When my contact lenses finally dried on my eyes from glaring staring at the screen, I decided it was time to go home, but when I stepped out of the private elevator into the three-bedroom penthouse, I knew it wasn’t a place I’d ever call home. It was much more a superior dwelling suited for the rich and famous.
Designed for a magazine, the beautiful, modern leather and metal furnishings were something out of New York Spaces. An incredible array of technology was well hidden behind pocket doors and magical mirrors that instantaneously turned into screens. Even the kitchen looked like it belonged on an episode of Star Wars.
On the left of the circular entry foyer, a hallway led to the master bedroom, and straight ahead, yet another hallway led to the great room. With two more bedrooms and bathrooms to the right of the living area, the floor plan allowed for a fabulous balcony that followed the angled contours of the rooms’ exterior walls.
The smell of something delicious teased my nostrils, and a note on the counter from Naomi told me dinner was in the warming drawer. Ha, warming drawers…I rest my case.
I pulled back the foil from the glass dish, and my mouth watered at the beautifully plated spaghetti squash with kale and parmesan-garlic sauce. Pouring a glass of iced tea, I took my dinner to the zinc-looking dining table and devoured the contents way too quickly.
Gosh, that woman can cook.
The lights of the city provided the perfect ambience to a warm and safe environment, but I still felt like an intruder.
Will I ever find my forever?
I had to wait four more days before I could see the apartment I had starred at the top of my list, along with several others as backups. Two were located farther from the city, requiring a commuter train every day, and one provided zilch in the way of promised parking, which was code for first-come-first-served street parking. Not knowing that most New Yorkers don’t have cars, I made the crazy mistake of driving a U-Haul, with my car trailered to the back, all the way from Dallas when I moved. It wound up parked in a garage and I hadn’t gotten around to selling it, because every time I thought about it, I needed it for something. Fitting for the old saying you don’t need something until it’s gone.
The ping of the elevator announced an unexpected guest and jolted me out my thoughts. Before I could run and hide, I caught Tate’s reflection in the balcony glass.
“What are you doing here?” I faced him in the entry as he shoved his bags in my direction with his foot.
“I’m staying here for the next week.”
“You are not.” My hands-on-hips defensive posture did nothing to sway Mr. Bully to get back in the elevator and leave.
“I don’t recall asking your permission. Didn’t you read the note from Marcus?”
I walked into the living room to pick up my phone. “No note.”
He followed with his bags. “Well, sorry, that’s his bad. He said he left you a note.”
Perhaps Naomi had picked up the note. I searched the kitchen and both bedrooms and en suites but didn’t find a note. I’d felt the master bedroom was off limits when I moved in. When Naomi had helped me with my things, I’d insisted on being in one of the guest rooms. Something about staying in Marcus’ room felt invasive to me.
Now, I found a welcome note from Marcus lying on the master bed with a message that Tate would be joining me as well. Marcus had a creative imagination when it came to maximizing the time we had to work together.
Why didn’t he put Tate up at his place? You know, “Bro code and all.”
I suppose technically, he did.
With the letter in hand, I returned to the great room. “You’re right. He left it in the master, but I chose a guest room and didn’t see it.”
“Well, since you gave up the big bed, I got dibs,” Tate joked.
How did he know my bed was smaller?
“Fine with me,” I snickered.
He could go right ahead and sleep in the scratchpad. I really had no knowledge of any romantic trysts happening there, but that was how I saw Marcus—wealthy playboy with lots of free time on his hands—and since he remained so private about everything, it was difficult to tell what he was up to.
“Was this your idea, coffee girl?” He rubbed his scruffy chin.
“Me, hell no. I figured this was something of your doing.”
He picked up his duffle bag, throwing the strap over his shoulder before raising the handle on his roller bag. “Not my style.”
When he walked away, I stood in the dimly lit living room, wondering exactly what was his style. The only takeaway I got from him was control—in every aspect.
With bigger fish to fry than wondering who was sleeping in the shag pad, I went back to the sofa and settled in to work. With my laptop open to our stock photo account, I searched for images to match Tate’s car. Unfortunately, because it was a new model for the Corvette, there were no pictures to view that weren’t proprietary property of Chevrolet. I had two more days before my storyboards were due to Marcus, but even with my recent situation, I knew he wasn’t going to cut me any slack.
“Can I pour you one?” Tate stood at the bar between the den and dining area.
“No thanks. I’m about to give up and go to bed.”
He came to sit beside me on the sofa with a whiskey highball in hand. “So, you gonna tell me how bad the other guy looks?”
I laughed. “Believe it or not, it was a door. But you weren’t really surprised to see me here, so I can assume you’re around to be my bodyguard on Marcus’ behalf?”
He cocked his lips to the side. “Something like that. Is she in jail yet?”
I shook my head.
“Let me guess, somebody has to die first.”
Putting my laptop on the coffee table, I swung my feet down to the fur rug. “If we have to discuss it, you might as well pour me one too.”
He nodded and walked to the bar to make me a drink.
