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Concern has my hand clenching on his glass. “I’m telling you, it’s a bad idea.”
A beat. “I know. I’m done with it. I need to figure this out and get back to my life.”
“You couldn’t call Harrison?”
Before the words are out, I know the answer.
I can only imagine what Harrison would say. Given how their parents died, he’d be pissed if he found out what Ash had gotten into. This was the man who tossed my pills before finding out what they were, who insists on running a clean club in the capital of party drugs.
“He’s not perfect, Sebastian.”
“But he’s strong,” he bites out, frowning. “When our parents died. When his fucking building burned, he walked out. Harrison deals with his shit, and even when he does it badly, he does it.”
I don’t know what to say to that. “All right. Lucky for you, I planned a week’s vacation after Red Rock. I’ll stick around a few days.”
Relief has him sagging. “Thank you.”
“But after that, I have business to take care of.”
“Stateside?”
I scan the room. “Ibiza.”
I need to visit a man I never thought I’d see again. Not one I used to love, but one I used to fear.
Ash’s eyebrows lift. He’s dying to pry more information from me, but before he can, photographers snap pictures, and we smile and pose.
“This your new girlfriend, Sebastian?” one of them asks eagerly.
The man we spoke to is across the room. His girlfriend’s turned to talk to someone else.
Ash leans in to wrap an arm around my waist. “Isn’t she lovely?”
I kick him in the calf, and he only bends closer to whisper in my ear, “You’ve got this down.”
It probably looks as if he’s murmuring promises in my ear, or a filthy joke.
“Not much to figure out,” he adds. “Turn the right angle. Smile the right smile. Pretend you’re not secretly hoping they’ll drop their camera in the street, where it’s run over by a double-decker bus.”
I’ve gotten used to the media this past year as I climbed a ladder of my own, making it back up to the status I held before the confrontation with Harrison last spring, then I shot right on past it. Wild Fest was only the capstone of an incredible year by any standard. Somehow, my bank account is full enough the bank is sending my own money manager to my rental in LA.
I could buy a condo in any of the cities I frequent, but I haven’t yet. Because I’m still adjusting to the new normal—and maybe a little because nowhere I go feels like home.
Flashbulbs go off, and I try to shift away, but Ash slides a hand around to my ass. I’m about to remove it when his words make me stiffen.
“He’d be proud of you.”
Tingles start down my spine. As if the man in question is here, even though it’s impossible.
I’ve been avoiding keeping an eye on the tabloids, but I gave in when I hopped on the flight over here. The publications spotted Harrison in New York this week. Regrettably striking in a dark suit and sunglasses. Thankfully alone.
In the image of him crossing at an intersection, phone pressed to his ear, his hair ruffled lightly in the breeze—an inch longer than before, if I had to judge. But the square jaw was the same, the firm lips I’ve felt on every inch of me, the ones that have whispered comfort and torment in my ears.
I might not be in love with him anymore, but that doesn’t mean I want to see some other woman draped all over him like he hung the sun, and the moon, and the sign at Tiffany’s while he was at it.
I look at Ash. “When did you see him last?”
“A few months. While he won’t give me details, I suspect he’s laying the groundwork to bring Mischa down. As you know, insurance concluded the fire at King’s was arson, and there wasn’t enough evidence to prove it wasn’t Harrison.”
