Annihilate Me (Vol. 3) (The Annihilate Me Series)

by Christina Ross

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As we left his office, Alex asked if I’d like another martini.

  “I think another martini for each of us is warranted at this point,” I said. “Thank you for sending everything to your team and to your contacts at the FBI. I appreciate it.”

  He walked into the kitchen. “I’m not screwing around with this, Jennifer.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “You are my first consideration.”

  “We both should be your first consideration. What good am I without you? What’s the point of any of this without you? Tell me?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, I heard him gathering ice, pouring liquids, and shaking them together with more aggression than usual. I knew where his mind was. Like me, he was wondering who was targeting us. Was this a game to them? They easily could have killed us a few nights ago, but they didn’t. Would they soon? It seemed to me that they would.

  Alex entered the living room with two fresh martinis. He handed me mine, and put his down on the coffee table before sitting heavily on the sofa. He looked tired and troubled. I knew he was trying his best to put a cap on this, but what if he and his team couldn’t? The answer was simple. We’d live our lives at risk. Was I willing to die for him? As absurd as it sounded, I was. He meant that much to me. And I knew that he’d do the same for me.

  “I wrote you a letter,” I said. “Earlier tonight. Just before I went to Peachy’s event and everything went to hell.”

  He turned to me in surprise. “You wrote me a letter?”

  “It was in response to the letter you wrote to me.” I felt butterflies in my stomach when I said, “Would you like to read it? Or would you like me to read it to you?”

  He was silent for a moment, then he said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to read it to me.”

  I got up from the sofa, got the letter from my clutch, and sat back down on the sofa so that I faced him before I started to read. My heart hammered against my chest. The letter was written on the fly, but it came from my heart and from my gut. It was raw with true emotion. It was filled with everything I felt for him. “Would you mind turning to me?” I asked. “I’d like to look up at you and see what your feeling while I read this.”

  He swung around and faced me.

  “This is how I feel about you and how I feel about us. You said in your letter to me that people don’t write love letters anymore, but that you thought that they were important. You said that you thought love letters were romantic and could define a relationship. And lift it. That’s what yours did for me. I’ve never written one of these before—obviously—but it’s all true. It’s all here.” I took a breath. “So, I’ll read.”

  He leaned back against the arm of the sofa and said nothing. Instead, he just watched me intensely. I unfolded the letter, feeling thrilled, terrified, excited, and nervous all at once. I was no writer—I knew that. But I’d read this twice now. And at the very least, I knew that I meant every word of it.

  “Dear Alex,” I began. “As you’re about to find out, I’m no Steinbeck, whom you quoted in your beautiful letter to me. He had a way with words that I’ll never have. But these are my words and they come from my heart.”

  “From the very first day I met you, when that man on Fifth Avenue nearly knocked me down, I’ve been smitten by you. That day, we met at Wenn in an elevator. Who could have known then that the man who stood next to me and asked if I was all right would become my first and hopefully last great love? And that he would fall in love with me? I look back at these past many weeks that we’ve been together with a kind of elation and shame. But now, as I write this, I also look back with a profound sense of love for you. With the exception of Lisa and maybe Blackwell, I think you, of all people, know what it takes for me to say those words, to stare down my fears and to admit that I am in love with you. I’ve never said this to anyone else because those words mean that much to me. They are precious to me. I’ve held them close to me and I’ve saved them for the right person, the only person, for reasons you already know. But now I finally get to say them with meaning. I’m deeply in love with you. You have no idea just how much I’m in love with you. You probably never will. But I hope to show you just how much through my love and my actions.”

  I wanted to glance up at him, but I couldn’t. I felt too exposed and vulnerable to look at him now, so I just kept reading.

  “I feel as if I owe you many apologies for the walls I’ve thrown up and for some of the ways I’ve behaved, all of which are borne out of the rotten root that is my past. So, please accept my apologies. All my life, I’ve resisted love. All my life, I’ve felt unworthy of love because I was told time and again that I didn’t deserve love. And I stupidly believed it when it’s the last thing I should have believed. You know about my trust issues, yet you stood by me and waited them out because you saw something in me. Whatever that is, Alex, I’ll never know, because to me, it’s a mystery. But you’ve been patient with me because, for whatever reason, you do love me—I can feel your love. I can feel it in how you look at me, in how you touch me, in how you kiss me, and in how you make love to me. And I’m grateful for it. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

  “I’m happy to be part of your life, and I want to be a good partner in your life. Whatever is happening to us now will be weathered together. I want you to know that. Sometimes I won’t be perfect and there are times that I might be frightened by what’s happening, but I need you to know that I’m with you and beside you and that we will beat this. And we’ll beat the next one if it comes. And the one after that, should it come.

  “I love you with all of my heart, Alex. You’re my first thought, you are my in-between thoughts, and you’re my last thought. I love you so much. Thank you for being the wonderful boyfriend that you are. Thank you for coming out of Wenn that day to help me pick up my runaway resumes, and especially thank you for going to Blackwell to ask who I was. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t know what love is. But I do know now. I love you. —Jennifer. P.S. Don’t ever lose your stubble, OK? That I can’t have.”

