It was Thursday night, and I was scheduled to fly home late tomorrow evening. Tyler had offered me a tour of the sites, and we were currently walking the strip. Thankfully the sun had pretty much set, so the heat had become almost bearable. Growing up in Texas, triple digit temperatures were nothing new to me, but I was still grateful for the light knit teal halter dress I was wearing.
There was so much activity around us that my mind swirled with the sights, sounds and smells. Vegas was like an amusement park on steroids, and I was a little in awe.
He led me to an outside bar across the street, where a band was playing a cover of the latest country hit. Eyeing the steaks on the menu, I hesitated but a moment and then caved and ordered one. I hadn’t had a good prime rib since leaving Austin and I was anxious for a small taste of home. I looked up to see Tyler watching me.
“What?” Did he think I was just going to order a salad?
“Nothing.” He continued to stare at me, and I noticed something in his eyes that I couldn’t name, but it was making me a little uneasy. “I saw you a week or so ago, you know. At the Preston’s party in the Hamptons?”
I shoved aside my uneasiness. Tyler was a nice guy, a client of Elite, and I wasn’t going to screw this one up. “Oh, really? I didn’t see you there.”
“Yeah. I even asked Preston about you, but he said he thought you were involved or something.” He paused, and I realized he was fishing.
It took me a minute to realize that by Preston, he meant Nathan. I somehow doubted he’d be chatting up Roger Preston about some woman he was interested in, especially if that woman happened to be one of Roger’s employees.
And Nathan had told him I was involved with someone? Was that before or after our kiss?
I probably should have been irritated that Nathan had taken it upon himself to give Tyler that impression, but instead I just felt a delicious curl of heat low in my belly. It was presumptuous and selfish, but it couldn’t help but make me think that even then he’d been wanting me for himself.
And suddenly, amidst the chaos and excitement that was Las Vegas Boulevard, I wanted to be back in New York.
I missed him.
“Hmmm,” was all I gave in response. I didn’t want to get into a conversation about my love life, or lack thereof, with Tyler Winston.
But his sudden interest explained the look I’d seen in his eyes minutes ago.
Our food arrived then, and Tyler kept up conversation, thankfully not mentioning the Hamptons further. The more he drank, the chattier he became, and the topic turned to what I was learning was his favorite subject: himself.
I sipped my water, nodding politely, as he carried on about how he got his start in the hotel business, and how successful he’d become. The more he talked, the more I missed Nathan. It had been five days since I’d seen or spoken to him and I was just now beginning to realize the impact that had on me.
I was shaken from my thoughts when Tyler called to our waitress for another refill. I checked my phone and saw it was eight-thirty. That meant it was eleven-thirty back in New York. I wondered again what Nathan was doing. The need to talk to him was powerful, and I decided I needed to call it a night.
“Tyler, I think I need to get back to the hotel. I have some last minute things to wrap up for the meeting tomorrow.”
“Nonsense! This is Vegas, Reagan. The city that never sleeps.” His eyes glazed over as he leaned in across the table to me.
I stood up. “I really need to get going.” I knew his hotel wasn’t far from here, and figured I could find my way back on my own if need be.
“Fine,” he muttered petulantly, as if he was a child who hadn’t gotten his own way. “I need to take a piss; be right back.”
As soon as he excused himself from the table, I motioned for the check. I was standing just outside the bar area, people watching and waiting for Tyler to return, when I felt heavy arms wrap themselves around me from behind.
I froze instantly, my mouth going dry. Get off me get off me get off me!
“So, how about you and I get out of here?”
The implication was clear in Tyler’s voice as he whispered in my ear, his breath hot on my neck. I stood there woodenly, unable to move, blinking away the black spots that danced before my eyes.
SHIT!
This wasn’t happening. Not now!
I was vaguely aware Tyler was still speaking, but I couldn’t make out the words over the ringing in my ears.
“Get off me,” I whispered, cold sweat beading along my spine. I felt as if I was struggling to breathe and prayed I wouldn’t completely pass out.
