“Because pinky-swears are binding in a court of the law.” He laughed. It was a little rough, a little rusty, and it warmed me like a shot of tequila. Like the liquor, his laughter was dangerous.
“Where are you, sunshine?”
“Um, not far, about two miles, but traffic is atrocious. I’m sorry, I’m not normally tardy but—”
“It’s fine. The coffee shop is full. I think people are trying to wait out the bad weather and gridlock. Seats are all taken, and everyone looks comfortable. We’ll need to meet someplace else.”
I rolled my eyes. “Then why did you give me crap about being late?”
“Because you are late. It’s 7:01 now.”
“Fine, Christopher. Let’s meet at Keith’s office, the one he has for city council off Trinity Avenue. I’m less than a mile away from the exit, and it’s only a few blocks from where you are, so you’ll probably get there before I do.”
“Fine.” His voice grew deep and cold. “I’ll wait outside for you.”
The podcast I’d been listening to blared through the speakers again. He’d just hung up, no see you soon or goodbye. The man was moodier than a hormonal teenage girl in the throes of PMS. I attempted to call Keith to let him know about our meeting at his office since traffic was slower than molasses, but he didn’t pick up.
Fifteen minutes later, I finally pulled into the employee parking lot for the building. After I crept my yellow Bug up the slight incline to the lot, I parked my car and pushed the electronic park brake.
“Keys, check. Purse and notebook, check. Umbrella.” I reached into the back seat and grabbed my bright yellow umbrella. I rolled my eyes. Chris was going to get a kick out of the color. I looked down at my outfit, a polka dot navy blue and white blouse with a bright green skirt. God, I looked like a walking rainbow against a storm cloud.
I opened my door and dashed across the lot. As promised, Chris stood outside, below the faded green awning, smoking a cigarette. After Chris and I became real friends, I planned to persuade him to quit. If I could convince my stubborn Baba, my father, to stop smoking, Chris didn’t stand a chance against me.
“Hey!” I retracted my umbrella once I hit the dry zone under the awning. “I’m going inside. Just come in when you’ve finished.”
He nodded and exhaled. “Be there in a minute.”
I waved at the cloud of smoke that wafted toward me. “Okay, I’ll set us up in the conference room. Yay!”
He lifted his eyebrow and shook his head.
Dang it, why did I have to say “Yay”? “I mean, excellent! See you soon.”
I propped my umbrella against the front door to the office. Rap music boomed from the back of the building. Keith was usually a classical music type of guy. If he was feeling the need to turn up, he’d listen to smooth jazz.
“Maybe I’m finally rubbing off on him.” I couldn’t wait to tease him about being a closet rap fan. Bobbing to the beat, I walked toward his office.
I yanked open his door. “Hey!” The smile on my face slipped, tumbled, and splattered on the floor.
Shock rooted me to the spot. I couldn’t move, could only stare and stare and stare as my fiancé fucked his office coordinator in rhythm to the song “Truffle Butter.” The song was so loud they still hadn’t heard me. Keith and . . . and Patricia—yes, that was her name—were facing the back window, away from me.
I closed the door. A chill settled over my bones, a chill I didn’t think anyone or anything could warm. God, Chris was still outside. Thank goodness he hadn’t witnessed my moment of shame.
One step, two.
I walk-shuffled toward the front door. Keith’s empty promises echoed inside my head. “I’ll never cheat on you again, sweet cheeks.”
Three steps, four.
“I was young, immature. I’ve got a good woman, and I’ll be damned if I hurt you again.” Five steps, six.
I pushed the door open. Something wet hit my cheek.
“Sienna?”
I looked down at my feet. I couldn’t remember what number of steps I’d taken. “Ten, I think,” I whispered low to myself.
The cold overwhelmed me. My teeth chattered and clattered like a china cabinet during an earthquake.
“What’s wrong? Let’s get you inside.” He reached for the curve of my arm.
“No!” I screamed, rushing into the rain and toward my car. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen.
“God dammit, Sienna, slow down.” Chris grabbed my arm, swinging me around.
I was cold. The car was warm. I could think in the car. I’d be safe in the car. I wiped the water from my eyes, trying to focus on Chris. “W-we . . . we can’t go in there.”
Chris wouldn’t listen. Instead, he pulled me back under the cover from the building. “Why the hell not?”
I couldn’t say it. A tsunami of pain drowned me. I struggled to control the ache, struggled to breathe. “K-Keith’s in th-there.”
His face morphed from irritation to confusion to understanding. “He’s not alone,” he stated simply.
“No.” My voice cracked.
The storm that raged around us mirrored his eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”
He went for my umbrella, but I walked away into the rain. I tilted my head, hoping to wash away the pain. It wasn’t soft and comforting. It was cold, relentless, hard. Suddenly, the rain had stopped. My eyes cleared and I blinked at the swatch of yellow that filled my vision. Chris’s warm body stood behind mine. No, the rain hadn’t stopped, but it had been blocked by my silly bright yellow umbrella. Grabbing my hand, he led us to his sports car, opened the door, and buckled me in. He rushed to his side of the car, shook out the umbrella, and placed it in the back seat.
I opened the window, grabbed the umbrella, and tossed it outside. I wasn’t feeling like Little Miss Sunshine today. Buying a sensible color umbrella had just been added to my to-do list.
Thankfully, Chris hadn’t said anything. After he swerved like 007 out of the parking lot, he punched a series of numbers on his phone. “Jax. Need a favor; a pickup,” he grunted. “No, a car . . . yellow Volkswagen Beetle.” He did some sort of man chuckle and gave me an amused glance. “Yeah, no shit. I’ll send you the coordinates.” He waited for a beat or two. “No keys, but you’ll figure it out. Get it to my place by tonight, soon as possible.” He nodded, although Jax couldn’t see him. “Good.”
He ended the call. I felt marginally better. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person whose calls he ended abruptly.
Chris didn’t speak after his call, and there was no music, just the sounds of the windshield wipers and heavy raindrops. Heat blasted through the vents. Oddly enough, I could feel the air, but it still didn’t cut through the freeze that blanketed my body.
Some time later, we pulled into a gated condo community. He opened the passenger-side door and unbuckled my seat belt. Grabbing his umbrella—it was blue, by the way—he guided me out of the car and marched me upstairs to an elevator bay.
Thirty-something floors later, Chris opened the door to his home. He waved me in, and I took a few steps, remaining in the foyer, conscious of my wet skirt, shirt, and shoes. Tilting my head down, I twisted my hair around my fingers. My long, fake tresses clumped together, and no amount of coaxing would bring any semblance of order to the wet mop on my head.