  I still couldn’t look at him. That was the single largest emotional risk I’d taken in my life, by far dwarfing the guts it took for me to move to New York. Leaving Maine and coming here had nothing on putting my heart on the line and telling the truth about my feelings for him. I folded the letter in thirds and tried to steady my nerves. And then his hand reached out and covered mine.

  “Do you want to know what I see in you?” he asked.

  Finally, I looked up at him, and was surprised to find that his eyes were bright with emotion and that his expression was serious.

  “Can I have a sip of that martini first?”

  “You can, but you don’t always have to turn to humor to diffuse a potentially scary moment, Jennifer. I know it’s in your nature to deflect like that, and it’s fine. I get it. But you don’t need to. What you wrote to me was beautiful. I’ll never forget it. I’ll cherish it. I’m also grateful and lucky, because what I see in you is someone I want to spend the rest of my life with. An equal. You’re my friend, my wonderful partner, my fantastic lover. I never thought I’d be here again, but I am. I don’t trust easily for reasons that you also know. But once, I was given the gift of love, and I recognized it again in you. That took four years. Because I’ve known love, this has been easier on me than it has been on you. What I see in you is a smart, sexy, loving, kind woman who has a spark who isn’t afraid to speak her mind. You’re like a firework—colorful, bright, and sometimes explosive.”

  “Sometimes too explosive.”

  “It’s who you are. I’d rather be with someone who expresses her feelings openly than be with a woman who seethes in silence, like my mother did. Do you know what that cost her?”

  I did know. Blackwell told me, but I remained silent in case she shouldn’t have. I wasn’t about to throw her under the bus. He finally was going to tell me himself. I let him.

  “It cost her her life. My fath
er shot her and then he shot himself. That’s why they died at a young age. Maybe you already know that. Maybe someone told you or you Googled it. I don’t really care because, to the world, it isn’t exactly a secret. It’s as well known as Wenn itself. But I learned a great deal from my parents’ relationship. I learned that what they had was no way for anyone to live. They hated each other—I’ve told you that. And yet they stayed together all those years because of money. In the end, money won. That and a couple of bullets. Think about that. They died over money. Mere pieces of paper. How pathetic and irrational is that?”

  “Alex—” I said.

  “There’s nothing to say. You just said more than I could have hoped for. May I keep the letter?”

  “Of course. I wrote it for you.” I gave it to him.

  “I want to make love to you now. Really make love to you.”

  “Only if I get to return the favor.”

  He smiled at that. “Always my equal,” he said.

  “I’ll try not to let you down, especially tonight. Because my body has plenty to say to you. And it’s probably going to be intense.”

  With that, we went into his bedroom. If I thought we’d made love before, I was wrong. Before, we’d explored each other’s bodies. What we did that night was filled with such naked emotion that it defined the act of making love. It underscored the act of what making love was about. There were times when I cried and times when I felt that he cried. We drove each other to new, unexplored places. We gave ourselves fully to each other. And when we were finished, I felt absolutely bonded to him in ways that I never had felt with another human being. It was such a cliché, but we were one.

  When morning broke, as I lay in Alex’s arms, and felt his breath against the nape of my neck, a thought occurred to me: Last night, by telling him that he was my first love and then by making true love to him, I’d lost my virginity twice.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The next few days passed quickly.

  Alex and I went back to work. I finally was given my own office, and I saw the reason for the wait—to my surprise, it was next to his office on the forty-seventh floor. At some point, he’d brought in a team that had constructed a breathtaking space for me. Unlike the rest of this floor, which was a warmly lit open space decorated in masculine browns, my office was light and bright, modern and stylish.

  Upon entering, I knew that Blackwell must have had a hand in it, and I was right. On my glass desk was a vase of flowers and a note: “I hope you like it. I did, after all, go to a great deal of trouble. With warm affection, Barbara.”

  I immediately picked up my phone and called her.

  “Jennifer,” she said. “Look at you. Calling from your new office. I hope it appeals to you.”

  “You know it does. When do you ever go wrong?”

  “Well, we could begin with my last marriage, but why go there? The memory of it is just a rattling cage of doom. He’s already dead to me.”

  “Can you come down and enjoy the space with me?”

  “I have someone in my sights, so I need to pass. There’s a certain young man who deserves a dressing down—”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  When she arrived, beautifully dressed in a stunning navy blue Chanel suit, I greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. When I pulled away, she looked at me almost as if I’d lost my mind, but then she gave me a quick, awkward little hug back.

  “Well, that was a curious kind of hell,” she said.

  “No, it wasn’t, and you know it.”

  “Something touched my cheek. Tell me it wasn’t your lipstick.”

  “It was just my cheek. I know better.”

  “Indeed, you do.” She appraised me. “It’s good to see you looking well. The last time I saw you, that wasn’t the case at all.”

  “I was pretty much a wreck.”

  “For good reason.”

  “But things have changed.”

