He catches my hand and kisses it. “Keeping you.”
I warm with this sweet statement, but Dash is too nonchalant about the Brandon thing. “What are you up to, Dash Black?”
“Me? Up to something?”
“Don’t play coy.”
It’s at that moment that a man walks up to our table and says, “Are you Dash Black? God, man, I love your books.”
Two more people follow him, and then another. It’s a steady trail of people and Dash is humble and generous with his time. When we’re finally alone again, I say, “I love how you are. Just so you know. All of you. Even the broken parts, Dash.”
His eyes darken, a sharp spark of emotion in their depths before he shoves whatever I’ve made him feel away, and teases, “You’re the glue to my glass, baby,” and then softly adds. “And I love how you are, too.”
“I don’t want to come back here, Dash. I know I told you I did, but I don’t. And it’s not about running. Not this time.”
“I know that, baby, or I wouldn’t let it happen.”
His phone buzzes with a text message and he glances at the message, his lips twitching slightly before he glances up at me. “Bella’s dad is driving on Thanksgiving, so she’s coming to Thanksgiving dinner with one condition—we watch him race.”
“I forget all about her father when I shouldn’t do that. I know she’s close to him. I don’t even know where he lives.”
“He has a place in Nashville and North Carolina. North Carolina is where most of the drivers live, which is why it’s nicknamed Race City, USA.”
“I see. I feel bad that I’ve ignored that part of her life, but I’m excited that she’s coming. I have to tell my mom. She is going to be so happy. It will be like a big family Thanksgiving.”
Dash’s lips curve. “Yes, it will, baby, and I for one have not had one of those in a very long time. Neither has Bella. She often goes to the track, but this year she said she really would like to stay in Nashville. I had a feeling she’d feel that way. She loves her father, but his career makes it hard for them to have quality time together.”
“I’m really glad she’s coming. What do you normally do?”
“Go with her when I can.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek. “I’m thrilled to have you both with me. And my mom will be, too. I’m going to call her outside so I don’t keep you from writing. And because she will squeal so loudly the whole coffee shop will hear.”
He laughs and I stand up, sliding on my coat as I hurry toward the door.
I shouldn’t step outside into a cold day, but I don’t care, I’m too eager to talk to my mother. I step to the left of the door, as the sidewalk bustles with people, horns honking, voices lifting in what is just another day in Manhattan. It has a life of its own, but the thing is, so does Nashville. Sometimes we push back on what is comfortable and safe as boring. Our soul seeks growth and adventure therefore we spread our wings and fly far away, only to return home to discover it’s always been the place happiness blooms. I blossomed in New York. I bloomed when I returned to Nashville.
With Dash.
“Allie,” my mother answers. “Oh my God, I just saw the photos of you and Dash. You looked beautiful and he is such a looker.”
I laugh. “Yes. Yes, he is. And my hair was standing up.”
“I didn’t notice. I just saw your beauty.”
“And I love you for it, Mom. I do.”
“I guess you two are pretty official now, huh?”
“How’s this for official?” I ask. “Dash and his sister are coming for Thanksgiving. They’re looking forward to a family dinner.”
“That is fabulous. Oh my. It will be a big family holiday. But oh my,” she says again. “I mean, our house is very humble. I’m sure Dash’s place, I mean your place now, too, is gorgeous—which I’d like to see by the way—but should we have it there?”
My place with Dash. God, I love how real that is, how much more real after this weekend, it somehow feels. But as to her worry, I say, “Dash has never once made me feel like your home was anything but perfect, Mom. I think the very idea that it’s your home is what makes it special.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely, but when we get back you should come over.”
“I’d love that.”
We chat a few more minutes and the chill starts to overcome me. “I’ll call you later, Mom. I’m outside in New York. It’s freezing. Dash is inside a coffee shop working.”
“Get back to your man. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I disconnect quickly and try to call my father again. When he doesn’t answer, I text him. Next, I dial the number that texted me earlier, but once again to no avail. I send a text. I wait a moment in hope of a reply, and that’s when that strange vibe of being watched that I had back in Nashville returns. Instantly uneasy, my gaze lifts left, right, and all around. There are just so many people and windows above us across the street in the buildings, that I can’t really be sure the sensation is for not. Maybe it’s Brandon, sizing us up before he makes a move. Then again, this feeling started in Nashville. It’s then that I realize that I haven’t thought of Allison in days. I wonder who has, if anyone? She seems to be fairly alone in the world. I think about myself, and how few people I had in my life before Dash and Bella.
I make a vow then that when I get back to Nashville, I’ll find her.
For now, the creepy feeling of being watched won’t go away, and I hurry back inside the coffee shop.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The definition, per Websters, for anticipation is rather simple.
1: excitement about something that's going to happen She looked forward to the trip with anticipation. 2: the act of preparing for something.
Obviously, Webster keeps things pretty simple. Anticipation is more than excitement or the act of preparing for “something.” First of all, anticipation isn’t always about excitement. Sometimes it’s about dread or nervousness or uncertainty. It’s the act of expecting “something” to happen and having that expectation become a living, breathing entity all in and of itself.
