Ryan laughed, his lips close to her ear. “Wait until you see the rest of my moves,” he said before setting her straight on her feet. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.
The feel of his body pressed up against hers set her alight. The way his hand trailed down her back, cupping her ass gently before returning to her waist, made her shiver.
“Say the word, and we can be out of here in less than a minute. I see an emergency exit over there we could use,” he said gruffly.
Holly grinned. “I don’t think this qualifies as an emergency.”
“Tell that to my dick,” he whispered in her ear.
God, did he have any idea how he made her feel when he said things like that? How he made her entire body tighten and her panties dampen?
“I can’t,” she said, playfully. “You have your list of reasons why we can’t do this, remember?”
Ryan growled, moving them towards the shadowy edge of the dance floor. “Yeah, but dancing with you like this makes me want to rip up that fucking list.”
Holly stopped dancing, stopped moving at all. She placed her hands on his biceps and looked up at the face she was falling for. He looked so handsome in his tuxedo that it almost took her breath away. “Really?”
“Don’t look at me like that, Hols.”
“Like what?”
“Like everything is possible.”
The crowd continued to dance around them as they looked at each other. Time stood still.
Ryan shook his head. “Would you like another drink?”
He’d been feeding her champagne all evening, refusing to let her buy a round. When she’d tried to explain that he didn’t need to take care of her, he’d simply raised an eyebrow at her and paid the bartender.
“I’d love one. I’m just going to pop to the ladies’ room first,” she said.
Ryan studied her and pressed a kiss to her neck before whispering, “Don’t be long.” The kiss caught her off guard. It was intimate. Brief, but personal. From the way he looked at her, she knew he knew it, too. She wondered, for a moment, if the path they were on was wise. But somehow it felt vitally important to stay on it, to see where it led.
With a smile on her face, she wandered to the bathroom and closed the stall.
The main door to the bathroom swung open with a loud noise that Holly assumed was the handle hitting the wall.
“Did you see her?” A shrill staccato voice filtered in under the stall door. Holly finished her business and straightened her dress, a wash of pity for the poor woman they were talking about flooding through her. Snarky gossip was one thing she tried to avoid at all costs.
“I saw her, Stephanie,” said a second voice. “But what I don’t get is why you care so much.”
The other woman huffed. “Because it was supposed to be temporary. Our split. I mean, it was just meant to force his hand a little. I figured he’d miss me after a little while, decide to cut back on all his work, and come back on his knees, ring in hand.”
Holly grimaced. It certainly didn’t sound like a viable plan. She reached for her purse, which she’d hung on the back of the door.
“Oh, shit,” Stephanie’s friend said. “I thought you and Richard were getting serious.”
“Richard was supposed to make him jealous. I had no idea that he’d find someone new so quickly. It’s barely been any time since we—”
Holly flushed the toilet, the noise drowning out the words that followed. She opened the door and stepped outside.
A sample-size woman with hair in a tight French knot glared at her. “Speak of the devil,” she snarled. Wait, the woman was talking to—and had been talking about—her? About Ryan? He fit her description of a workaholic, but had he really been in a relationship recently?
Holly had seen the woman a few times tonight, had ended up catching her eye three or four times and had always noticed a scowl on her face, but Holly had just assumed she had a dour personality.
The other woman laughed that awkward kind of oh-shit laugh, one packed with nervous energy. “Stephanie, leave it,” she said.
“Do we have a problem?” Holly asked. When she stepped toward the sinks, the sleeve of her dress dug into her arm a little, and she was suddenly acutely aware of her decision to wear a dress to try to fit in. It was tighter around the waist than she would have liked, but it had been the only dress of Flick’s that Holly had felt certain Ryan would appreciate. Usually, she wouldn’t change her style for anyone, but she’d wanted Ryan to be…what? Proud?
She suddenly wished she’d worn the white tuxedo. It was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.
Stephanie laughed. “You don’t look his type,” she said, her words slightly slurred.