“Whoa, Reagan. What’s the matter with you?” His question came across as if he was asking why I was such a freak, not as if he was truly concerned over my well-being. I wasn’t certain he had heard my whispered plea, but he did remove his arms from around me and stepped to the side. I was leaning more toward he just simply wanted to move away from me, and a situation he clearly didn’t understand.
I closed my eyes and mentally counted to ten, willing my breathing to right itself so I could get out of here. I inhaled deeply, taking in big gulps of air as I wiped a hand across my forehead, tendrils of hair dampened and sticking to my skin.
“Hello?” Tyler was definitely getting wierded out, and obviously didn’t know what to do. I didn’t blame him, but his inability to handle what was unfolding before him was not my main concern. Getting back to my hotel was.
I opened my eyes, and wanted to sob in relief that the spots were gone and my panic attack seemed to be passing. “Sorry. I am not feeling well. I’ll find my way back.” It was all the explanation I could muster, and all he would get.
I turned away from his annoyed expression and hurried back in the direction of the hotel, shouldering past the countless tourists that cluttered the strip. It wasn’t until I was back in my room that the tears fell.
Two panic attacks in a week.
These people here didn’t know me. They didn’t know my boundaries. Twice now someone had overstepped, innocently enough, but because they didn’t know me, I’d had more panic attacks in the last week than I’d had in the last four years.
I wondered if Helen was right. Maybe this was too much, too soon. I’d wanted to move to Manhattan, venture out on my own and do something I’ve always dreamed of.
Maybe I should have been more realistic about my capabilities and just stayed in Austin.
I had forgotten all thoughts of trying to reach Nathan, and finally fell asleep somewhere around ten p.m. I had no idea what time it was when I heard my cell phone ping, alerting me to an incoming text message.
Chapter Seventeen
Nathan
I tossed and turned in my bed, unable to sleep. As expected, today—or yesterday, considering it was now three o’clock in the morning--had been a day from hell; for many reasons.
It had been two years. Two years since my brother had been taken from us. Two years spent watching my mother turn from a strong, passionate woman, vibrant with life, to a shell of her former self, wasting away under the strong arm of alcohol. Two years spent missing Thomas, and hating my father, as we grew further and further apart.
Two years. Seven hundred and thirty days.
I hated this day; this anniversary of sorts, of his death. There was nothing to celebrate. Life was not better with him gone, and nothing was the same. I missed Thomas every single minute of every single day. I didn’t need an ‘anniversary’ to remind me of it. Just like I didn’t need to see the accident scene photos tucked away in my safe to remind me of the horrible circumstances of his death.
But at least I had learned to compartmentalize. I missed him, but it no longer consumed me.
Yet Mom had insisted she needed me, and as I had done last year, I went to her, cursing my father as my car ate up the distance between me and her. And as I had done last year, I’d listened to my mother, as she relived in startling detail, the events that had transpired the day her eldest son had been kill
ed. Where she’d gone, the last words they’d spoken to each other, what he’d been wearing, what she’d been doing when the police had shown up at their home with the horrifying news.
All of it. Every last detail; spoken in alternating moments of blinding rage and unspeakable grief.
And just as had happened last year, the band aid over the hole in my heart, caused by his passing, was violently ripped off, leaving it open, gaping, and bleeding into my soul.
I had held my mother when her memories had overtaken her, and there was nothing left for her to do but sob for the son she wished for daily, but knew would never return to her. I had held her long after she’d finally succumbed to the alcohol she’d consumed prior to my arrival, and passed out. I had pulled the covers of her bed around her, and curled up behind her, before giving way to my own tears of grief. The ability to separate the constant pang of missing Thomas, and going about the demands of my everyday life, were lost to me in that moment, and the crushing knowledge he was truly gone was as fresh as the day it had happened.
I had left her to sleep off the day’s anguish around eleven, and had returned home, hoping to fall into an exhausted sleep myself.
