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Did he want to kiss me?
A shudder ripped through me, and I swallowed hard, my palms growing damp.
With a slow, shaky exhale, Drake untangled our fingers and physically moved me to sit on the floor beside him. “I left my cell in my room. Do you have yours on you?”
“N-No,” I answered, butterflies having a party in my stomach.
He grimaced. “Should have figured. It would have been blowing up with Jacqueline’s calls by now if you did.”
I huffed a snort of shaky laughter, forcing myself to relax against the back wall. While cool, the metal was solid. Safe. I breathed a little easier, pulling my knees up a bit so Drake wouldn’t see how he affected me. “What d-do you think happened?”
Drake lifted his head, peering into every corner of the jail cell pressing in against us. “No fucking clue, but the entire panel is lit up, and I smashed the call button while trying to calm your anxiety attack. Nobody answered. But don’t worry,” he continued before panic could come knocking again, “this is The Bloomberg. I’m sure they’ll have us out of here with a refund for your mom and a bottle of their finest wine in our hands in a matter of minutes.”
“Jacqueline,” I corrected him. “I don’t refer to her as my mom anymore.”
“Glad to hear it.” He sniffed. “The woman doesn’t deserve that title.”
The sight of his profile—strong brow and nose, square jawline covered in the neatly trimmed beard he’d had the last time I’d seen him—grounded me regardless of where we hung suspended by cables. While I’d somewhat gotten over my fear of confined spaces, being trapped as we were poked at my weak tether on sanity.
If I could keep my attention on Drake, I wouldn’t lose my shit again.
He glanced my way, his intense stare erupting even more butterflies in my belly, making bodily functions necessary for existence difficult.
I shifted my focus to the blue carpeted floor between my knees, unable to even think beneath his perusal.
“What room are you in?”
“1322,” I whispered, thankful for something, anything, else to focus on. “You?”
“1654.”
I nodded, expecting he would continue to ask me questions to occupy my mind as he’d often did on our daily descent to the limo for those long rides to school.
“Any idea why Jacqueline asked me to come to New York?”
Shaking my head, I considered his question. Did he still not know I lived in Boston, a mere couple of blocks from the condo he’d bought?
“Us,” I said, hating the reminder he held no interest in my life like I did with him.
“Huh?”
“Jacqueline called us down here.” At least my nerves settled enough I no longer stuttered.
“Wait—you don’t have a place here in Manhattan?”
I shook my head again.
“I thought you’d move back after getting your degree at Harvard.”
“Are you kidding me? And live close to Jacqueline Napoleon Casswell?” I huffed another laugh, this one sarcastic. “Don’t you know me at all?”
Our gazes once more clashed, Drake giving me that damned inquisitive look that rushed blood to my groin.
I held my breath, wanting to squirm. How I managed to hold his gaze for all of two seconds before looking away, I didn’t have a clue.
“The Preston I remember wasn’t brave enough to stand up for himself,” Drake finally answered as I fought the need to pick at a fingernail. “I’m guessing that’s changed?”
“Not exactly,” I muttered. “I managed to leave, but she still manipulates from afar.” I tipped my head back against the elevator’s wall, closing my eyes to keep from having to make eye contact with him. In my mind, I could imagine we sat at a picnic table somewhere or a bench in Central Park where dappled sunlight reached us through overhead branches and leaves.
