and because I’m not exactly sure how I feel about this. He groans in frustration when his text notification rings out again. I go to stand and get it for him, but he just holds me in place.
“No. Leave it,” he says and presses a kiss to my temple. “I started all of this with Carter, and I knew I
needed to be the one to end it.”
“And?” His heavy sigh answers the question I’m afraid to ask. That despite confronting him, Carter didn’t budge on whatever his stance is besides just being a dick.
“I should have told you about it when we talked about him the other night after Belvedere Castle, but I didn’t.” He shrugs and clears his throat. “I realize if I tell you I did it in your best interests—to try to stop the blackmail threat—that it doesn’t matter, because it sounds like a broken record to you. And rightfully so.” He laces his fingers with mine. “You’re a bigger person than he’ll ever be, Vaughn, and it pisses me off to no end. What I did. What he thinks he can do. The fact that he won’t even meet somewhere in the middle.”
“Thank you for trying,” I murmur.
His body jolts. “You’re not mad?”
“I should be. I should tell you it’s my life and who the hell are you to think you can interfere without my consent. I should be mad at myself for being too blasé when your actions have risked so much for me . . . but I’m so sick of being mad, Ryker. I’m so tired of worrying and wondering and missing you.”
“Vaughn—”
“You want to be with me even with my flaws and all the crazy outside factors that keep affecting us. You still want to fight for me. You still want to stand up for me. Yes, I should be mad at you, but I’m so tired of being mad that sometimes I just want to be with you.”
“Just like you don’t deserve any of this bullshit going on, I don’t deserve you.”
“I guess that’s why we’re works in progress,” I murmur, a soft smile on my lips for the first time.
“You know, if I could take all of this away for you, I would.”
I nod but don’t speak, because I don’t want any conditions on our unspoken love. I don’t want there to be strings that make me obligated to repay or regret the things he’s tried to do for me.
But that’s what love is, Vaughn. Protecting what’s yours. Loving without fault. Celebrating the flaws. That is love. I can all but hear my mom’s voice. It’s so crystal clear—so her—that my breath catches.
“Thank you.”
I love being with you.
I love being just like this with you—relaxed, without expectations, without pretenses.
I love you.
I wait for the panic to come, and it doesn’t.
“You owe me a hundred bucks, you know,” he murmurs with a laugh, the heat of his breath warming the crown of my head, as his bet on the phone comes full circle.
“I do?”
“Yep. Here we are. Together and perfectly fine. No crazy revealed. No chaos ensued. You bet me a hundred bucks last night that this wasn’t possible.”
“Then I guess that means we just have to stay in this little bubble surrounding your tower over the city and never leave.”
“You might get bored with me.”
“I’ve got some time yet.”
I turn and tilt my face up to his. He looks as tired as I feel. His lips meet mine in a tender kiss before I snuggle up against him even closer.
His phone alerts again.
“I think you need to get that. Someone really wants to get ahold of you.”
“It’s just Leo.”
“Who’s Leo?”
“My friend I stood up tonight.”
“Ryk—”
I try to move to look at him, but he just holds me in place. “Shh. No. I’d rather spend the night with you than him any day of the week.”
My struggle subsides as my heart melts. This man of epic screwups, a hard-ass with a soft heart, a knight in training . . . owns my heart. How did I ever think I could fight this?
I hold on to him a little tighter. I sink into him a little farther and just relish the moment. The feel of him. The no longer feeling so alone because of him. My flaws that he embraces without question. My chaos he defends without reason. The friends he stands up just so he can spend a few hours with the woman who continually pushes him away.
And when his soft snores fill the room around us, I slide my cell phone off the armrest and do something I have never done in all of my time being employed at Apropos.
I call in sick to work.
Being with him tonight is more important than any paycheck I’ll ever receive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Vaughn
“See you tonight after work?”
“You’re getting greedy with my time, Lockhart.” The reprimand is countered by the grin on my lips.
“And the problem with that is what?” His voice rasps over the line and puts my anticipation into high gear like it seems to do every time we talk to each other.
“Goodbye.” I end the call as he’s still talking and then hit send on my email, confirming with Noah our meeting tonight after I get off work.
