by Scott, S. L.
“In my apartment. I need to talk to you.” Will he think I’m crazy? I cringe at how insane I’ll sound when I tell him the truth. Will he believe me? “This time, I promise I’ll listen if you promise to hear me out.”
Another pause and I start to think he’s doing it on purpose to torture me. “When and where?”
“We can talk now.”
“I leave later today, but I want to see you again.”
God how I want that too, but is it safe? The three photos Kurt left behind lie scattered on the floor. The picture of us at the statue catches my eyes. A public place. That’s probably best. “The Kiss.” Checking the time again as if it’s days later, I say, “Noon.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thank you. See you then.” I hang up, not breathing easier but surviving, and that’s key these days.
16
Bennett
Carbon.
A gray so dark that it borders on black. Dressy, but befitting the occasion. I only have this last chance to win her back.
Win?
Is that what I’m doing? Is that what I want?
Yep, it sure is.
I hate that Winter left hurt and angry. Betrayed. I’ve felt the same in varying degrees, but if only she had listened and given me time to explain. The words were right on the tip of my tongue until the blade of her assumptions hacked through them.
Yes, I think she’ll like this suit best because I’ve seen the way she looks at me. Past the clothes she appreciates on my frame, she looks into my eyes with stars in hers. She’s a romantic at heart from her favorite song to the book she was reading at the bistro. The door might have slammed behind her, but she’s reopened it to hear me out.
I don’t know what changed her heart and put this opportunity in my path, but I’m not going to blow it. I’m not only wearing my best suit but also my heart on my sleeve. I’ll tell her the truth and hope she sees my earnestness through honesty. From there, I’ll know where we stand, and if we’ll get a second chance.
My suitcase is packed, and my computer stowed in the charging pocket. The high-tech traveler was worth the money I spent. It’s weird to think about the money I’ve made and how I can buy anything I want. We didn’t grow up poor, but we weren’t spoiled either. I’ve spoiled myself a few times since—the apartment, the land next to my brother’s down in Texas, that VIP backstage pass for my friends and me last year at an Austin music festival, and the suits.
But money can’t buy everything. It can’t buy things that matter like second chances. Second chances lie in the hands of the ones betrayed.
I knew what I was doing, or thought I did when I told her father I’d be the liaison to bridge the gap between them. Him telling me that I needed to do this for the deal didn’t faze me. It sounded so easy that I didn’t think about the emotions involved, selfishly, other than mine.
But the moment I saw her? Bright pink sweater. Long brown hair. A mouth that appears innocent in pink but depending on her mood can make you laugh or take a step back. She’s cold water on a hot summer day. Refreshing and quenching with a sharp bite.
I slip my watch on and then call the front desk to have a car ready by the time I get downstairs. Looking around the room once more, I see the bed where we made love, her glass with remnants of lipstick still on the nightstand, and pink lace hanging from under the end of the comforter.
Grabbing it, I tuck her panties in my pocket and leave. There’s nothing here that needs me to stay. No, it’s not the room or the city. It’s the woman who I’m going to meet.
After I settle the bill, I walk out to the black sedan waiting at the curb. The driver loads the suitcase into the back while I slip into the car. The doorman instructs the driver to pull around the park, closer to the statue, and wait. I scroll through emails and reply to Zenny’s. The plane will be arriving shortly fueled, restocked, and ready by one. Hours earlier than originally told. That doesn’t leave much time with Winter, but I’ll take what I can get.
Maybe she’ll come with . . . I’ll let her lead this conversation and see where we go from here if anywhere.
The car stops, and I get out, leaving my belongings. I don’t see her as I walk the sidewalk to the statue. Looking left. Turning right. In the distance or waiting nearby, she’s nowhere to be seen.
Will I be stood up?
Or did she set me up to make me pay for the betrayal?
I don’t think she’s vindictive like that, but who knows with a woman scorned . . . though scorned might be a bit much. She jumped to conclusions that I or the internet could easily deny. I thought she looked me up online. The last time I checked, it clearly stated I’m the Director of Media and Communications division of Everest Enterprises. I can’t imagine it has changed.
Movement in the distance catches my eyes, which I then narrow to make out the figure. Surprised, I lift my sunglasses. Is that Winter? What is she doing?
Dropping my shades back down, I watch her running toward me yelling something, but she’s too far for me to understand. People are parting on the path to let her by.
Arms waving.
Purse flapping around on her body.
Her sunglasses fall from her face, but she never breaks her stride to retrieve them.
Shit.
“What?” I call out, confused as to what’s happening, and run toward her.
Thirty feet away, she screams, “Run! The other way!”
Twenty feet. “Run, Bennett!”
Ten feet. “They’re going to hurt you.” I catch her in my arms, spinning to keep her from falling. Her body is tense and she can barely breathe from exhaustion. A bruised lip. Fingermarks on her neck? What the fuck? Pushing me away, she says, “Go, Bennett. Save yourself. Go now!”
“Save me from who?” That’s when I see them. Looking over her shoulder, my gaze lands on two men crossing the park faster than she did. “What the fuck?”
“Go, Bennett. Please.”
