Chapter Nine. After buying the clothes I had on in the dressing room and wearing
After buying the clothes I had on in the dressing room and wearing
them out of the store, I have to stop by the realtor’s office before I go to
the grocery store. The six-block walk takes me past rows of cute stores and
eateries, and I find Evernight Legal Services nestled in between a coffee
shop and a furniture store. I frown. I thought this was a real estate office,
but it’s logical enough that a law office might handle all business affairs for
someone.
I head inside the office, and I am pretty much pushed through the
door by a gust of wind that jangles the bells attached to the entrance. In
New York, I was pushed and shoved by people.
Here it’s Mother Nature, and according to the store clerk I’d asked,
this is normal here.
Swiping at the hair in my face, I find myself standing in a small,
homey-looking, compact office, and in front of a rich mahogany desk with a
narrow hallway that looks like it leads to a few offices at most. “Welcome.”
My gaze shifts to a gorgeous, twenty-twoish blonde bombshell wearing a
hot pink dress and lipstick to match who appears in the doorway behind
the desk. “Can I help you?”
“Amy Bensen.” The name rolls off my tongue far easier than it had
with Jared. I settle my leather bag, now packed with my shopping haul, on
the waiting room chair. “I’m here to drop off my signed lease.”
“Oh yes. Amy.” She smiles and offers me her hand. “Luke told me you
were coming by.”
“Luke?”
“My boss. He’s not in right now. I think he said there was a package
for you.”
A package? I’m not sure what to make of that. “For me? Are you
sure?”
“Well, I’m new so I could be wrong, but let me go look in the mail
room. I’m almost certain we had something, though.” She heads down the
hallway without me truly seeing her.
The package has to be from my handler. It would make sense. Maybe
it contains a real explanation to what is happening and why I had to leave
New York, I think hopefully, and my heart begins to thunder in my chest,
adrenaline pouring through me. Answers. That’s all I want.
It’s the unknown that makes me jumpy, afraid of my own shadow.
The woman returns with a box wrapped in brown paper, reading a
sticky attached. “Yep. I was right. The note says it’s from Mr. Williams.”
“Have you met him?” Could he be my handler?
Her brow furrows. “Dermit Williams?” I nod and she shakes her head.
“No. He’s out of the country. He’s been Luke’s client for years, I believe.”
I pull the lease from my bag. “Here’s the signed paperwork I was told
to bring by here.
I’m assuming Mr. Williams owns my building? The lease is with
Evernight.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, but that sounds logical. I really just started
a few days ago.”
She offers me her hand. “I’m Meagan, by the way. You can call me
Meg.”
“Nice to meet you, Meg.” I shake her hand. “Are you new to town or
just new here?”
“New to town, just like you. I got my paralegal degree in New Mexico
just this month and had a job lined up with a big firm that fell through.” She
holds out her hands. “So here I am.”
“Oh no. I’m sorry. Why don’t you go home?”
“Ex-boyfriend.” She crinkles her nose. “You know. Personal drama,
new life. Yada yada.
Life is as perfect as a hot man in a pink hat, if you know what I
mean.”
I try to picture Liam in a pink hat and she is right. It’s just wrong. I
grin. “A pink hat on a hot man. I’m not going to forget that one anytime
soon.”
She grins. “I aim to make a lasting impression.”
I think of Jared and my t-shirt that was so very obviously wrong with
my skirt and heels.
I liked him. I like Meg. As for Liam, I downright crave that man. None
of this is good. None of this is staying off the radar.
“We should do coffee,” Meg suggests, her voice snapping my gaze
back to hers. “We’re both new and all. Or drinks. There are some cool spots
around here for happy hour.”
“Sounds fun.” And it does, but I won’t be going any more than I will
be calling to check on Chloe. I won’t be diving into the deep, dark waters of
some wild river and taking others to drown with me. I’m not that selfish
and I won’t let a window of weakness change that.
“You want to exchange numbers?”
“I have a new cell phone but it isn’t working right. I’ll call you and
give you my number when I’m sure it’s staying as is.” I crinkle my nose.
“And when I remember the number.”
“I did that last week.” She grabs a pen. “Let me give you my cell so
you don’t have to call me here.” She scribbles it down and hands it over. “I
already memorized mine.”