  “So, I’ve heard.”

  “You’ve heard?”

  “Jennifer, he tells me all the important news. I’ve told you, I’ve known him since he was a boy. I’m like an aunt to him. He didn’t give me details, but he did say that you wrote the kindest letter to him.”

  “I meant what I said in that letter.”

  “I know you did.”

  “I’m in love with him.”

  “I know you are. And for all the right reasons. How does it feel?”

  “No words.”

  She looked almost wistful. “I remember those days. When it first hits you, you’re lucky if you don’t bump into walls. Hell, you’re lucky if you get any work done. It’s bliss. And I hope it lasts, Jennifer. I honestly do. That’s me being serious with you.”

  “Thank you.” I placed my hand on her elbow. “And thank you for talking to me that day in the cafeteria.”

  “You needed a good talking to. Giving people a good talking to is what I do best. I was about to give that young man a good talking to a moment ago, but you dragged me down here, so he’s spared. For now.”

  “Go easy on him.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I’ve missed you, you know?”

  “No one misses me.”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “Well, you’re an anomaly. But God knows you’ve been one right from the start. Why stop now?” She smiled mischievously at me. “I don’t do girl talk—ever—but I have to say, Jennifer, that I’m happy that everything is right and well between you and Alex. I’m very pleased. I’m very much in favor of this union that’s growing between you. And I’m proud of you. After what you two went through a few nights ago with that ridiculous shooting, I know what it took for you to come clean in that letter. I admire you for it. But the compliments end there. Especially after that racy photograph of the two of you they printed in the Post. God!”

  “At least they used one of the shots Alex suggested.”

  “Still!”

  I laughed.

  “Why do you laugh at me all the time?”

  “Because you’re funny. And because I also think of you with ‘warm affection’.”

  “Apparently, I’ll forever regret writing that.”

  “It will remain between us.”

  “I’m holding you to that.”

  She turned to the four chic white chairs in the center of the room that surrounded a round glass coffee table with a dense spray of red peonies perfectly arranged in a tall crystal vase. It was tough to get those flowers this time of year, but leave it to Blackwell to know where to get them.

  “Have you at least had a chance to try out your new chairs?” she asked. “And that sofa over there? And have you even looked at the art on the walls?”

  “No. I wanted to call you immediately when I stepped inside. I knew you were behind this even before I saw the flowers and the note. I wanted to experience it with you.”

  “Consider this the experience. Let’s sit and talk for a moment. Let’s catch up.”

  “Would you like something to drink? Tea? Water?”

  “I’ve reduced all fluids to a minimum, so I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “You’re too thin.”

  “It’s the espresso enemas, which are fabulous, by the way. You could run around the Park in fifteen minutes after having one.”

  “Have you?”

  “I’ve thought of it.”

  “But you haven’t?”

  “I confess that I haven’t.”

  “That’s sort of like confessing to a failure.”

  She waived a hand in front of her face. “So be it.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “You need to drink something.”

  “Later. It’s all part of my schedule. Thin, thin. Ice, ice. Come, come. Sit, sit. I am sorry I couldn’t be there the other night to see you in that red creation I bought for you, but Bernie called to tell me that you looked beyond beyond beyond. But then I knew you would. It’s unfortunate that that horrible harpy thr
ew champagne in your face, but good for you for getting in a few slaps.”

  “Nobody puts baby in a corner.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It’s a movie reference.”

  “Which movie?”

  “Dirty Dancing.”

  “Is that pornography?”

  “No, it was a sweet little romantic movie. It was a big hit. Oh, you know of it. Everybody loved it.”

  “I don’t know of it. Baby in a corner—it sounds ridiculous. But whatever. I’ve never liked that Immaculata woman. First of all, what the hell is up with her name? Immaculata. It sounds cheap to me. It sounds like she should be scrubbing toilets. I know that sounds racist, and it probably is, which I’ll apologize for now because I don’t mean it that way. It’s only because years ago a friend of mine had a cook named Immaculata, and she was awful to me. I have no idea why, but she never liked me. Imagine! She once served me a plate of runny, barely cooked eggs, which could have killed me with salmonella. It was a plate of bacteria-ridden glop. Her name has stuck with me all these years.” She rolled her eyes. “But forget about her. Did it feel good to slap your Immaculata?”

  I crossed my legs. “You have no idea.”

  “She’s been quite a thorn in your side.”

  “She has.”

  “She’s been after Alex since the day Diana died. Awful woman. Total opportunist. Unlike you, all she saw in Alex was his position and his money, not the man himself. Never Alex. But then, most don’t. All they see is what he might be able to do for them.”

  “Ms. Blackwell—”

  “Can we please just get beyond this? It’s Barbara. I’ve asked several times now.”

  “It feels unnatural.”

  “Well, it should. But it won’t after awhile. So, it’s Barbara.”

  “Barbara.” I caught myself. “That is hard to say.”

  “Get over it.”

  “I haven’t asked Alex because I don’t want to trouble him, but have you heard if there are any leads on what’s happening?”