Holly didn’t ask whose type, she assumed Ryan’s, and she wasn’t getting into it in the bathroom. She washed her hands and headed for the door, which she pulled open, and walked into the corridor.
“Didn’t anybody teach you it’s rude to walk off when someone is talking to you?” Stephanie said, following her.
“We weren’t talking,” Holly said. “I have nothing to say to you.” She turned again to leave and felt a grip on her arm.
“Well, I have plenty to say to you, you slut, coming here, trying to fit in when you don’t even fit into your dress. Ryan is—”
“Ryan is what?” Ryan stepped up behind her. She knew his voice, knew the feel of his hand when it slid into hers, squeezing gently.
“Ryan,” Stephanie said, immediately releasing Holly’s arm, leaving the stain of a palm print on her skin. “I was just… I don’t know what you are hoping to achieve here.”
“What I’m hoping for is to enjoy my date with Holly. We don’t need drama.”
Stephanie stepped forward, well into what Holly would consider his personal space. Tears rimmed her eyes but didn’t fall. “I didn’t think it would be forever,” she said with a sniff. “Our split. I thought you would…miss me. That you would work this out of your system and realize…”
Ryan sighed. He didn’t look angry. He looked concerned. “We talked about this earlier, Stephanie,” he said kindly, quietly.
“But we didn’t finish our conversation, and you are a step away from the promotion you’ve been chasing. There will be more time for us.”
Holly took a step back, confusion flooding her. He’d obviously used the time she’d spent getting ready, to hang out with his ex. Jealousy wasn’t a feeling she was used to, but coming second was beginning to hurt. Second on the show, second to Stephanie.
She knew it was foolish to even care so much. She and Ryan were nothing more than a kernel of an idea. They’d kissed a couple of times. Hell, he’d barely skimmed second base. He was free to talk with whomever he wanted. And from the way Stephanie was looking up at Ryan, Holly could see she still loved him. Perhaps Holly should be the one to duck out.
Yet, the way he’d held her on the dance floor, the way he’d spoken to her, the way he’d whispered sweet nothings and dirty thoughts in her ear had felt special—like the beginning of something incredible. Somehow, the kernel had exploded like popcorn, filling her inside. And the idea of leaving hurt.
Ryan still was holding Holly’s hand, and he squeezed it tightly. “We did, Stephanie.”
Stephanie turned gray and listed suddenly. Ryan let go of Holly’s hand to steady her. “I don’t feel so good, Ryan,” she said.
“You need to go home. Let’s get you into a cab.”
“I feel lightheaded. What if I pass out?”
Ryan ran his hand through his hair, something she knew he did when he was frustrated. “Goddamnit, Steph,” he said, propping her up against the wall near the exit.
He turned to Holly and reached for her, placing his hands on either side of her face. “I don’t want to do this, but I’ll never forgive myself if I put her in that cab and something happens to her. I’ll take her home. She lives less than five minutes away, I’ll be back before you know it. Or you can come with me, if you’d feel more c
omfortable.”
Holly’s throat was dry as she swallowed. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“Thank you for understanding,” he said before kissing her gently on the lips. “I’ll be right back.”
He took hold of Stephanie’s arm, and guided her down the stairs. She watched them go. Watched as Stephanie rested her head on his bicep. They belonged together. Looked the part.
But as Ryan flagged a cab at the bottom of the stone steps, Stephanie turned and looked back up at her, all trace of sickness gone from her features. The woman had the audacity to wave, and then quickly return to the role of damsel in distress once Ryan opened the door to the cab and ushered her inside.
You are second. Again.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, she hurried to the coat check and grabbed her coat. Bundled up, she walked to the fifty-seventh street subway station. She’d be back at Gremlin’s within the hour and it would give her time to think.
Chapter Seven
Ryan looked at Holly’s plan and threw it down on his desk. It was time to admit it. It was better than his and better for the band. Damn. He paced around his office, past his platinum records, past letters he’d framed from clients, thanking him for his efforts and friendship, and came to a halt by the window with its view of the Rockefeller Center skating rink.