Accepting the paper, I ignore the pinch in my chest at the certainty I
will never be calling her. “Thanks. It’s nice to start to know people here.”
She lifts the box. “It’s kind of heavy.”
I take it from her and frown. It won’t fit into my bag with my other
things. It’s going to be a long walk back to the apartment.
***
It’s all I can do not to stop on the street corner and open the box, but
the instant I step back out into the wind, I have this sensation of being
watched. Two blocks later I still feel it and it’s driving me nuts. I tell myself
it’s understandable paranoia considering everything, but I don’t remind
myself again how I got past this in New York. I didn’t get past anything. I put
it out of sight, and out of sight was out of mind. Not this time. This time I
want answers that I hope this box holds.
Finally, I reach the apartment and with aching arms from lugging all
my stuff, I walk into the hallway, drop my bag, and lock the door. Holding
the box to my chest, I lean against the door and stare into the apartment,
listening for anything or anyone that might be present. Eerie silence greets
me, and while it should comfort me, it does not. I hate silence. I hate it with
a passion. I rush forward and set the box on the table, and with my heart in
my throat, I search the apartment.
I lie all the time. Why should I trust the silence?
Once I’m certain I’m alone, I sit down at the dining room table, and in
the absence of a kitchen knife, I struggle with the tape and use my
apartment key to cut it down the center. Note to self. I need a key ring for
the single key I’m bound to lose, and silverware. I need to make a kitchen
list. I start one in my mind. A couple of cheap pans. Cheap paper plates.
Plasticware with a few real knives. I rip the box open and set my key aside.
Lifting the lid, I stare down at the MacBook Air with a folder on top.
Well, this is certainly a surprise. I reach for the folder and flip it open. A
typed note is included.
Ms. Bensen. Welcome aboard. Enclosed is a list of the properties
Evernight leases on my behalf. As we discussed in our phone interview, you
will need to do a weekly visual inspection to ensure they are properly
maintained and email me a report.
Phone interview? I did a phone interview? I’m confused. This is a
cover story. I was told not to look for a job. I keep reading.
An external check is all I need, and all properties are within a few
blocks of one another in Cherry Creek. In addition, Evernight will provide you
with a report on all newly listed properties in the Denver area. You will
cross-reference them with public listings and send me anything that fits the
criteria I’m including. Please email me when you get this so I know you are
properly settled. I will have various other projects for you to undertake once
I get to my location and get settled. I have limited phone connectivity, so if
you have any issues you will need to email. If there is an emergency, you
can reach my attorney, whose number I’m including.
Dermit Williams
Dermit Williams Holding Company
I scan and find an email from my new boss, and his signature, which
is no signature at all. It’s just his name typed. There is no script and there is
no symbol to tell me I should trust this person. I’m baffled. I’ve been told
this job is my cover story. A fake cover story. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe this
is a real job, just like my lease was a real lease. The letter clearly references
a conversation with someone pretending to be me. But the instructions I
received clearly stated that I was not to get a job. Flipping open the folder,
there really are property listings. Maybe my boss isn’t real. Maybe he, like
the job, is a cover that is meant to be convincing. This is not a comforting
thought. It tells me I have reason to go deep into hiding.
I remove the computer from the box and find it’s not new, but close.
It powers right up and I create a Gmail account for Amy Bensen and email
my new boss. A muffled beeping sound reminds me the phone Liam gave
me is still in my bag by the door and I head that way, unpacking what items
need to be removed and finding the phone lit up with a text message.
Don’t eat dinner. I want to take you out.
I press the phone to my forehead and try to weigh my worries for his
safety as valid or not. I have no real reason to believe anyone but me is in
danger, and unlike Chloe, a man like Liam has the money and resources to
protect himself. But he cannot protect himself from something he doesn’t
know about and I do not know him well enough to risk trusting him, no
matter how much my gut says I can.
The phone beeps. I look at the screen. Amy?
He’s going to call me if I don’t answer. I’m here. I’m doing some work
my new boss gave me. Call me when you head this direction.
Your new boss?
My brows dip. Yes. My new boss.
Interesting. I can’t wait to hear all about him.
Avoidance mode kicks into gear. What time will you be here?
Around six or seven. Headed into a meeting and I’m not sure how
long it will take.
