Right now, I’m staring out the window overlooking a jungle of steel and glass. If I stand in the right spot, I get a glimpse of the Hudson River, of the way the sunlight reflects off the water. It’s easy to feel alone up here, to feel isolated regardless of the bustle going on outside this office. It’s like an island in the sky. Everything seems so out of reach, so cold. I hate it.
I hate ties.
I hate corner offices in high-rise buildings in Manhattan.
I hate conference calls at 10:00 p.m. to Tokyo.
And I hate being six hundred and thirty miles from Adrienne.
I sense my father in the doorway before I hear him speak. He’s like the cold gust of air when an evil presence is near. I managed to avoid him for the past three hours. My luck was bound to run out sometime.
“Quite the view, isn’t it?” He stands beside me with his hands tucked into the pockets of his light gray suit.
I don’t bother looking directly at him. “It’s not North Carolina, that’s for sure.”
He stares at the river with me. “Give it some time. You’ll adjust.”
Adjust? I’d rather break through this glass and jump into the Hudson. I’m not here to adjust. I’m here to survive. He can have his dirty money and five-thousand-dollar suits. He can have empty conversations and a loveless marriage. I don’t even care enough to hate him for it anymore.
He pulls a hand from his pocket and rests it on my back. “One day, you’ll thank me for this. I’m giving you a future, Blaze. Selling beer to a bunch of drunks isn’t a respectable way to earn a living.”
Thank him? He took my future and used her as bait to get what he wanted. I’ve yet to find the need to thank him for that.
I finally turn to face him. “As a matter of fact, craft beer is a highly respected industry. But not nearly as respectable as selling risky mortgages to the federal government or using DocuSign to falsify signatures on loan payment changes or fixing the price on currencies on the foreign exchange market.” I clap his shoulder. “If you aren’t cheating, you aren’t trying, right, Dad?”
He drops his hand, and his jaw tenses. “Watch your mouth. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know more than you think.” Not all criminals end up behind bars. Most of them drive a Bugatti and vacation in Monaco. My lips curve up in an insincere smile as I walk back to my desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a bunch of respectable work to get back to.”
My pulse is pounding. My skin is covered in sweat. My breath comes out in sharp, clipped huffs.
Four miles.
That’s up a mile from what I ran last week. Next week, I’ll shoot for five. I started at one. Every week, I add a mile. That’s how long I’ve been in this hell. Four weeks. Every morning for four weeks, I run. I punish my body and try to purge my demons, but nothing helps. Nothing dulls the ache.
I miss her.
I miss her smile. I miss her sass. I miss being inside her and watching the way she sucks in a breath then licks her lips right before she comes apart.
My hell on earth is a penthouse on the twenty-sixth floor of a building on East 52nd Street. I could fit my entire apartment back in Charlotte inside the living room and kitchen—with room to spare. The doorman holds the door when he sees me coming through the wrought iron archway that leads to the building’s courtyard. I feel a little like shit that I’ve never stopped to ask his name. I haven’t asked for anyone’s name—not the security guard at Abbott Tower, not the admin who sits outside my office and screens my calls, not the guy down the block who sells me the best damn coffee I’ve ever had from a cart on the sidewalk—no one. I’ve been treating everyone here like it’s their fault my dad’s an asshole. Jesus, four weeks and I’m turning into him already.
I stop and check for a name tag on the doorman’s charcoal gray vest, but there isn’t one.
“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Abbott?” he asks, still holding the large glass and iron door.
My calves are burning and the cold air bites my lungs with every breath I take. “I just realized I don’t know your name.”
He grins this full-toothed, wide-mouthed grin that makes you want to believe in humanity again. Then he tips his gendarme hat. “Morrison, but everybody calls me Morie.”
“It’s great to meet you, Morie.” For the first time in over a month, I smile—a real smile.
Inside the lobby there’s a double-sided fireplace with a massive stone hearth and an even more impressive chimney. In front of each side there are groups of white leather chairs for conversation. On one wall there’s a concierge desk for packages and guests, and on another wall there’s a row of elevators. My elevator is the one on the far left. It only goes to my penthouse and the one below me, which I think belongs to Henry Kissinger or some shit. I don’t exactly know. It’s not like he knocks on my door to borrow sugar, and it’s not like I do anything other than work, run, and watch the goddamn Golden Girls. That’s my life on a loop.
The elevator opens directly into my penthouse—my upscale and professionally decorated penthouse. Dad really went all out with this one. My phone vibrates inside the band against my arm.
“Yeah,” I say once I click the button on my earbud. Not the most polite way to answer a call, but I’m sweaty and breathless and who the fuck cares about manners.
“Are you fucking? Because it sounds like you’re fucking.”
Hector motherfucking Romero and his jacked-up sense of humor. Every time he calls, I have to bite my tongue until it bleeds to keep from asking about Adrienne. He’s still dating Haley, so I know he knows how she’s doing. At least he’s decent enough not to bring her up. No use twisting the knife when it’s already wedged in my heart.
I don’t even look at other women. I sure as hell am not going to touch one. Adrienne is still mine, and I am still hers. No amount of distance, lies, or even God Himself is going to change that.
“Yeah. Your mom says she’d tell you hello but she’s got a mouth full of my balls so…” I wipe my face with a towel then grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
“You wish, assmonkey. Seriously, what the hell are you doing?” I can tell he’s at the brewery by the music playing in the background.
I down the water then toss the towel in the laundry hamper. “Running. We can’t both be fat and ugly when we get old.”
“And to think I actually miss your smart ass…”
I can’t tell if my heart is hammering because of his words or if the adrenaline is still pumping from my run. “I miss you too.”
“I don’t know how to say this delicately, so I’m going to just say it.” He pauses. “You have a buyer for the brewery. I think this one is a keeper.”
He’s saying that because I’ve turned down the last three offers even though they were all willing to give me the full asking price, which I set ridiculously high… on purpose.
“How is this one any different from the last three? That one guy… What was his name? Jeffery? He didn’t know the difference between a lager and an IPA. I didn’t bust my ass on that brewery to leave it in the hands of some dildo for brains.” I start the shower and kick out of my running pants, wrapping a towel around my waist and grabbing my razor. No five o’clock shadows allowed at the office.