He’d mixed his personal and professional life at the most crucial juncture in his career, but the only fallout he really cared about right now, as he stood surrounded by the trappings of his success, was Holly.
She was the person he should invite skating. If she couldn’t skate, he could teach her. If she could, then he’d enjoy playing with her. Either way, they’d have fun.
But she wasn’t answering her phone. Last night, when he’d been caught between the growing feelings he had for the woman he was falling for and the respect he felt he owed his ex, he should have made it clearer he was on Holly’s side. Fuck that. He should have found someone else to take her home, or ordered a limo. At least then he wouldn’t have had to deal with her grabby hands in the cab and blatant proposition as she’d opened her apartment door.
The only thing he shouldn’t have done was leave Holly standing alone.
He looked down for the thousandth time at the text she’d sent him.
I have to go.
Four words that had told him nothing and everything.
But just because she wasn’t standing here now didn’t mean he couldn’t fix it.
He looked at the clock. Eleven a.m. Knowing Holly, she’d been up and hustling since seven, just like he had. All he needed to find out was where she was. But first, he had a call to make.
Ryan grabbed his phone from his desk and dialed.
“Ryan,” Stephanie said, sleepily. He could have sworn he heard her duvet rustle.
“Hey, listen. I’m going to say this one more time. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you feel you wasted so much of your life on me. I’m not worth it. Any feelings you had for me, or I once had for you, are gone. This break isn’t temporary.”
Stephanie sighed. “Why don’t I get dressed and we can meet up and have a late lunch? Let’s talk, like old times. Remember that place we used to go to in—”
“No,” he said. “We aren’t doing lunch. We aren’t talking. We had a relationship, and now we don’t.”
“How could you say you aren’t ready for a relationship and then hook up with someone like her?”
Ryan’s temper bubbled at the disdain in Stephanie’s tone. “I’m not talking about her with you. Steph, please, for whatever we once meant to each other, just move on.”
He hung up the phone.
Within a minute, his phone rang again, and he looked at the screen. Expecting it to be Stephanie, he was surprised when it wasn’t.
“Jordan, what can I do for you?” He’d spoken with Dred the most, and sometimes Nik and Elliott. Lennon and Jordan remained enigmas. And as much as he wanted to get to know the man, for the first time in… forever, he wanted to hang up on a client and get to Holly.
“I took a look at the tasks by band member in that app you set up for us.”
They’d found so much information on Sam’s laptop. The guy had actually been supremely organized but had obviously liked to fuck with the band, telling them about things last minute, making them run through hoops, and keeping them reliant on him for all information. Sam had deliberately created a business model in which the band was dependent on Sam rather than the other way around.
Ryan knew which side his bread was buttered. He was only successful if his clients were. And to be successful, they needed to be well managed and organized.
“Yeah?” Ryan said.
“How come I have so many fucking solo events in the next twelve months? Shit without the rest of the band?”
Ryan had noticed that, too. “I didn’t really get that, either. It was disproportionate to the rest of the guys. Was that something you’d wanted? Asked for?”
“Fuck that,” Jordan responded gruffly. “I want it gone. All of it.”
Ryan’s chest tightened. “All of it?”
“You heard me. All of it.”
“But there are some great appearances in there. For all Sam was a douchebag, he’d lined up some great opportunities for—”
“All. Of. It. I don’t want solo shit. I don’t want to be a celebrity. If I could get away without ever performing live, I would.”
Wow. He’d heard of celebrities who didn’t want to be celebrities. But some of these appearances would really help raise the profile of the band, and he didn’t want them to miss out. Yet there was something in Jordan’s tone. At first, he’d simply thought he was being obstinate, but the more he paid attention, the more he could hear underlying panic, which made no sense.
