Bradley got out his phone. “Let’s see if security will let us in.”
“772-7300.” The neighbor offered with a smile.
“Thanks,” Bradley explained the situation to the man at the desk downstairs. “If you would, please.“ He ended the call. “He’s coming up.”
We waited for the guard to knock several times, and call out.
“I have to ask you to remain here, in the hallway.” He inserted an electronic passkey and the entered the apartment.
All I could make out were a few modern furnishings and some interesting art on the walls.
“Mrs. Lacoste?” He walked through the empty living area, moving toward what must be the bedrooms.
There was another series of raps as the guard called her name. A cold chill ran through me. Yeah, I had been worried about her, but reality was closing in. I slipped my hand into Bradley’s.
Less than a minute had ticked by when we heard a door bang open. The security guard was on his phone.
“S…she’s breathing but unresponsive—looks like a possible overdose—there’s an empty bottle of pills on the dresser.” The guard approached us and spoke to Bradley. “I need you to go down to the lobby and direct the paramedics up here.”
He turned to me. “You know her?”
Wide-eyed, I nodded. “We work together.”
“I’ll need you to come with me, she might respond to you.” The guard turned to the neighbor. “Go back to bed, Mrs. Jacobs, everything’s gonna be fine.”
New York’s finest miraculously showed up quickly, with the paramedics right behind them. Bradley and I waited in the living room while they worked on Audrey. I heard snippets of communication—possible opiate overdose, empty bottle of Oxycontin, confirmation of so many ccs of Naloxone—whatever that was. Bradley’s arm went around me, and I leaned into his strength and warmth.
He frowned. “Urgent Care gave her a few Percocet—five milligrams—I saw the envelope.”
I nodded. Oxycontin was a mega potent painkiller. Not something generally prescribed for a sprained ankle. “Her husband’s possibly?”
“How was she when you saw her?” He asked quietly.
“Scary pale and cold. I tried waking her, and she moaned. I’m not sure she was breathing when the paramedics got here.”
I had just dialed Sarah when they wheeled the gurney out. An oxygen mask covered a fragile, pasty-gray face. Audrey appeared closer to death than life.
I lowered the phone. “Where are you taking her?”
Bradley had been called away to give our contact information to the police. One of the paramedics looked up.
“Mount Sinai.”
I returned to Sarah. “Did you hear that? Meet you in the emergency waiting room.” I joined Bradley and two police officers. “Can we go now?” I asked.
An officer nodded. “We’ll contact you if we have any more questions.”
We followed the paramedics out of the building and onto the street. We watched them load her into the ambulance and drive away.
Back in the Vanquish, Bradley pressed the ignition button and the car growled to life.
“You all right?”
I nodded. “You?”
The ends of his mouth curled upward, as the car ate up Madison Avenue. At least one of us was in his/her element.
I inhaled a breath and exhaled a deep sigh. “I was so angry at her. She’s obviously been through an emotional crisis and hasn’t said a word to anyone.”
Bradley glanced at me. “Gracie, if it hadn’t been for you, who knows? You have great instincts, you should trust them more.”
We made the light on Ninety-Sixth. “Don’t turn toward Central Park, Madison will take us straight to the trauma center. There’s valet parking there.”
Bradley grinned. “A hospital with valet parking.”
So boyishly cute and a sports car enthusiast. Something I hadn’t known about him until this evening. The reveal added another shade of interesting to Bradley Craig.
“I’m afraid this has ruined your plans to take me out and burn up some unsuspecting Long Island Parkway.”
“We’ll go tomorrow.” Bradley drove up to the valet stand but didn’t shut off the engine. “I forgot to ask, do you like the color?”
“I love the color, why?” It truly was an extraordinary shade of silver. As we traveled uptown, the metallic finish had taken on all the colors and lights of the city.
“I didn’t realize this, but when I picked up the car today, I went over the delivery receipt and the manual. The color is called Skyfall.”
Not sure why, but the name made me as happy as Bradley appeared to be. “Are you really going to let the valet park this car?”
Bradley shot me a sideways glance. “He’s not going to park it because, he’s not going to let it out his sight.”
I made a note to go online and find out more about the Vanquish. It was obvious Bradley was used to living well, yet his genuine regular-guy-ness often belied the kind of money he came from. He wore expensive suits, but nothing out of the ordinary for a department head professional. Perhaps he was a savvy investor like his mama. He had made a tidy sum on the sale of his flat in London and appeared ready to plow the profits into a six million dollar apartment on Gramercy Park West.
Until recently, I would have never thought of him as one of those zero point one percenters with an over-the-top lifestyle. The exception was this extraordinary car. It seemed Bradley Craig had an additional personal vice besides masterful fucking.
The parking valet helped me out of the silver bullet and we entered a foyer busy with emergencies. Mount Sinai Hospital hadn’t changed much in two years. Deja vu flashes of me sitting in the waiting room, staring at the same row of sea-green seats and industrial-grade carpeting.
I decided not to fight the inevitable replay of Leah’s brief hospital stay. Bradley tucked me in beside him and kissed my temple. “You’re thinking about your sister.”
I nodded. “I sat here for hours. No one told Mitch I was downstairs.”