I glance at the clock. It’s three. How did it get to be three? See you
soon then.
Not soon enough.
My chest burns with what could be nothing more than a flirty
message, but it feels like more. He feels like more. The very more I have
ached for deep in my soul. Which is exactly why I have to walk away. I will
trust him. I will pull him into my hell. And then one or both of us will crash
and burn.
***
After two hours of searching the internet for clues about my new
boss to no avail, I left a message for Meg about changing the locks on my
apartment since the office was already closed.
Trying to clear my head to think straight, I decided to shower and
freshen up. For the time being, I put my shorts back on, but I will change to
meet Liam. Or not. I don’t know. I shouldn’t change. It will send the wrong
message. Seeing him again might too, but it’s a risk I have to take to return
the phone. I considered just dropping it off, but I feel I know enough about
Liam to know he will just march to my door. If I am ending this, I need to
really end it. If. No if. I am ending it. I will meet Liam at the hotel bar, nice
and public, and then be on my way.
Feeling jittery, I decide to run to the store to grab a few staples,
hoping it will work off my nerves. It doesn’t work. Thirty minutes later, I
return from the quick trip, and while I felt better while on my little
excursion, I am right back where I started the instant I step into my “fake”
apartment and more jittery than ever. I decide I probably need food and
should force myself to eat to see if it will help, though I fear it will not sit
well on my stomach. It’s not like I have to worry about ruining my dinner I
am not having with Liam.
Deciding on a can of soup, I pull out one of my new pans from a bag
and then grimace at my newfound, should-have-been-obvious problem. I
have no can opener or bowls. Paper plates are not going to cut it. Brilliant
move. Just brilliant. My list has failed me and I eagerly jump on another
excuse to get out of this cage I’m supposed to call home. The very idea that
it will ever be that is laughable. This place is not home. Home is in Texas,
where I can never return.
Considering it’s already five o’clock, and Liam should be calling soon,
I quickly find my way to the street. The instant I step off the elevator I know
this trip is different from the last.
Unease prickles through me and the hair at my nape lifts. The
sensation of being watched I’d had walking to the bank earlier is back, and
it is powerful. Each step I take seems to magnify the feeling. I speed up
more and more, until I am all but running as I cross the main street to the
grocery store.
At the door, I glance behind me, searching for the source of my
discomfort, but finding no one obvious. If I could flippantly call this
paranoia I would gladly do so, but I’ve seen death and heartache. I am not
hiding from no one and for no reason. Desperately, I wish for some sign
from my handler that I am safe in this new location with this new identity,
but even this is troubling. I am blind to the colors around me, trapped in a
world that is only black and white.
Run or be caught. Hide or die. My throat thickens. Like everyone else
I loved has died.
Inside the store, I begin to shop, and momentarily I am relieved. I am
in a public place. I am safe and the sensation of being watched is gone, but I
am deeply troubled by the idea of being watched, even by my handler. He
saved my life, I remind myself. He is trustworthy. No one else can be
trusted. But Liam. I play that idea over and over in my head and in every
version of how and I think of all the good ways that might end. And the
bad. I think of him being in danger. I think of me being in danger.
Quickly, I fill my basket, grabbing my staple bargain box of popcorn, a
few bowls and a cheap can opener before I head to the checkout line. I
grimace down at my basket. My popcorn requires a microwave. Craigslist or
Walmart here I come and soon, I decide. Popcorn and TV dinners are this
single girl’s staples. I’m about to remove the popcorn from my basket to
save my pennies for later, when my phone, or rather Liam’s phone, rings.
Steeling myself for the impact of his voice, I answer. “Liam?”
“Damn, woman, I like how you say my name.”
My cheeks heat with the gruffness of his tone that tells me that he
means his words. The knowledge that I affect him reaches inside me and
tightens my belly. I barely feel like I exist in this world and this rich, famous,
and impossibly delicious man makes me feel as if I do. I don’t want to let
him go. I don’t want to lie to him.
“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes to pick you up.”
The announcement jerks me back into the moment. “I’m at the store.
I’ll drop off my stuff and meet you at the hotel bar.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“No. No. I want to change clothes anyway.” It’s my turn in line, and I
put my items on the belt. “I have to check out. I’ll see you soon.”
