“I am,” Asher replies. “But he has so many assholes working for him, I can’t follow them all real-time. He called a doctor. We know who he is. We don’t have a record of him calling him back after he talked to Candace.”
Rick releases me. “Text the asshole.”
I send the text: I’ll be home at three. When is the doctor arriving? “Done,” I say, setting my phone down.
Asher slides his MacBook aside. “The best way for Candace to stay away from this doctor is to tell him you took a pregnancy test and it’s positive. I can make the test look positive.”
“Are you doing drugs?” Savage snaps. “If Pocher believes that Candace dying is going to get Gabriel a sympathy vote, what will his pregnant fiancée do for the campaign? No.”
I can feel the blood run from my face with a flashback to a night about three months ago. Gabriel and I were at dinner, a fine Italian place, and tortured by the idea that he might hurt my father, I’d been playing the fiancé game. We’d been sipping wine, waiting for our salads, when he’s stunned me by saying, “I think we should get pregnant.”
“We just got engaged.”
“We could push up the wedding six months, and if you get pregnant now, you won’t look pregnant.”
I swallow hard. “No. I’m not going to get pregnant before I get married.”
“Then let’s elope.”
Anger comes hard and fast, and I forget to play nice. “No. And why do I feel like this is something to do with your campaign, not me and us?”
“We have a greater purpose than us now.”
I snap back to the room as Asher says, “The idea here is to get her through the next couple of days.”
“No,” I say. “That test might not only make me a target but give him a reason to find me when I leave.” My cellphone buzzes with a text where it sits next to me on the table. “It’s Gabriel,” I say, reading the message. “The doctor’s showing up around four.” I reply with: Not necessary but I’ll let you know how it goes. “It’s two,” I say. “I need to get moving.” I stand up. “I don’t want to wait for the pizza. I need to just get this over with.”
“Your car is downstairs, keys under the seat,” Smith replies.
I don’t ask how they made that happen. I don’t care. I just want out of here right now. I head to the bedroom to grab my purse and briefcase. I want to sketch. I want to work. I need the outlet and if I get the chance today, I will.
I’ve just finished getting everything together when Rick appears in the doorway. He consumes the room that easily. He’s big and broad and beautiful. His goatee and scar down his face, every bit the mercenary. And I want to be done with all of this and just be with him. I close the space between us and wrap my arms around all that hard muscle.
He hugs me tight and just holds me for a moment before he tilts my head back and stares down at me. “He wanted you to get pregnant.” It’s not a question.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does, baby. It really fucking does, and we’re going to talk about all the reasons why when we get home to New York.”
“Home,” I say. “I like the sound of that.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Candace
I don’t know how my car got to the hotel and I don’t ask. I just want to go to my house, be done with the stylist and the doctor’s appointment and well, just be done. Rick opens my door and grabs the keys from under the seat, handing them off to me. “Go to the grocery store. Buy a few things to look like that’s where you were. And I’ll get Chick-fil-A if you’ll grab ice cream.”
I smile. “Ice cream?”
“Häagen-Dazs, baby. My Butter Pecan and your Rum Raisin. We’ll eat it after all the assholes leave.”
“Are we staying there tonight?”
“Yes. Now that Wes is gone, we’ll stay there one last night. That gives you time to pack anything you really want to take with you. We’ll get the rest shipped.”
“Because I’m moving to New York with you.”
He catches my waist and pulls me to him. “Second thoughts?”
My fingers curl on his chest and God it feels good to just have this man here with me again. “None. I just wish we were in New York already. I need away from here. I need a fresh start. And I want my father to retire and walk away.”
“A little more than twenty-four hours from now we’ll be on a plane,” he says, leaving the topic of my father alone and I wonder how much he really deep down blames my father for all of this. “It’s two-fifteen,” he says, glancing at his watch. “Head out now. I’ll be inside when you get there.”
“Isn’t my house being watched? How are you going to get in and not be seen?”
“I have the Midas touch baby.” He wiggles a brow. “This is what I do.”
I can’t argue with that answer. “Won’t they know my car left early?”
“I called Adrian after you left the dining room. He made it look like you arrived in an Uber and then left again. He also made sure your car wasn’t followed to the hotel. He will also have men following you to the store and your house.”
“Who?”
He motions to a white pickup truck. “That’s one of the men working under Adrian.”
Again, I don’t ask many questions. “How very Texan of him to drive a pickup.”
“Gotta blend in, baby.”
“Still doubt Adrian?”
“Hell yes. You don’t win me over with Skittles. It takes Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. So far he’s given me Skittles.”
“I’ll get some peanut butter cups at the store. Obviously, they’re on your mind.”
He grins and kisses me. “You know me so well.” He turns me to the car and leans in close. “I love you, Candace. You’re not alone. And you won’t be. Ever again. You and me, and ice cream in front of the TV, for the rest of our lives.”
My heart squeezes with a reference to our past, and I climb into the car. Rick shuts me inside and I start the engine. Memories of his nights off at the hospital spent watching a movie while eating pints of ice cream are surreal. We’re so close to those little shared moments again, to sharing a life together again. And yet, the years that separate us feel like nothing compared to the next twenty-four hours.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Candace
The best way to get through the next twenty-four hours is planning because planning means control. And I can’t dive back into planning until I get this afternoon of Gabriel’s design behind me. That starts at the grocery store, and while logically I know no one is following me—Rick’s team made sure of that—I’m not so sure. Once I’m in the grocery store, this sense of being watched has me glancing around nervously, and grabbing way too many cans of chicken noodle soup, crackers, and soda. And ice cream. I can’t forget the ice cream and why would I? Everyone knows sick people need ice cream. I buy Rick and me each two pints. I can’t eat two pints but considering this day, I might try. Maybe that’s the way to play sick. Eat ice cream, lots and lots of ice cream.