But once I was gone, alone and away from the day’s events, my mind returned to Reagan.
And the fact she was miles and miles away. With Tyler Winston. And now, I couldn’t sleep.
I needed to hear her voice.
The need was so strong, and occupied my racing thoughts, until finally I heaved the comforter off my bed and stalked out to the kitchen for my go-to midnight snack. Pulling out the gallon of chocolate milk, I poured a glass and stared at my phone, charging on the counter.
I knew that while Vegas was a few hours behind, she’d probably be sleeping.
I shouldn’t wake her.
Screw that. It had been five days. Enough was enough.
Unplugging my phone and setting my empty glass in the sink, I padded back to my bedroom, typing as I walked.
Nathan: How’s Vegas?
There was so much I should, and would rather, be saying, but I decided to keep it light. Explanations could come later.
I sat in the dark, holding my phone, heart pounding and feeling like an idiot.
What if she didn’t even respond? It was no less than I deserved.
I had no sooner finished the thought when my phone chirped as her reply arrived.
Reagan: Vegas is fine… very ready to come home, though.
I scowled at my screen. She sounded sad, and yes, I’m well aware one cannot tell another’s tone through a simple text, but still. I hit dial, and lay back on my pillows. She was already awake, I may as well just call, I reasoned with myself.
“Hi.” Her voice was soft, and slightly muffled. It didn’t matter. It was the sweetest sound I had heard in days, perhaps in my entire life.
“Hi,” I replied, closing my eyes. “Did I wake you?”
“Um, kinda,” she admitted. “But it’s okay,” she hastened to add.
“Sorry.” And yet, not really. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“And you just wanted to hear my voice?” Although sleepy, her voice lightened enough to let me know she was joking.
I wasn’t. “Yes. I’ve kinda had a hard day.”
Silence stretched on the other end, and I checked to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped.
“This day would be hard on anyone. And I am glad you called.”
She remembered. I smiled into the dark. But I didn’t want to talk about Thomas. I’d done enough of that in the last twenty-four hours. “Really? Wanted to hear the sound of my voice, too, huh?”
“Yes.” She was coming more fully awake, and was no longer joking. My body leaped in response, going rock hard.
I missed her.
“Well, then. It’s a win-win for us both. How have your meetings gone? I assume you’ve met Tyler.” I hated to bring him up, but I was desperate to know her thoughts.
“The meetings have been great.” A pause. “And yes, I’ve met Tyler.”
I kept my voice light. “He’s treating you well, I hope?”
Another pause. If he’d tried anything, I swear to God—
“Sure, um. . . yeah. I guess.”
I sat up and opened my eyes. “What’s wrong? Has he been inappropriate?” I would kill him.
“Why would you ask that?” Her reply was quick; rushed.
“Because I know him,” I grumbled into the phone.
She laughed softly. “No, he has not been inappropriate. There was . . .a situation. . .tonight. But it wasn’t his fault.”
I did not like the sounds of this. At all. “What do you mean, a situation?” Or that it wasn’t his fault? Anything wrong with Tyler around, was generally always his fault.
“Nathan, it’s nothing. I promise. Can we talk about something else?”
She seemed to be done discussing the subject. I wasn’t. “No.”
“No?”
“No. Tyler Winston is a client of Elite. If he did or said anything that could be construed as inappropriate to you, I need to know about it.” I got out of bed and began pacing the area beside the bed, my anger growing by the second.
“He didn’t. I mean, he got a little drunk, but that’s it. Nothing happened, and I am asking you, as your friend, to let it go.”
There was something she wasn’t telling me, something she didn’t want to tell me, and it infuriated me. I was used to people supplying me with answers and information when asked. I didn’t like being refused, especially about something like this.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “But as your friend, I think I should tell you that I don’t like it.”
She laughed again, relief evident in her tone. “Fair enough.”
Against my very nature, I changed topics. “Are you tired? I can let you go.”