No surprise that he wanted to dissect my situation.
When he returned and handed me a lowball glass, he glanced at my screen then pointed a finger. “That’s a C6, not a C7.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“You won’t find any images out there, except those owned by Chevrolet, but I can help you out.”
I curled my legs under me and leaned into the back cushions of the leather sofa. When it came to work, he could have my attention. “How?”
“How, what?” Coyly, he was forcing me to ask for his help.
“How can you help me?” I smiled, hoping to sweeten the deal.
He chuckled. “It’s gonna cost ya.”
That was it. Shutting down his cocky stud games, I got up, gulped my drink, and put my glass in the dishwasher in the kitchen. Returning to the living area, I picked up my laptop and glared at him in the process. The idea of hitting him with it crossed my mind.
Then we can both sport a black eye…
Without speaking to him, I closed the bedroom door behind me and prepped for bed. From the other room, I could hear sounds from the television as I turned out the lights. Clearly, he wasn’t technology challenged, but he sure needed to learn a few things about women. He’d just assumed that his dark hair, sexy brown eyes, and good looks were a bargaining chip to my currently single status. He thought he knew my game, but the truth was, I’d been off the playing field so long, I might as well have been listed as retired.
I would have never thought a guy like Tate would get to me, but I felt myself sink limply onto the bed, tears unexpectedly flowing. I guess the stress of the previous few days had built up more than I knew. When I was around him, his presence provided a trigger to my deepest wound—guilt. The last three years were full of judgment from others, but Rowan’s parents finally left me alone after I moved away from Dallas. Now, alone in a luxurious bedroom high above the sparkling city, I finally let my guard down. I knew that the only life I was responsible for was my own, and that the time had finally come for me to stop blaming myself for…well…people said only two t
hings were certain in life—death and taxes—but I had a third one. Roy and Eva Fields blamed me for Rowan’s death.
And so did I.
7
The smell of coffee woke me in time to see the sunrise from my bed in the clouds. There was something special about being way up in the air with nothing but sky peeking in my windows. Since I wasn’t alone, I showered and dressed before traipsing into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Naomi. You are a rock star chef. Dinner was amazing last night. Thank you so much for cooking, but you don’t have to. I don’t want to be a burden, and I can whip up something on my own.”
“Don’t listen to her, Naomi. She might poison me.” Tate was still putting his t-shirt on as he walked into the kitchen.
Good gawd, he’s built. “He’s right,” I agreed. “I just might, but I’ll be so good at it that it’ll keep forensics guessing long after he’s rotted.” With my coffee doctored up just the way I liked, I took a seat at the table and opened the paper.
“I see you two have met.” Naomi glanced my way and gave me a smile.
My sigh was loud. “Unfortunately,” I mumbled, leaving my eyes focused on the news.
Tate opened the fridge and grabbed the orange juice. “Want some?” he asked in my direction.
I shook my head.
“Still not speaking to me?” He gave me a big smile.
Men could be so prideful about the most imprudent things. I mean seriously, he wants to bargain his help for a piece of my ass?
The petite Naomi looked up at him, confused.
“That’s a moody one right there,” he said, pointing at me.
“I’m anything but moody. You annoy me on purpose, so I limit how much ammunition I give you. Don’t underestimate my intelligence. That sex trade you offered last night was way off base.”
Naomi presented me with a beautiful plate of fruit and poached eggs. “He tried to bargain sex from you last night, did he?”
“I. Did. Not.” He smirked as he took the seat beside me. “And you know it.”
“Then what was it going to cost me to have you help?”
He cut into his eggs and never looked my way. “The pleasure of your company at dinner.”
Almost choking on my cantaloupe, I glanced at him. “That’s all? Dinner?” Yeah, right.
He laid down his fork and turned in his seat to face me. “It’s not the first time I’ve asked, you know.”
Oooh, boy is getting his ego busted.
The bell of the elevator pinged, announcing we’d received additional guests, but when I turned toward the entry hall, I realized that Naomi had left us—we were alone. Looking back at Tate, I saw the same softness in his eyes I’d noticed in the car that first day.
Sincerity. I felt the stone guard around my heart begin to crack.
“Sure, I’ll have dinner with you.” Free food and drink… What could possibly go wrong?
We ate breakfast quickly, and I cleaned up the kitchen before heading down to the office. Tate planned to meet me there later after his conference calls.
“Good morning, Yvette. Coast clear?” I knew it was because Marcus was out of town, but I needed to play the game as if my life outside the office hadn’t changed.
“You’ve got a visitor in the corner conference room.”
It couldn’t be Tate. He wasn’t due until later. “A client?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No, it’s a detective.”
Shit. How dare they bring that business to my work?
I opened the conference room door and immediately sensed something was wrong by the scowl on the man sitting at the table, facing the door.
“Ms. Alders?”
“Yes.”
“Please have a seat.” He didn’t stand, merely motioned for me to take the chair across from him, which put my back to the door.
Nothing like taking over ownership of an office, where you’re an uninvited guest.
“I’m Detective Dempsey.”