Glancing once more from them to her, I say, “Not without you.” I grab her hand, and we start to run to the car. The driver’s eyes go wide when we approach, and he quickly opens the back door.
“Start the car,” I yell several times. He shakes his head, not understanding what I’m saying. “French, Winter. Tell him in French.”
“Umm . . . Démarre la voiture!” she shouts.
He nods and hurries back into the car. I slow and pull her forward. She ducks into the back seat, and I follow, shutting the door as the car peels away from the curb. Through the tinted glass, I stare at the men chasing us until they’re out of sight.
Winter’s holding her chest, her breathing erratic as she rests back on the leather with her eyes closed. My heart pounds from the adrenaline, and I catch the driver staring at us in the rearview mirror. I say, “Aéroport. Tout de suite.”
Elbowing me, she asks, “I thought you didn’t know French?”
“I don’t. I heard it in a movie once. I know poquito.”
“That’s Spanish.”
“Oui.” I wink.
She rolls her eyes, but a smile underscores it. Not enough to distract from her bruises, though. “What happened?” My gaze dips to her jaw area and then back to her pretty blue eyes.
A hand covers the bruise as if she’d forgotten about it, but then she pauses and takes a breath. “Hit a wall.”
“With your face?”
Her eyes are bright, but the glare harsh. I still hold it because she’s not intimidating me into moving on. “I’m sorry,” she says, sitting up.
My heart had just started to regulate, but now it speeds up for another reason not related to running at all. “Why would you be sorry?”
“Because I dragged you into this,” she says, signaling to the back window.
“Are those guys the wall you hit? Who are they?” She leans forward and looks out the window, then glances back, seeming to expect a car chase to ensue. I say, “This isn’t the movies. This is real life. Ours, to be specific.”
&
nbsp; “Ours.” She rolls the word around on her tongue, situating herself forward again.
I pull off my jacket because I’m sweating like a fucking pig. Thinking back to how I wore this to impress her, it seems frivolous compared to what just happened. “Do you have your passport on you?”
“Yes. Why?” Then it dawns on her, her eyes going wide. “Oh, no. I’m not leaving.” She tells the driver to pull over. I tell him to drive, in English, but he gets it, and since I’m the client, he continues to drive. “I can’t go with you, Bennett.”
“Riddle me this, Nobleman.” She shoots me another hard stare but doesn’t say anything, so I continue, “You tell me to meet you and then tell me to run. For my life, I might add. Now I see someone has hurt you, but you’re the one in control? No, it’s not working like that anymore. Whatever game you’re playing, you’re losing. You’re the queen of diversion, but now it’s time to fess up because I’m not letting you off the hook anymore. Your life is in danger and now mine. So tell me, why are you in Paris, Winter?”
“Do you always shoot first and ask questions later?”
“And here I thought I was asking questions first. Is that topic too loaded? Let me try a softer approach, sweetheart. Who the fuck were those guys chasing you and apparently wanting to hurt me?”
By the way her mouth tenses tight like a little ball of yarn, she’s offended. That makes two of us.
Waving me off, she says, “We don’t have enough time to talk about it.”
I text Zenny: On my way to the plane. Have it ready to go. Add Winter Nobleman to the passenger list. “We’re about to have seven plus hours. Is that enough time?”
“I’m not going with you, Bennett. You can drag me along for the ride, but you’re getting on the plane alone.”
“I don’t think so.” I sit back and stare at her because I can be hardheaded too. I check out the angles of her face I missed the other times we’ve been together. She’s stunning in any mood she decides to wear and owns it like she invented the emotion.
Her gaze lands solidly on my mouth and works its way up to my eyes. “You’re not giving me a choice? It doesn’t work like that.”
“Tell me who those men were and why you’re in Paris.” We can play this game all the way back to New York.
“No.”
“My life was on the line. Tell me why.”
Her guard falls, and she looks away. “I’m sorry. I do owe you answers, but I can’t give them in ten minutes.”
“Give me something, like which wall do I have to hurt for banging you up?”
That earns me the slightest of grins, but I’ll take what I can get right now. “They work for a man I used to work for.”
“That changes things. Who did you used to work for?”
She looks back, regret taking over her expression. “Bennett.” She looks down at her twisting fingers, then back up at me. “Listen, you get on that plane and go home as fast as you can. You’ll be safer there.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine. I always am.”
“Not by the looks of it.” I reach over, asking silent permission. She doesn’t move away, and if I’m not mistaken, she even moves toward my hand. “Are you okay?”
With a gentle nod, her lids flutter closed. I move my finger along her jaw, and over the bruise so lightly I don’t know if she can feel it, but I won’t cause her any more pain. Who the fuck hurt her? Why would they do that?
It’s not the time or place to do it, but I do anyway because the heightened emotions between last night have simmered to a low boil. I care about her, and this might be the only real chance I get to make amends.
I kiss her cheek and then again lower over the bruise on her jaw that looks like it’s going to get worse before better . . . sort of like us.
“I’m going home, Winter, but I’m not leaving you behind.” I sit back like this is settled, grumbling to get it off my chest. “You’re so caught in your secrets that you don’t even know what’s best anymore.”