My cell rings again, and I laugh when I see Ryker’s name on the screen. “What?” I answer with a laugh.
“Hanging up on me is akin to saying no to me.”
“It is, is it?”
“Yep. I’m going to hold out on you if you hang—”
I end the call and laugh out loud when it rings back instantly.
“You’re relentless, you know that?” I say breathlessly.
“I am. You’d be wise to remember that.”
The smile on my face falls at the sound of Carter Preston’s voice. I was so lost in our playful banter that I picked up, assuming we were continuing it.
And then I realize why I thought it was Ryker—this is my personal cell phone.
“How’d you get this number?” I demand, glancing at the screen and another new phone number he’s calling from.
“A man like me can get a lot of answers to a lot of things with a simple snap of his fingers.”
“Then I’ll block you.”
“No you won’t.” Arrogance edges his tone and has me gritting my teeth.
“Watch me—”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You hang up on me before I end this call and there will be hell to pay.” He singsongs out the words like some nursery rhyme. “Umpf.” He groans the sound out. “Then again, I sure have imagined what it would be like making you pay.”
My finger hovers over the end call button, but a part of me fears the repercussions while the other part hates giving him any kind of upper hand.
“What do you want?”
“That Lucy sure does need you, doesn’t she? So many strings I could pull to cause that whole world of yours to come tumbling down.”
My hands fist and teeth grind. “What do you want?” I ask again.
“You know what I want.” He lowers his voice, and the suggestion woven into every single syllable makes my skin crawl. “How long are you going to make me wait?”
Forever.
“I told you, there is nothing about me that is for sale.”
“Everything has a price.”
“You’re right. Those photos will go for a large sum to the right buyer. How old was the girl sucking your dick? Seventeen? Sixteen?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Vaughn.”
“No problem there.” Sarcasm rings through every part of my tone.
“There’s something about women like you that make me so fucking hard. Ripe for the picking and ready to be put perfectly in their place. Beneath me.”
“Is there a purpose to this call other than to listen to you want things you’ll never get? Because frankly, it’s getting old,” I say, refusing to let him know he gets to me every time. “I already have the paperwork filled out for a restraining order against you. All I have to do is file it.” The lie comes out of nowhere.
He laughs in response. “All I have to do is pick up the phone and your whole word comes apart. I think your fallout is ten times worse.”
“Apparently you’re used to picking up your phone and making calls,” I say, assuming the call log I still can’t make heads or tails of shows his calls, even though none of the numbers match up to ones he’s diale
d me from.
“You’ve got a mouth on you. I can’t wait to put it to good use.” Chills blanket my skin at the calm and cool way he makes the statement. “I’m back from my trip.”
“Good for you. I’m sure your wife is happy to see you.”
Another low and unforgiving chuckle rumbles through the line. “Ask your boyfriend about how that’s going. I’m sure he’d be happy to fill you in.”
“So that’s what this is all about? He’s representing your wife, so you think you get dibs on me?” I rise from my seat and move through my house, suddenly on edge. This conversation is as unexpected as his comment.
“No. That’s not what this is about. This is about how you have things I want.”
“So what? I hand them over and we’re even? I find it hard to believe you’d let me go at that.”
“You’d be correct.”
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut as I try to make sense of him. “So what are my options?”
“Hand over the pictures. The call log. The ten grand I paid Lola. And one night with you so I can collect my interest.”
“You’re dreaming.”
“That’s the American way.”
“I can’t do the first two. I’m not the one who’s holding the items. The ten grand was for services you screwed up. And you can forget about a night with me—”
“You. You. You. Did anyone tell you the first line in business is the customer is always right?”
“You’re no longer my client,” I state, trying to keep this away from him talking about me personally.
“He came to me, you know,” Carter says, his tone devious, his intent to cause problems more than clear. “You told Ryker not to, and he came at me anyway. It was a pathetic attempt to call me off, when he’s the one who gave me the okay in the first place. That alone will make it that much sweeter when I fuck him over.”
“I’ll be sure to let him know that. We’re meeting up for dinner after my interview with the Washington Post tomorrow,” I bluff.
“And I’ll be sure to call Chief Okawa down in Greenwich and tell him I happen to know where Vaughn Dillinger is.”