“Yeah, but I ended up going to New York instead. The brochure was filled with trees, and everything somehow still reminded me of Madison. Nothing in New York reminded me of her. That was the one place I knew she would’ve never wanted to visit. Why do you ask?”
“Benedict Pierce is the reason you got that letter and that full ride. He donated three million at the start of the year, around the same time you were admitted. Why else would he do that? It was tough, but I traced things back, and my gut tells me it has something to do with what happened to Madison that summer.”
I fall back against his couch, trying to process this. I’ve never had a conversation with Baz’s father. I’d see him around town a few times, but he was richer than sin, and back in Ferndale, he was royalty. Royalty didn’t walk on the street amongst the everyday peasants. They sat in their towers and looked down on the poor and lowly class. So, no. Benedict had no reason to go out of his way to donate three million dollars to a college his son wasn’t going to attend. He had absolutely no reason to secure me a full-ride scholarship to a college, all the hell the way out in Nebraska.
“I just don’t understand. Why would he do that?”
“Did you ever consider maybe Baz wanted you far away from Ferndale and his friends in case you caused any more trouble?”
No, I haven’t, but now I am.
Was Baz telling the truth when we last spoke? Or was it all more lies?
I intend to find out. Consequences be damned.
“You okay?” Jack asks, having already moved away from his laptop, now taking the spot next to me on the couch. “You sort of look like you’re going to pass out.”
I cough, shaking my head clear of the new theories that are now flooding my brain. “I’m fine. Just hungry. Should we get food?”
He seems taken aback by the request. “Right now?”
“Yup.” I grab my purse and start walking toward the door, waiting for him to follow. We take the subway to one of my favorite delis. Jack is quiet, letting me process. I think he senses I need it. Once we’re seated, I dig my cell out of my purse and toy with it. Tossing it from hand to hand, I finally bite the bullet and tap out a message to Baz. I guess he was right. We aren’t done after all.
I’m pleasantly surprised when I get a text from Mackenzie asking to meet. Satisfaction rolls through me in waves. I can weather whatever it is she throws at me. I just need to see her again—to have her close. Without giving it a moment’s thought, I have Dan set up a flight. I want to be in New York as soon as possible.
She’s not going to like having me in her space, but tough fucking luck. I’ve done enough waiting—all the waiting my patience can handle, in fact. She’ll have to deal with it. Los Angeles is my turf, New York is probably hers, and Ferndale is our middle ground. But I know Ferndale holds the worst memories for her, and that would never be a possibility for us. I’m not ready to go back there so soon after just taking a trip to see her parents.
“Since you’ll be in New York soon, I thought you’d want to see this,” Dan mentions, after confirming my flight details, showing me something that has my blood boiling. I tense up when I open his email with the photographs attached. I asked Dan to have someone keep an eye on Mackenzie while she’s in New York. At first, I told myself it was because, since she was under my care now, I needed to know she was okay at all times. But it wasn’t just that. And Dan certainly knew that.
The first image is one of Mackenzie standing on the sidewalk on her phone, staring off at something in the distance. The next photo is her standing next to a man wearing a hoodie and a ball cap. Most of his face is shielded from the camera view, but not all of him. They disappear into a building that’s behind him, and I narrow my eyes. The email lists details and times. How long she stayed. What times this man normally comes and goes. I click onto the next photograph and grit my teeth so hard my jaw starts to ache.
Mackenzie is sitting with the same man inside of a restaurant, a sandwich in one hand while she’s mid-laughter. The man across from her is laughing with her, and they both look absolutely smitten, and fuck, if that doesn’t make me angry. Jealousy surges through my body, prompting me to open and close my fists as I work through my anger, trying not to lodge my fist into the first thing I see. My temper only grows when I see the date stamp for those photos.
Today.
The same day she requested we meet.
Seems my Dirty Girl is up to something again, and I’m going to figure it out. I plan to stay two steps ahead of her at all times. I’m not making the same mistakes I did last time. I let her in, and she lied. She isn’t going to have the chance to do it again.
I’m running the show now.
With my back resting against a winged back leather chair, I cross my ankle over my knee and get comfortable. It doesn’t take long for them to get home. But I already knew that. I was banking on the element of surprise, actually.
I hear the key in the lock, and before I know it, the lights are flipped on, and the figure steps in, shutting the door. By the time he glances up, it’s too late. His eyes widen, and alarm lights his features. He darts his gaze around his studio, panic clearly written all over his face.
“Nice place.” I set my arms on the armrest of his chair, making him uncomfortable. He’s afraid. I can see it in his eyes. It’s obvious he knows who I am, which means he knows exactly why I’m here.
“How’d you get in here?” he asks, trying to keep the tremor from his voice, but I detect it anyway.
“I have my ways. Though I give you credit. I wasn’t able to look through anything you have here. Which I assume is filled with details of my life? For Mackenzie?” I wave my hand around us, toward the computers and wires dangling from every corner. There isn’t a shortage of technology here. Jack Lane has all his bases covered.
His face pales at my question. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I push up from his chair, and he jerks away from me, dropping the bag that’s in his hand. He tries to run, reaching for the front door, but I cross the room. Gripping him by the back of his neck, I slam him against the wall.
“What are you doing for her?” I ask, squeezing.
“Nothing. I swear,” he chokes.
I smirk down at him, and he cowers in fear. “Try again, Mr. Lane.”
“She’s my friend. That’s it. We just hang out when she needs someone to talk to.”
My lips press together. I don’t like that answer. It’s almost worse than her hiring him to help her. If they’re friends, there’s a chance he wants to fuck her, and that’s just not going to happen.
“Is that so?” I ask, my voice eerily calm. His throat works a swallow beneath the pressure of my hand. It would be so easy to crush his windpipe. But I obviously can’t do that. Mackenzie would never forgive me.
“Y-yeah,” he chokes. A flash of rebellion enters his eyes. “And don’t you even think about hurting her.”
My brows jump into my hairline. “The savior complex, is that what this is, Jack? Because it doesn’t suit you. Stick to hacking. That’s what you’re good at. And just a quick piece of advice.” I lean in, leveling our gazes, and I squeeze a little harder to drive my point home. “She’s mine in every way that counts. If you’re hoping you can save her, you can’t. I don’t like it when people try to take things that belong to me, Jack. Stay away from her.”