“And you do? How?” Her hand flies to her chest. “How could you possibly know what’s best for me? You don’t even know me.”
Points have a purpose. She slams down the evidence substantiating the situation. She’s not wrong. “How do I walk away? How do I leave you behind when two goons just chased you through a park in broad daylight? What would they have done if they caught you?”
“That’s just it, Bennett. They weren’t after me. They were after you.”
17
Bennett
“Me?” I glance out the back window, feeling like we’re being watched. “I’ve never seen those men before. Why would they be after me?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I can keep up.”
She holds my gaze when it turns her way, but her expression falls, and she remains quiet.
Anger surges, and my hands clench into fists. “Why won’t you tell me any-fucking-thing? What are you involved in that has you risking your life and mine?”
“Please don’t make me say it.”
“I won’t, but you’re getting on that plane.”
Her mouth falls open. “You don’t own me!”
I stare in disbelief. “Own you? Of course, I don’t fucking own you. But you’re not thinking clearly. You need to be safe, Winter, and you’re clearly not safe in Paris.”
“I’m not the one in trouble.”
My eyes almost bulge out. “Really? Some fucker hit you, and you think you’re not in trouble?” I take a deep breath, struggling not to take the anger I hold toward whoever did this to her out on her. “Define trouble then? Do they need to rape or kill you in addition to beating you up?” Really fucking struggle. “I mean, what the fuck, Winter?”
The worst part is, she doesn’t recoil. Someone’s been abusing her long enough for her to take the hits blow by blow, and she keeps thickening her skin. I won’t be the next one. “I’m sorry,” I say.
When she looks at me, there’s no hate. The glistening tears in her eyes reveal her fear, and she slides closer. “How do I tell you details when I know it will put you in jeopardy?”
“I can take care of myself. Let me help you.” Taking her hand, I hold it. “Come with me. Get on the plane and fly home with me.”
“I can’t, Bennett.”
“I’ll protect you.”
We approach the airfield. The driver shows his ID, and the gate opens. Winter sits forward. “You’re flying private?”
“Yes. All we have to do is walk onto that plane and leave. Together. Whatever you’re caught up in, I can help you get out. Look at me, Winter.” Like broken ice adrift in the Bering Sea, her gaze doesn’t rush over to me. I speak from the heart when I plead, “Come with me.”
Her tears tip over the icy edge of her lids and fall to their demise, extending their reach in the threads of her red sweater. She wipes the next two away with the back of her fabric-covered wrists. “I want to, but I can’t.”
“Just tell me what’s going on. Let me help you.”
She sniffles and leans toward the window, looking up at the sky. “We had one perfect day.” Turning back to me, she adds, “Have you ever thought that maybe that’s all we were meant to be?”
“No,” I reply, assuredly. I wasn’t aiming for a smile, but given what we just went through, hers is welcome. “I’m drawn to you, Winter. I didn’t tell you why I came to Paris with the intent to deceive you. And I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you either.”
“I know, Bennett. I know you’d never intentionally hurt me. I’m sorry I ran.”
“I understand why you did, but please give me a chance to talk this out.” I feel like I’m begging. Even though my day started with a taste of happiness because I believed I had time to mend fences, the chase certainly woke me up to the fact that there’s so much more to this than meets the eye. How on earth could I have been the one who those goons were after? No one outside my family and hers knows I’m in Paris, much less would
care for any particular reason.
“I want to talk to you, Bennett, please know that. I’m not in the position to, though, and I need you to trust me on that. Please.” Something in her expression changes; a look in her eyes as she stares at the planes ahead of her.
“Those men have hurt you.” I ask, “Why?”
“If I tell you, I’ll be risking everything.”
“Seems you already have.”
My words are sharp, purposely directed to get a reaction, and I get one.
“I’m sorry, so sorry for getting you involved.” Her top teeth gather in her bottom lip, and she worries it. “You can fly me to the moon, and he’d still find me.”
“Then you’ll come home with me. It’s a fortress.”
“Home,” she whispers, though I don’t think it was for my ears.
Bringing her hand to my lips, I kiss the top, and whisper, “I’ll protect you.”
* * *
Chasing the sunset, we’ve spent hours in peace high above the clouds. I relied on the steady whirr of the plane’s engine and Winter’s deep slumber to know everything was going to be okay.
Before she fell asleep, she wasn’t talking to me, making me rethink the demands I made on her to leave. I’ll weather the blowback. Her safety was and is more important than ruffling her feathers for a short time. There’s no way I could leave her on that tarmac unprotected.
I’ll let her rest for now because, apparently, she needs it by how hard she’s sleeping. We have a lot to talk about when she wakes up. I just want to discuss it under the protection of Everest Security.
The flight attendant bends down. “May I get you anything, Mr. Everest?”
“A bottle of water, please.” I’m about to plug in my earbuds, but then add, “And bourbon. Neat.”
“Yes, sir.”
I lean back to check on Winter across the aisle from me. She’s stubborn.
Feisty.
Sweet.
Funny.
A little quirky.
A fighter. I just wish I knew what she was fighting. Or whom.
