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The door closed behind her.
My world went dark.
CHAPTER43
Alexa
I was a total idiot.And I couldn’t blame the alcohol. Sure I’d had champagne at the event and Evan’s good scotch at the penthouse, but I could still walk—almost straight.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened onto the ground floor for the last time. I wiped under my eyes. I had no idea what I was going to do next. I just knew I couldn’t stay here with Evan. I rolled my suitcase behind me.
“Good evening, Ms. Borelli.” Becka greeted me with ten times more cheer in her voice than I felt—make that a hundred times. “How can I help you?”
“It’s Alexa, and I need to go.”
“Certainly Ms. Alexa. Which airport?” She spoke into a small radio. “Troy, Please have Albert wait. Ms. Alexa will be right out. She needs a ride to the airport.”
I hadn’t considered how I’d look in this dress, lugging a backpack and towing a suitcase. Riding the train to Brooklyn in this outfit would be…interesting.
I made a snap decision. I’d trust Albert, get drunk enough to dull the hurt, and then make a plan. But first, this dress would attract all the wrong attention where I intended to go. “Becka, could I please change in your office first?”
“Certainly,” she answered, as if crazy ladies always made requests like this.
A few minutes later, I left the building in jeans and a T-shirt. Ignoring the two photographers snapping pictures, I wheeled my suitcase to Albert, who lifted it into the trunk. Of course the camera lizards would be shadowing me after the drama at the gala.
“Why the suitcase? Did he give you a ticket to Hawaii?” the first one asked. “Is it over?”
God, these guys could be assholes.
“How do you feel knowing you broke a man’s foot?” came from the second one.
I ignored them, as Evan had taught me.
After we were both in the car, Albert turned around. “Where are we going, Miss Alexa?”
“Away… Home.”
* * *
I satin the far back booth of the Dark Tree Tavern only one block from my apartment. “So, what do you think?” I asked my drinking partner. “Have I had enough yet?” I couldn’t see him very clearly. The lack of response was probably a yes, but I poured another short glass anyway.
Mr. Eighty Proof didn’t answer. He never did.
“Big lot of help you are,” I told the bottle.
I’d decided my old apartment was too depressing to face sober. I’d chosen this bar because they were willing to serve whole bottles of tequila, my memory eraser of choice tonight.
After knocking the glass back, I screwed the cap on the bottle, left a tip, and shuffled outside.
Albert was waiting and opened the door for me.
“Thank you much,” I said.
“Where to now?”
I pointed. “My apartment.” I put my partial bottle of tequila in my backpack with the two extras I’d sent Albert out to buy for me. I wanted supplies in case the camera lizards decided to camp out at my building after my Martin encounter, which they had already named Heelgate. I hated that I’d trained myself to pull up their stupid blogs on my phone, even here.
After the short drive, Albert hefted both my suitcase and backpack up the stairs.