Her response came before I’d completely finished my words. “No, not at all. I’m fine.”
I climbed back in bed and settled back under the covers, feeling immensely pleased. “So, what are you wearing?” The question was out before I fully comprehended that I’d just spoken my thought aloud.
“A t-shirt,” she surprised me by answering. And now I was imagining her, in her bed at the hotel, in the dark, in a t-shirt. In nothing but a t-shirt, one where her nipples would stand at attention underneath, uninhibited by her bra this time, waiting for my mouth.
I was hard again. I stifled a groan. “Shit, I’m sorry. . .I didn’t mean—“
“What are you wearing?” There was a playfulness in her tone that I hadn’t heard before, and I wondered at the cause of it. Was she actually flirting back with me?
“Boxers.”
Another lengthy pause. And then, “How was your weekend?” Now her voice sounded strained, and it didn’t escape my notice that she was changing the subject.
Chicken.
I smiled, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Busy, but nothing of great importance. I apologize for not answering you sooner, after you texted Saturday.”
“That’s okay. I figured you were busy.”
“Regardless, I would have much rather talked to you.” It was the truth and I meant it. “I know we’re supposed to be just friends and all, but can I just say that I’ve missed you?”
I heard her moving around, and pictured her sitting up in her bed. “Yes, you can. I’ve kinda missed you, too.”
I wanted to shout at her to discard this ridiculous idea of just being friends, so we wouldn’t have to miss each other; we could be with each other, but tamped down the urge. I didn’t understand her fierce determination to keep things in the friend zone, when it was so obvious she was attracted to me, but I had to play along. “I miss you, you miss me. We need to fix that. What are your plans for the weekend?”
She gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t think I have any. . .yet , anyway.”
“You do now. There’s a bunch of new bands playing in Central Park on Saturday. Wanna go down there and check ‘em out?”<
br />
She hesitated, but I knew she would. “As friends, of course,” I added. I was out of my mind with wanting to see her, and wouldn’t put it past myself to invent some work related emergency to bring her into the office over the weekend if she refused my offer.
“Yeah, that sounds fun.”
I’d half expected her to decline, so when she agreed, my heart skipped a beat. Like, literally fluttered and skipped an entire beat.
An entire day with Reagan, just the two of us.
“Excellent! Call me when you get back into town, and we’ll decide what time we wanna go, okay?” I knew I’d monopolized enough of her time and should probably let her go. While I wouldn’t have any trouble talking to her until the sun rose, I didn’t want to press my luck. “And now, you need to get back to sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Thank you for calling, Nathan. It was nice talking to you.”
I smiled into the dark again. “Goodnight, Reagan,” I replied softly.
Immediately after disconnecting with Reagan, I dialed another number. Yes, it was approaching three-thirty in the morning, but I couldn’t wait.
“Isaac, Nathan Preston. Yes, I am aware of the time but wanted to catch you. I need Miss Andrews home tomorrow, first thing. Whatever meetings are scheduled tomorrow with the Winston account will need to be rescheduled—with someone else,” I added, in case he wasn’t clear. “The Johnson and Johnson account is her only priority.”
Isaac put forth a weak attempt to challenge my instructions, but it was late and the man was half asleep. He caved almost immediately.
“Good. Now, get some sleep. We all have a busy day tomorrow.”
I knew he’d be pissed tomorrow, when he’d had time to fully contemplate the conversation, but also knew he would comply.
And most likely would run to my father and tattle, but Dad was in Japan and was an obstacle easily avoided. I’d deal with him on this, if I had to, when he returned.
Bottom line, I wanted her home. Call me selfish, high-handed, and meddling. . . .I didn’t care. I’d never liked the idea of her in Vegas with Tyler Winston alone, and upon learning something had happened since she’d been there—and it involved him, despite the fact she refused to admit it—well, let’s just say Isaac was damn lucky I didn’t make him get up and fly out there to pick her up himself.
Made to Love Page 16