I watched his facial expressions, but his furrowed brows gave nothing away. “What’s this about?”
“Mariah Vaught is in the hospital on a ventilator. Seems someone assaulted her and left her for dead.” The detective leaned toward me with his elbows on the table.
“And you think I did that?” I pushed back in my chair, putting more distance between the detective’s glare and me.
His gaze left my eyes and rose toward my hairline. “Looks like you were in a brawl of some sort, although you fared better than Mariah.”
“She hit me with the bedroom door yesterday morning when she discovered I was moving out. She’d been stealing from me, and the bank caught her, which should be in your reports somewhere.”
“It is,” the detective acknowledged.
“Look, don’t get me wrong. I was mad enough to harm her, but I didn’t. She was fine when I left the apartment with my boss’s security detail. They can vouch for me. I worked late here at the office, and the alarm records and security cameras will show I was here or in the penthouse upstairs. I haven’t been anywhere else.”
“Were you alone?” Detective Dempsey asked with a suspicious tone.
“Some of the time here and a brief moment upstairs, but again, it’s monitored by Mr. Zion’s security. He put me in the penthouse for my own safety, and there’s even someone staying there with me for protection. No one trusted Mariah or that creep of a boyfriend, Les.”
“Tell me about Les.”
With my hands flat on the table, I stiffened my back. “Am I being arrested, Detective?”
He relaxed into his chair, the posture change telling me he was backing down. “No ma’am, just gathering the facts.”
“I know very little about Les. Couldn’t tell you his last name or where he worked. I’m only aware that he’s been hanging around our apartment for a few weeks…that I know of. I’ve seen him naked, and that’s about the extent of it.”
The interrogation lasted another hour or so, in which the detective seemed more focused on my habits, comings and goings, than he was with Les and Mariah. By the time he was ready to leave, I was drenched in anxiety.
When we exited the conference room, I found Tate waiting at my desk. I introduced him to the detective and as Dempsey left, I picked up my laptop while Tate poured us two cups of coffee, and we went to our large workroom.
Before I could even focus on the work at hand, I paused and thought of Mariah, while staring through the window at the bustling traffic below. What had she gotten herself into? Whoever did that to her could’ve done the same or worse to me if Marcus hadn’t moved me when he did.
Will they continue to hunt me down?
“I’m so glad you were in the penthouse,” Tate said gently.
I nodded.
The warmth of his body reached my back before his arms slid to the front of my waist. My mind wanted to resist, but there was nothing keeping my body from melting into his.
I found myself at a breaking point. Tears fought to release, but I wouldn’t give in. Pain fought to grip my voice, but I knew I had to battle against it. I pulled away from him, reluctantly. “As mad as I am at her, she doesn’t deserve to die.”
“Fight for you, Willow. Not for her.”
He was right.
Our brief moment of closeness and the heat we shared started thoughts in my mind about him that made me happy and uncomfortable at the same time. My heart had been closed off for so long, I found myself swirling in deep emotions.
Shake it off and get back to the job at hand…
Yvette walked into the workroom and offered to order food for us, so we stayed pressed to the job through lunch. As promised, Tate provided me the link to images of his car through Dropbox, and they were stunning. A photographer by the name of Mike had shot them in various locations, including a vacant parking garage. I loved how the photos showed the car in so many different settings.
Tate had been racing for fourteen years and knew the sport inside and out. To my surprise, he was a
lso very helpful with the graphic design work, and because of that, we made a great team. We moved around the office between three computers, all with different graphics and vector files, as if we’d been doing it for years. I liked his work style—he made suggestions without being condescending, and I appreciated how he taught me to think like a kid wanting to be wild and carefree within the game itself, instead of simply trying to sell the game.
On several occasions, he put his arm along the back of my chair and leaned in over my shoulder to see my laptop. His breath against my neck tickled more than I wanted it to. His closeness stimulated me in ways I hadn’t allowed in a long time.
The moment he put his hand over mine on the computer mouse, the warmth of his flesh generated a sizzle within my soul.
Don’t get too comfortable. He’s a player…
By late afternoon, I had our initial storyboards sent off to the printer for our presentation with Marcus on Friday. With one more day to finish the timeline, set up the car to be wrapped, and work on the social media kit, which was mostly phone calls to confirm timetables, we were on our way to a successful launch schedule.
Except, there was an unexplainable ache in my belly.
Because…nothing ever goes according to plan.
Back in the penthouse kitchen that evening, Mr. Bossy gave me exactly thirty minutes to get ready for dinner, or else he’d order pizza from the delivery menu he was perusing.
With a minute to spare, I found him on the balcony overlooking Manhattan.
A lifelong fear of heights kept me standing at the doorway until he acknowledged me, hoping he’d come inside.
“You’re beautiful,” he said with a wink.
“And on time,” I teased. “So does this mean I don’t have to eat pizza?”
He reached for me.
I held up a hand to stop him. “Afraid of heights.”
Tracks To Love: An Enemies To Lovers Alpha Hero Romance Page 4