Waiting for my three o’clock coffee date is that and more. All of those things wrapped up in one big ball of energy that seems to ping pong through my body. At a quarter until three, Dash shuts his MacBook and says, “Too bad this meeting isn’t in a bar instead of a coffee shop, because clearly you need a shot.”
“You do remember how badly I drink, right?”
“With the amount of caffeine in you right now, I think a little booze wouldn’t hurt you one little bit.”
“I’m not sure either of us wants to see that version of me with my father or Brandon.”
His lips curve. “I think it could be rather amusing, at least with Brandon.”
“I might qualify for a character in a horror movie in that situation.” I glance at the time on my phone. Ten more minutes. “I’m nervous.”
Dash leans closer. “Why?”
“I don’t want you to fight—”
“Already covered. I’m not going to fight. What else?”
I draw a breath on the difficult admission I force myself to speak. “Brandon will try to humiliate me in front of you.”
“Impossible. And Brandon will be focused on me. It’s a guy thing. It’s a power thing.”
“He likes power as much as you do.”
“Liking it and owning it are two different things, baby. You should know that by now.”
He’s right again. “I do,” I say. “He demands it. You own it.”
His eyes warm with approval, his voice softening. “Then stop worrying.”
“If my father shows up, and you’re here, he won’t be confrontational. That’s not how my father operates. He uses his fame to seduce people. I’m not sure how he’ll handle you. You’re more famous than he is.”
“I’m more concerned with how he handles you, Allie. You’re his daughter. I’d like to think he’d fight for you.
”
“I think the problem is that he did, and he showed his character in doing so, but the truth is, I never gave him the chance to explain himself. I was angry and assumed he did everything as Brandon said he did, and Brandon isn’t exactly a reliable source. But he didn’t deny anything. And he didn’t stop me when I left. He didn’t fight for me then, but maybe I hurt him when I assumed his guilt.”
“He showed up at that party at Tyler’s house. Maybe he wanted to talk.”
“And yet, the message he sent me wasn’t about me, or that, but rather you.”
“That could be an excuse to see you.”
I glance at the time again and then the door. “It’s three now,” I say. “Why isn’t he, or someone else, here?”
Dash captures my hand under the table. “It’s going to be okay. You’re facing this. That’s a good thing.”
“It’s closure,” I say. “I think it’s necessary.” I hesitate and ask, “Did you ever get that with your father?”
“Sometimes closure is truly accepting there is nothing you can do to change a situation. In that regard, yes, I have closure. Nothing will change for me with my father. I don’t want him in my life. I know that. You don’t about yours.”
Dash’s words linger with me as the minutes tick by. At three-thirty, I dial my father, but he doesn’t answer. I text him. I text the number that someone claiming to be him texted me with, all for naught. At three forty-five, I turn to Dash. “Let’s go see my father. Let’s go to his apartment.”
Dash packs up his MacBook and with no hesitation, says, “Let’s go.”
“He lives near Central Park. It’s a pretty good hike, but I think I need to walk and think.”
He lifts both of our bags on his broad shoulder. “Then we’ll walk.”
A few minutes later, we’re maneuvering through the hustle and bustle of the busy New York sidewalks, and my mind isn’t filled with the fretting I’d expected. I’m resolved, dogmatic in my determination to embrace closure. I’m reminded of something Queen Compton told me once. I’d been fretting about a man who’d been forced to sell a cherished item.
“As the great Roman philosopher, Seneca, said, ‘Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.’ No one ever said an ending or a new beginning had to be easy to be the right thing to do. In fact, the harder the change, the bigger the reward. Seems to me that not only sums up your customer’s situation, but your recent change of career.”
She was talking about the massive payday that client ended up pocketing and, of course, my career move from publishing to Riptide. And while she’s too sick to offer advice now, her influence is stronger than ever. I swear she’s whispering those same words to me now. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end,” and they ring truer than ever. But an ending translates to a conclusion. If I want to move on in my life, to let go of my baggage and start fresh with Dash in Nashville, there is no running away. I have to walk away from this life decisively and with closure.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dash and I reach my father’s fancy Central Park building and pause at the security desk, where Kevin, the tall, dark-haired man with lined, friendly eyes, greets me. Kevin has been in his position for so long he probably knows my father better than I do. “Well, well, Ms. Allie,” he says warmly. “Good to see you back around.” He glances at Dash and then me. “Seems you surround yourself with famous people and still manage to shine brightly. You look lovely as usual.” He eyes Dash again. “And you, sir, are brilliant. I love me some Ghost.”
Dash smiles and shakes his hand. “And you, sir, are right about her. She does shine brightly and she does look lovely.”
“Okay, you two, flattery is not necessary, but thank you both. Is he here, Kevin?”
“I’m afraid not, honey. He’s just left for Europe for some international sporting event he’s commentating. I’ll chide him for not telling you when he returns. And I’m quite certain he’d enjoy meeting Dash Black.”
I draw in a breath. “Thanks, Kevin. Yes. We’re leaving soon, so I thought we’d catch him.”
“I’ll tell him you came by.”
I nod and turn to Dash. Dash offers Kevin a folded bill I assume to be large, because this is Dash, as he says, “Please don’t. We have a surprise in mind.”