“How about this? When we meet next, when I’ve added everything to the calendar, why don’t we go through them as a team? We can decide the value of the appearances and then decide which of you should do them. That way, if, for example, Lennon is happy to take your place, we can make the switch with the organizer. If we feel no one should do the appearance, I’ll let you know what the cancellation fee is, if there is one.”
“Fine. As long as it’s not me doing the solo shit, it’s cool. Later, Ryan.” The phone went dead.
What a fucking odd call. Preload’s image was completely disconnected from who they really were.
The phone rang again, and he cursed under his breath. He ignored it without looking at the screen and slipped on his overcoat.
Flurries had started to fall since he’d gotten to work. The first heady day or two of snow brought out the crazy in everybody. People forgot how to drive, pedestrians stepped off the sidewalk to catch snowflakes on their tongue, and traffic snarled as the ploughs and salters made their way through major arteries. So instead of grabbing his own car from his apartment building or grabbing a taxi, he decided to take the train from Manhattan to the vibrant neighborhood of Bushwick.
As he walked along the streets with colorfully spray-painted walls filled with murals and graffiti to Holly’s house, the address of which he’d finally gotten from Dred an hour earlier, he wondered if he should have called first. He was just thinking it was too late when he realized he was standing outside of Little Skips, the coffee shop she’d mentioned the day she’d come to his office. If he was going to convince her he wasn’t an ass, he should at least show up with gifts.
When she opened the door to the narrow house, a wash of surprise glanced across her features, but she quickly reined it.
“Ryan,” she said, quietly.
He offered her the cup he’d bought for her. “Dirty chai, Little Skips. Two of them. You once invited me to join you in trying one, so I thought we could do that today. Right now.”
Holly looked down at herself and then back at him. “I’m hardly dressed for company,” she said. “And don’t you have an empire to run?”
He took in her loose black vest, leggings, and rainbow-colored loose sweater t
hat fell off her shoulders. She looked cute. Cuddly, even. Words he couldn’t use yet.
“You want me to drink my first dirty chai alone?”
Her exasperated sigh told him there was hope. “Fine, come in.”
He stepped inside and walked into the ground floor apartment, expecting to find some relief from the cold, but only the bite of the wind was absent. The apartment was still frigid.
Her place was utilitarian. Sparse. Clearly inhabited by an artist. Travel photographs covered the walls with ancient monasteries, pyramids, and the flashing neon of Tokyo.
A huge blanket sat on an old sofa, surrounded by papers and a laptop. Holly climbed back beneath it.
“Please, have a seat,” she said, pointing to the spot next to hers.
“Why is it so damn cold in here, Holly?” he asked.
“It’s not that bad if you stay dressed for it,” she said and took a sip of the chai. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the sofa. “Mmm,” she said, the sound travelling straight to his dick. “All the chai-virtue with a caffeine-kick.”
He let her lack of answer go for a moment to take a sip. Damn. It was good. He shouldn’t have questioned her judgment. He wondered if he could get one at Starbucks. It was a whole lot closer to his apartment but probably wouldn’t taste like this. He let the hot liquid warm him from the inside out.
“Orgasmic, don’t you think?” she said, watching his reaction.
He smiled sadly. “If this is what an orgasm feels like to you, I have to say you’ve been doing them wrong, Hols. But yeah, it’s pretty fucking awesome.”
Holly’s shoulders loosened, and she ran her finger around the rim of the plastic lid.
He reached for her hand. “Why is it so cold, Holly?” There was ice at the bottom of the windowpane where the condensation had frozen overnight. The fabric of the sofa felt damp to his touch.
“Oh, this isn’t my apartment, it’s my friend Gremlin’s. He’s in Nepal volunteering. Once the studio was shut down and we were all left jobless, he took what little he had saved and set off. He’s off the grid, and I don’t have his landlord’s number to tell him the boiler gave up the ghost. Plus, I am riding out the last couple weeks of Gremlin’s tenancy. He put most of his stuff in storage before he left.”
The Greatest Risk (Second Circle Tattoos Series Book 5) Page 7