Sarah and Derek showed up. We waited for over an hour before anyone from the trauma team got word to us. Their first report, “critical, but cautiously optimistic.” Sobering to say the least. Not one of us wanted to hear that Audrey could die.
There was a big debate about whether to involve Axel or Frank. Audrey reported to Frank and Frank to Axel. If we called there were bound to be questions. In the end, Derek and Bradley both left messages without much detail.
Finally, one of the attending ER doctors met with us. “She’s awake and resting, but she’s asked not to see anyone right now. Overdose patients usually need a bit of time. Go home, get some rest. Try again this evening.” The young Asian woman turned away, then turned back. “She’s lucky to have friends like you. She’ll need you even more, now.”
Bradley checked his watch. “Three-thirty. I’m ready for bed, you?” A sleepy nod was all he needed to see. He whisked me outside and into the car.
The ride back to Gramercy was quiet, except for the car, which purred like a contented jungle cat. I tried not to think about rescuing Audrey, but the more I tried, the more I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Something’s bothering you, Gracie.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that Audrey is going to make it. But is this going to be like the Japanese thing where you save a person’s life and then they owe you and follow you around?” My sigh turned into a yawn.
His mouth twitched. “You’ve been watching too many flying ninja movies.”
“I don’t mind being supportive from a distance. It’s just that I don’t want to hang around any woman who’s constantly ogling my man.”
“Don’t tell me that you aren’t aware of how other men look at you. It’s not easy for me either.”
I stared at him. “Are you talking about those ‘hey pretty bitch come suck my dick’ looks?”
Bradley frowned. “Not quite that misogynistic.”
I exhaled
a loud sigh. “I really dislike those looks.”
“Gracie, you’re understandably sensitive about the way men perceive you—and you’ve been badly hurt in the past. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
“I admit I have issues, and they’re not all about Audrey. You met one of them at the dinner party. Speaking of which, he called Friday night.”
Bradley down-shifted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I never joke about Troy Lambert.” I shook my head. “It’s taken me a long time to recover—even this much. You sure you want to take me on?”
A fierce gaze darted across the car. “Stay away from him, Gracie.”
“I can take care of Troy,” I assured him.
Bradley drove past my street and made a quick turn into an underground parking lot.
“You’ve certainly been busy these past two days.” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. “You leased a flat, took possession of this magnificent machine, and arranged for secure, covered parking.”
He pulled into a reserved space and let the engine idle. His fierce expression had turned pitiless and lethal. “Let me deal with Troy Lambert.”
I shook my head. “He’s not your problem, he’s mine.” I reached across the console for his hand. “Promise me no after work boxing matches.”
The throaty engine idled softly. “You still don’t trust me.”
“That’s not true.”
“You thought I was sticking it in Audrey Lacoste.”
“You didn’t read her texts.”
“We’re going to get through this together, Gracie. Audrey, Troy, Claire—whoever tries to fuck with us—we’re going to be okay. Better than okay.” Those beautiful eyes turned a softer shade of blue.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a difficult ex-wife and daughter baggage. Our lives are complicated. We’ve both got issues. And even with all that, you make me want to get close.” He shook his head as if he could hardly believe it himself. “I want real intimacy with you, the kind we both deserve.”
“Bradley, the simplest things are hard for me—work, friends, lovers.”
“I struggle with similar challenges. Just know that you’re not alone in this.” He was being sweet and supportive and I could actually feel my heart rate return to a normal.
He swallowed. “For a start, I think we’ve got to be honest about everything. Even if we think it might cause a discussion.”
One side of my mouth curled upward. “You mean even if it causes an argument.”
He nodded, adding a shrug of surrender. “I admit that relationship conflicts make me uncomfortable. My parents argued. Claire and I argued constantly.”
“You can’t take arguing away from me.” My grin reversed itself. “It’s emotional blackmail. If I can’t argue with you—.”
“Gracie—” He cut me off. “I don’t feel the same way with you. When you go psycho bitch on me you’re exasperating, but you don’t make me crazy.”
I stared at him. “I thought we were going to be honest about everything.”
“Maybe a little crazy.” He looked vulnerable, and he wore it so damn well. I wanted to melt into him, but my safety belt jerked me back in my seat.
“Let me get that.” He hauled me up over the console and onto his lap.
I tucked myself into his chest. “If we do this relationship thing for real, where do we begin?”
“We could start with boyfriend and girlfriend. Not too scary?” His beard stubble brushed my cheek.
I nuzzled back. “I love the way that sounds. And I love this car. Can’t we just move in?”
TWENTY-EIGHT
SUNDAY MORNING BROKE cloudy and gray.
Groggy and slightly hung over, Bradley and I still made it to the Chelsea Pier on time for basketball and antigravity yoga. We even found the energy to jog back to my apartment and enjoyed a hot, steamy shower.
My new man was an insanely great lover. He could be rough and wild, slow and sensuous—and always so deliciously naughty. He brought his own unique brand of Bradley kinkery into the bedroom, shower, dressing room, dance floor, and the shotgun seat of the Vanquish.