“Amy—”
I hang up and cringe. Did I really just hang up on him? I expect him to
call back but he doesn’t. Maybe I should call him back but the less I say
before “goodbye” the better. I can’t call him back. I’m still telling myself
that five minutes later when I walk out of the store with a bag that includes
popcorn I cannot even pop. Another brilliant move considering my limited
funds.
I’m just full of them. I am less worried about who might be following
me than I am who might be waiting at my door when I arrive. Crossing the
parking lot, my gaze skitters here and there, watching for the stranger.
Watching for him.
I am about to cross the grass to the stoplight when a fancy black
sedan pulls up beside me and stops. My heart lurches and I whirl around as
the passenger window rolls down, but I cannot see the driver. Holding my
breath, I lean down to discover Liam occupies the driver’s seat, and the
man is power and sex in a black suit and a royal blue shirt that brightens his
already too blue eyes. He reaches across the car and opens the door. “Hop
in, baby.”
My stomach flutters at the endearment that he might use on all
women, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Right now, he’s using it on me. Right
now, his eyes are on me and even in the playfulness I sense in him, they are
as intense as the man. And Liam Stone is as intense as they come.
“Is this your car?” I ask, trying to decide what to do. Certain that
getting in the car with him is my ticket to being mindlessly lost in the
temptation that is Liam.
“Rental.” He arches a brow at my stillness. “If you’re worried I’ll bite,
I promise to tell you first.”
My eyes go wide before I can stop them and he laughs, a sexy, rough
sound deep from his chest. The same chest I have touched and want to
touch again. I glower at him. “I won’t.” The smart reply earns me another of
his sexy laughs, and he’s successfully seduced me right here in the spot I
stand.
Caving to the inevitable, I step forward and settle my bags on the
floorboard of the obviously expensive car. Discreetly inhaling, I steel myself
for the impact of being in a small space with him where I both long to be,
but see it for what it is. A mistake. Being near this man is not going to help
me say goodbye.
The instant I slide inside the car, expensive leather hugs my bare legs,
and Liam’s earthy scent tickles my nostrils, teasing me senseless. It’s
official. This was a mistake. A wonderful mistake. I tug the door shut,
rotating toward Liam and I am pulled into his arms, one strong hand sliding
into my hair. “Miss me?” he asks, and his breath is a hot tease on my lips.
My fingers curl on his jaw, the soft rasp of newly forming whiskers
teasing my fingers. I remember that rasp on my skin. Everything fades but
the moment and the man. No one has ever done that to me. “Did you miss
me?”
“I’ll let you decide.” His mouth slants over mine, his tongue parting
my lips, caressing against mine in one lush stroke. “Do I taste like I missed
you?”
I am melting like chocolate in the hot sun, and he has barely touched
me. But I want him to. Oh yes. I want him to. “I’m still not convinced.”
His lips curve a moment before he answers me by licking wickedly
into my mouth, teasing me with two deep strokes of his tongue that leave
me darn near panting. “Any doubt I missed you now?” he challenges.
My chest burns with his reply. Liam missed me. I have been missed.
This is unfamiliar territory and I like it. And I am so not ready to let go of
this man. “If I say yes you won’t kiss me again, right?”
“I’ll do a whole lot more than kiss you when I get you alone.” His
promise is somehow both soft velvet and rough sandpaper, and the air
around us shifts, thickens, the sexual tension transforming into something I
cannot name, far deeper than simple lust. Far harder to walk away from. He
strokes a tender hand down my hair and I lean into the touch like a cat
claiming her territory when he is not mine. He will never be mine.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Is that a trick question?”
His lips curve. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” He brushes his lips over mine.
“Me too, baby.
Me too.” He releases me and leans back in his seat and I am instantly
cold where I was hot seconds before. He puts the car in drive and cuts me a
steamy blue-eyed look. “Buckle up and we’ll be at your place in no time.”
I don’t argue, eager for anything that makes me feel grounded,
certain this man will take me on a wild ride before this night is over if I let
him. And I can’t let him. I squeeze my eyes shut, telling myself I will not do
anything but get out of this car. I will make small talk and ease the sexual
tension and get back where I need to be to do what I have to do.
“There’s a great Italian place next to the hotel, if you like Italian?”