“Oh, of course,” Kevin replies, but he waves off the bill. “You don’t have to pay me. I’m happy to stay out of what is none of my business.”
“All the more reason I want you to take it,” Dash says. “Not very many people are that honorable. Please. Happy holiday season.”
Right about then, someone walks by in a fairy costume, and I realize it’s actually Halloween.
Kevin doesn’t notice. He’s focused on Dash. He hesitates, but finally accepts the tip. “Thank you, sir. That is greatly appreciated.”
“Thanks, Kevin,” I say.
“You’re very welcome. I’m just glad to see you come back around again.”
“Happy holiday season,” I say, trying to keep my voice perky, but the reality of the situation is starting to hit me. Today is not about conclusions and closure. My father didn’t contact me. Someone else did. That someone is probably Brandon, who vowed revenge on me through Dash. The minute Dash and I are outside, amid the crazy wash of the people-paved walkway, we instinctively take a few steps to the right of the busy doorway, I turn to face him. We’re almost taken out by a woman wearing a witch hat and we instinctively move away from the door and near the wall. His hands come down on my shoulders and he says, “I love you.”
Those three words don’t have the impact he wishes for. “And I love you, too, which is exactly why I cannot allow Brandon to hurt you.”
“I’m not that easy to hurt, Allie.”
“But you’re human, Dash, even if you don’t like to admit it. And you’re high-profile. You have a big ol’ target on your forehead. He knows about your fighting. I know he knows. It was something he said, it was how cocky he was, the way he baited you.”
He captures my hand. “Come. I’m going to make you feel better.” He starts walking, taking me with him.
I tug on his arm, halting him. “Dash, I’m serious,” I state, the minute he rotates back to me. “This is a problem. He’s a problem.”
“Which is why we’re going back to the hotel, where I’m going to let you in on my plan, which I wanted to make come together before I shared with you. But it has. We’re there now.” He motions toward the SUV. “Are you in?”
“Tell me now. Please. I’m losing my mind with worry.”
“At the hotel, baby. I can’t properly make you appreciate this plan on the street or in a vehicle with a driver in front.”
“You’re killing me.”
“Softly, I promise.” He’s already walking, leading me to the SUV where our driver awaits.
On the ride back to our hotel, traffic is hell, slow as snails, and I can’t take it. Dash reads my mood and has the driver drop us several blocks away from our destination, allowing us to finish our travel by foot. When finally, we’re inside our room and have discarded our coats, Dash motions for me to join him on the couch. He opens his briefcase, removes his MacBook, sets it on the coffee table, and lifts the lid. Once he’s keyed it to life and punched a few buttons, he turns the screen for me to view. My lips part with a headline that reads: Dash Black’s Late Nights in the Seedy World of Underground Fight Clubs. My eyes go to his. “Keep reading,” he urges.
In a secret storyline for his next Ghost novel, the international bestseller of the Ghost Assassin series has been spending time in the secret underground world where fighters fight without rules. The former FBI agent turned author confesses to actually fighting himself in these clubs, to ensure his story is as vividly real to life as he can possibly deliver.
In a phone interview with Dash Black, this reporter got to pick his brain and try to peel away the mystery of the oh-so-private man behind the wildly popular Ghost novels. While I didn’t reveal anything
shocking, I did manage a few rather candid moments. Here were my ten rapidfire questions and Dash’s surprising answers:
Who is the new woman in your life?
The only woman in my life is Allie Wright, who I’m only naming because if I don’t, some reporter will stalk us until I do. She’s beautiful, kind, smart. She’s a former editor for a New York publisher. She’s also the only person I’ve ever given a sneak peek of a novel.
As if he senses the part I’m on, he says, “This hasn’t been published. It hits tomorrow morning. If you want your name removed—”
I face him. “No.” My heart swells with the open way he proclaims us together. “What you said about me was everything, Dash. But are you sure you want to talk about your fighting?”
“It’s the only thing anyone can use against me, Allie. That means Brandon. This scoops his story. And Bella talked to the creative team for the TV show and they love the story. They think it can be used to promote the series.”
“Which lands where?”
“I’m still negotiating. Maybe Paramount. Maybe Netflix. We’ll see.”
I glance at the headlines again, and while I can see now how this protects Dash, and even makes him more interesting than he already is to the public, I’m not sure it achieves his goal of getting rid of Brandon.
“This won’t make him go away,” I say, glancing back at him. “All it does is force him to sidestep. And the longer he waits to attack, the angrier he will become.”
“Oh, he’s angry right about now, I’m sure,” he replies dryly. “Because so was my sister and my father. Bella tried to get Brandon fired today. It was too late. My father made that happen.”
I twist around even further to fully face Dash. “Fired?”
“Fired. My father is a powerful man in publishing.”
“Getting fired is fuel on the inferno. Brandon will go after you and your dad.”
“And that would be stupid. I frankly don’t know why he was foolish enough to think my father wouldn’t react firmly to the stunt he pulled with that signing. I suspect his anger will be directed at him, not us, and perhaps turn the flames in my father’s direction.”
When I Say Yes Page 7