We spent the afternoon on Long Island, mostly in the Aston Martin. As co-pilot, I set up Bluetooth for both our phones and we went through the manual and learned every button and gauge on the dashboard.
We stopped at a seashore clam bar for lunch and afterward, Bradley put me behind the wheel. On a quiet shoreline drive, he patiently taught me the controls until I got the hang of shifting gears using the steering wheel paddles. So responsive and so powerful—driving this car was almost as thrilling as straddling the cock of its owner.
And I was shocked when he actually seemed comfortable enough to let me take us back to Manhattan.
“Only four days until LA, you ready for my family?” I glanced over and he appeared to spark to my question. Dinner with Bradley’s mother had been cut short. Not my fault exactly, but still kind of a bust. I wanted our first trip together to go well if possible. The downside? We were staying at my mother’s. No escaping that craziness.
“A few days ago, I asked you for your Virgin Flying Club number.” Bradley mused aloud. “I have an ungodly number of miles on my card, so I upgraded us to first class. I also reserved a car.”
For some inexplicable reason, his take-charge approach to our travel arrangements made me edgy. “I called my mother and told her I’m bringing a male friend who owns a tuxedo. She probably thinks you’re gay.”
I caught a glimpse of a grin. “Listen, this is not…it’s not like I’m taking you home to meet my parents, Bradley.”
He raised a brow. “Actually, it kind of is.”
How was it that this man—my lover—could be so exasperating and reassuring at once? Bradley had my back again. Organizing, taking care of things like rental cars.
I exhaled a sigh of surrender. “What kind of a car did you reserve?”
He grinned. “Something fast and convertible—Mustang or Camaro. The weather app says sunny and seventy-five degrees all weekend.”
I took a moment to marvel. At times, Bradley was almost intimidating. He was solid, responsible, and insanely dominant-sexy in bed. If I peeled back a few layers I knew he wasn’t perfect. He had a temper, which was physical at times, yet he didn’t lash out. He invited his enemy into the boxing ring, punched his lights out, and then bought the poor loser a beer.
When his lover misbehaved he spanked her bottom. The very thought got me tingly and squirmy.
He was also endlessly patient with Hannah and Liv—even his ex, Claire. Other than the gross infidelity, I knew very little about his failed marriage. It seemed obvious that there were unresolved issues between them, feelings and resentments he didn’t share much with me.
I suspected that at least some of Bradley’s silence had to do with him being a gentleman. He wasn’t about to trash-talk the mother of his child. But also because there were hints of fault on both sides—like maybe his need to be in control? Bradley was overprotective with smatterings of possessiveness. He was also dominant—aggressively so—which was a trait more worrisome outside of the bedroom.
Once we were on the parkway he showed me how to put the car in automatic drive. “The computer will shift gears for you.”
He settled back in his seat. “I need you to tell me what happened with Troy Lambert. Not just the phone call Friday night, but what his involvement was in your gang rape. If this upsets you, pull over and I’ll drive.”
When I didn’t answer right away, he asked again, in a gentler tone. “Start with the phone call from your ex.”
I reminded myself that being honest with each other also meant not withholding. “Troy wanted to know if I was okay. And he’s not my ex.”
“That’s it? He wanted to know if you were feeling better?” He sounded skeptical.
I nodded. “And… if we could meet sometime.” A small knot roiled around in my stomach. I pressed the turn signal on the car and pulled over. “I do w
ant to be honest, and I don’t want to withhold from you. I also don’t want to put the first dent in this car.”
He smiled so sweetly I relaxed some.
“Come here, baby.” He released my seatbelt and pulled me into his arms. “As long as you weren’t hurt, I’d get over a dent or two.” He swept back a few curls. “What do you think he really wants?”
I shrugged. “Not sure. Absolution maybe?”
“He’s looking for forgiveness—some kind of closure?”
I nodded, scraping upper teeth over my bottom lip. “Closure was part of it.”
“And?”
“He asked if we could get together, and I told him not to call me again. If I had something to say, I’d contact him.”
“What time was it, when he called?”
“I’d have to check my phone—ten-ish. Why?”
Bradley’s face grew tense, and filled with concern. “I paid a visit to Mother’s law firm Friday afternoon.”
I stiffened. “You did what?”
“I went to his office to tell him to stay away from you and my mother’s estate. But…”
I thought about the cuts and bruises Bradley inflicted on Derek’s face and my heart began to pound. “What happened?”
His jaw tightened. “He hurt you.”
“Oh my God. I can’t have you beating up every man you think has injured me in some way.”
“Thing’s got tense. I may have made a few threats. Nothing physical yet.”
A part of me wanted to climb out of the car and walk home. But another part of me felt fiercely protective toward Bradley. “Powerful forces shield Troy Lambert and he’s an attorney. You need to be careful.”
His brows clashed together and he frowned. “And how exactly does that happen? Even if he didn’t touch you he was an accessory to those crimes.”
“His family has clout. Universities look the other way with most fraternity rapes. There’s always a lot of drinking involved and as horrible as it sounds, most frat rapes are never prosecuted.”
Wheels turned as he processed my comments. “How was it that your rapists did time?”
The Do It List (The Do It List #1) Page 24
