Jordan looks over at me, and I force myself to hold her eyes, even though I see the utter disappointment and fear in her gaze.
“He ran his car into a brick wall. She was ejected and didn’t survive. Courts determined it was an accident. We paid off her family, made the whole incident disappear, and Alexander agreed to never speak of it again.” He exhales one hundred pounds of weight, and his shoulders slump. He pushes up to stand but moves as if he weighs six-hundred pounds. “One more thing you should know about my brother. I would’ve taken that story to my grave had he not threatened to fire me. If you care at all about your safety and wellbeing, you’ll get as far away from him as possible.” He raises a hateful glare at me. “Happy now, you piece of shit?”
I nod.
Hayes walks out of the penthouse without another word.
Jordan
I sit with my hands fisted in my sweatshirt and my heart lodged in my throat. As if the things he said to me last night weren’t warning enough, the fact that his temper is responsible for the loss of a woman’s life should be confirmation that he’s unsafe.
And yet, with everything I know, I still feel drawn to him. Connected in a way that makes it hard to walk away.
Hard. But not impossible.
He told me since the day we met that he would hurt me. His volatile and unpredictable episodes aren’t something he can control. Combined with the overly possessive things he’s said and the way he’s bit me or collared my throat with his hands, these are all warning signs I can’t ignore.
If I don’t get out now, I’ll be the next headline, and everyone will wonder why I didn’t get out when I had a chance. Even he wants me to leave.
He stands at the far end of the living room with his back against the wall and his hands in his pockets as if trying to look as non-threatening as possible.
“Why tell me this now? The things you said last night were enough to push me away.”
He turns away and stares at the floor as if the reminder of how he treated me last night stings.
“I would’ve already been gone if I had somewhere to go. So why risk your family’s reputation and your company by telling me about Brandy?”
He groans as if in agony at the mention of her name. When he lifts his gaze, all I see is exhaustion and defeat. “I want you to know how dangerous I am. You’re not safe being close to me. No one is.”
I see that now. I don’t honestly believe he’d ever hurt me physically—he has had a million opportunities when I’ve stupidly pushed his limits—but my heart is far from safe. He proved that last night when he used my mother’s words against me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“You’ll tell me the truth.”
“Always.”
I make sure to hold his eyes. “Do you love me?” I suck in a breath, waiting for his answer, but he doesn’t make me wait long.
“No.” His hazel eyes are sturdy and unwavering. “I don’t love you. I never will.”
His quick and resolute response knocks the air from my lungs. “Okay.” Tears threaten, but I suck them back and refuse to let him see me cry. “I just need to figure out where I can go.” There has to be someone who’ll take me in. Maybe if I begged, Lincoln would let me crash on his couch.
He exhales, and the tension in his shoulders dissolves. “Stay as long as you need.” He pushes away from the wall. “Let me grab a few things, and I’ll go.” He heads toward his bedroom.
“Where will you go?”
He stops and turns his head enough that I see his profile. “Don’t worry about me. The penthouse is yours as long as you need it.” He dips his chin. “All I ask is that you leave nothing behind when you go.”
He wants no memory of me left in his space, and for some irrational reason, that stings. I watch him walk away and then scurry back upstairs to the spare bedroom and close the door behind me so I can cry in privacy.
Am I going crazy? Why would I cry over a man who openly admits he doesn’t love me and never will? Who is begging me to walk out of his life?
Why do I feel so conflicted?
Twenty-Six
Jordan
Two days have passed since I last saw Alexander.
After I cried, I washed my face and went downstairs, only to find he’d left. He took his toiletries, and one of his suitcases in the closet was missing. I wondered if he has another apartment around town or if he’s in a hotel. Maybe he’s crashing with one of his brothers. Where he stays at night shouldn’t concern me, and yet I can’t help but wonder if he’s sleeping easier without me.
On Monday, I reached out to Billy Brady, who seemed excited to hear from me. He asked me to meet him for lunch at his restaurant in Chelsea the following day.
When I come down to get a cab to take me to the interview, I find James waiting for me.
“Ms. Wilder,” he says and opens the back door to the black executive car. “Where to?”
“I had planned to get a cab,” I say and feel the foreign tilt of my lips because I haven’t smiled in days.
“No need.” He motions with an arm for me to climb inside. “I’m happy to take you wherever you need to go.”
I shift from one high heel to another. I’d decided on an Alexander McQueen houndstooth suit, hoping the designer clothes might boost my confidence, but I feel like an imposter. “Does Mr. North know you’re offering to drive me around?”
His smile turns a little sad. “He insisted.”
My eyes heat up, but I force back the tears because I have on a ton of mascara and don’t want to show up to my job interview with Billy Brady looking like a raccoon.
“Thank you, James. Billy Brady’s restaurant in Chelsea on Eighth Avenue.” I climb inside the car, and the scent of Alexander’s cologne slams into me. I roll down the window and barely resist hanging my head outside like a dog to escape the heady smell of cedar and allspice.
I focus on breathing deeply and do a dress rehearsal of a job interview in my head. Are there other applicants? Will they have a better resume?
Experience. Talent. Skill. Those things can outvalue an education.
I focus on Alexander’s words, and even though I know it’s wrong to miss him, I can’t control the empty ache his memory brings.
“We’re here,” James says as he pulls up in front of the restaurant. We agreed to a late lunch when the restaurant would be closed between three and five. Thankfully, there isn’t a crowd of people, and James is able to pull right up to the door.
“I’ll be here waiting when you’re finished,” he says from my open door while I climb out of the car. “Good luck, Ms. Wilder.”
“Thank you.”
The restaurant is mostly empty except for a few staff members dressing tables for the dinner shift.
“Jordan,” Billy says while walking toward me from the kitchen. He’s wearing an all-black chef coat and pants. His bright smile and charming, good looks make him look the part of famous television chef. “It’s great to see you again.” He leans in and kisses me on one cheek and then the other. Very European.