My lashes lift at his question and settles on the logo on the
dashboard. “I’m a pasta addict.” I’m about to add “mostly Ramen noodles,”
but my gaze narrows on the logo on the dash and I decide he probably
doesn’t even know what Ramen is. “You rented a Bentley?”
He shrugs. “They didn’t have anything else.”
“They had nothing but a Bentley?” I don’t hide my disbelief. I’ve
never even seen a
Bentley and I figure that’s because they run in the six-figure range
and I don’t know people that pay that kind of money for a car. Really, I
don’t know many people who can even afford to park a car in New York, let
alone pay for the vehicle.
“It’s the only car I thought was good enough to drive you around in.”
“Me?” I balk, pursing my lips. “You, Liam Stone, are rich and spoiled. I
am not.”
“I’ll spoil you if you let me.” His voice is a soft, silky promise.
My chest burns with something I do not want to feel. “No.” It comes
out almost a hiss I cannot retract. “I don’t want your money.” I just want a
life.
If he notices my tone, he doesn’t show it. “Spoken like someone who
has never had money.”
Avoidance is always my friend. His questions are not. “Very few
people have your kind of money.”
“Which shows my point.” he assures me.
“Which is what?”
“I have the money to spoil you and I plan to.” He doesn’t give me
time to argue, shifting the subject like he’s stamped the topic done,
approved, fact. “Do you have anything that will spoil or can we go straight
to the restaurant?”
I don’t want food. I want to lick that tattoo of his before I say
goodbye to him. That would keep him from asking questions. Until it’s over,
I remind myself. “I need to drop by my place and change.”
His hot gaze flickers down my bare legs, and up again. “I like you like
this.”
My cheeks heat and my sex clenches. “You’re in a suit.”
“I’ll change. You stay the way you are.”
I open my mouth and snap it shut before I tell him I like him just as
he is. That isn’t going to help my goodbye campaign, but then neither did
kissing him. I try again. “Either way, I want to freshen up.”
Liam pulls the car in front of his hotel and a doorman is instantly
helping me out of the car. By the time I’m standing, Liam is in front of me,
reaching for my bags, and he has them before I can stop him. “I’ve got
them,” I say, reaching out to take them, and darn it, our hands collide,
sending a tingling sensation up my arm.
My eyes dart to his, and I see the awareness in his stare. He too has
felt the connection.
Maybe this is only sex to him, or some need to protect me I can’t
understand, but it’s real. It exists and it is powerful.
“I’ll meet you at the hotel bar in thirty minutes,” I choke out from my
suddenly dry throat.
“You said you didn’t want to go to the hotel with me.”
“To your room. Hotel bars are open to the public.”
His eyes narrow, suspicion etched in their depths. “I’ll help you with
your bags.”
“They’re paper light. Let me hurry. I’ll meet you in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
“If you come to my apartment, we’ll get distracted.” For once, I get
to speak the truth.
He arches a brow. “Is that supposed to discourage me?”
“Yes,” I replied tartly, and the urge to kiss him one more time before
I deliver the goodbye is too intense to fight. I push to my toes and lean in to
him, hands flattening on the hard wall of his chest, and press my lips to his.
He is stiff, unyielding, and I am instantly uncomfortable, second-guessing
my boldness. I begin to pull back when he drops my bags to the ground and
pulls me close, his hand sliding up my back, his tongue licking into my
mouth in one long, hot sweep that has me moaning into his mouth.
“You’re no recluse,” I accuse when his lips leave mine, shocked at the
scene we’ve certainly made, embarrassed to even look around and find out
who is watching.
“Or I just want to make sure you know how much I want you, no
matter what the price.
And you’re right. If I come with you to your apartment, we won’t
leave anytime soon.” He sets me away from him, and to my horror grabs
my bags from the ground and looks inside. His gaze lifts, brow arching.
“Plasticware?”
The warmth his declaration about wanting me had created turns
cold. “I haven’t had time to unpack.”
“So your things were delivered today?”
“My things are just fine.”
I reach for the bags and he shackles my wrist. “Amy—”
A horn honks, saving me whatever command is certain to come out
of his too-tempting mouth. “We’re making a scene. I’ll see you in a few
minutes.”
His jaw flexes, tension etched in his face. “I’ll be waiting.” He releases
my bags and my arm and I waste no time darting away. I am so tired of
running away.