~ Paige ~
I don’t know what Colin’s deal is, but he’s all over the place and I can’t keep up. One day he’s making it a point to sit in with me on my sessions with Eli and Mr. Morrison, the next he can’t be bothered and all I’m doing is taking up his precious time. Just when I thought I was reading way too much into that stirring late-night chat, he comes marching into my training with Eli, hot smoke coming out of his flaring nostrils, and charging like an enraged bull through I.So.Metrics.
Poor Eli. I hope he’s okay.
Adjusting the tote bag on my shoulder, I sidestep an older woman pushing a stroller. At the sight of my sweat-washed tank beneath my partially open sweatshirt, the woman turns up her nose at me, her steps quickening as she briskly breezes by me. There wasn’t a chance to change like I intended, not with Colin barking and growling up a storm. Since he conveniently pointed out Rudy was waiting in the front, supplemented by the politely unsaid go fuck yourself, I decided to sneak out through the staff-only side door and walk back.
The sky is starting to darken. The air is definitely chillier than earlier, the late morning sun shying behind the ominous clouds. I’m thinking that woman had the right idea and try to increase my pace. Though I pretend it’s not there, the vicious, relentless bite of fatigue is rearing its ugly head. It’s always there, threatening to take a chunk out of me, spreading like a disease that can’t be cured. My mind might want to hurry toward shelter before the sky opens, but my waned body has a different idea.
When the drizzle starts and intensifies into a downpour, I’m still a good three blocks from Colin’s penthouse. Quivering from cold and wet, I duck under the small awning of a tailor shop with two other ill-prepared, muttering ramblers. The swish of soaked tires, diminished blare of car horns, and nonstop pattering of rain create an odd cocoon for my senses. One of my refuge companions, a man who looks to be in his seventies, with a bald head and an impressive middle, flashes me a what-ya-gonna-do? look. His physical resemblance to Bob brings me an unexpected smile.
I’m huddling into myself, arms hugging the tote bag against my chest in a vain attempt to preserve what little body heat I’m able to generate, when I notice the woman hovering several feet away dashing strange looks my way. Once. Twice. She’s uncommonly thin. Young, maybe a year or two older than Rome, with long, thick hair tumbling down her back, droplets clinging to the dark strands.
At the third time, her gaze lingers.
Do I know her?
Cautiously, the corners of her mouth tug up, just a hint as if uncertain. That’s when I recognize her.
The support group. She had leukemia.
She had short spikey hair the last time I saw her, which was about three months ago when it was just beginning to grow back from her last brutal round of chemo. That must be a wig she’s wearing. It looks great on her.
I return her smile, letting her know without words I see her. She’s alive, and I see her.
Lupe. That’s her name.
The support groups are anonymous. Though we can delicately skirt around how we know each other, neither one of us do. Our only link is death and shaky survival. Why ruin a day for life?
We’re under the shelter for ten minutes when the deluge gradually slows to dripping trickles. With a parting glance, Lupe boosts her small purse above her head and steps out to join the mist.
A determined breath steals through me, and I flip the hoodie over my head, dipping out in the opposite direction.
I’m down the street from my destination when a familiar dark sedan pulls to a stop, double parking several feet from me with complete disregard for heated traffic. Outraged horns blast through the air. Nonchalant if not downright oblivious, Rudy slithers out from the driver’s door. Casual as he pleases under the light drizzle, he rounds the car and nods at me once before shifting the rear passenger door open. My feet are glued to the wet concrete, not sure if the rain had conjured him up like a rainbow.
Wordless, he stares at me expectantly to the irate and colorful shouts of asshole, motherfucker, and go choke on your dick.
“Get in the car, Paige,” comes a male voice through the gaping door. The same haunting, precious, infuriating voice on the repeat reel in my head.
My pointed gaze is drawn to the tall, stately building he calls home. It’s a two-minute trek. I can see the doorman, for crying out loud. On the flip side, I can’t catch a peek of Colin concealed in his smooth leather throne.
“I can walk.”
“It’s raining.”
“It’s a sprinkle,” I correct and decide to keep moving.
“You rather catch a cold than a ride with me?” he calls after me.
I can’t tell his mood, not when I can’t see him. “It’s just over half a block, Colin. And people don’t get sick from a few dribbles.” Never mind the fat drops are multiplying by the second. “That’s a myth.”
The abrupt thump of metal on metal.
Guess he doesn’t want all that gorgeous interior leather ruined.
Determined footsteps squish behind me. I’m glancing over when a large umbrella abruptly cuts off the fall of harsh weather.
Rain amplifies his clean male scent, steel wrapped in raw earth, until it’s all but lethal. It’s everywhere, the very air itself, enclosing me in the nylon cocoon he erected around us. Beads cling to his dark hair, his glossy skin. His lips.
“Some myths are worth heeding.”
I watch each syllable form, the precise, mesmerizing curl of his mouth, as though I’m hearing with my eyes rather than my ears. Warm, humid exhales fog all logic. The canopy is roomy enough for two, rain bouncing off the taut surface. Busy drops seep down the edges, a ring of gentle waterfall, the thumping of drops rapid heartbeats around us.
“Thanks for the umbrella.”
There’s a second where I wonder if he heard me, if he was listening. How could he have, when he was so focused on my face, seemingly engrossed in the pull of my expression?
The same way I was enraptured by his soft lips.
A ghost of a smile appears. “I come with it.”
“And Rudy?”
“He’s attached to the car. Rain will mess with his do.” With a hand anchoring our shield, the elbow is offered to me. “Come on. And before you lecture me about sexism, I need you to hold me and not onto me. I might slip and break my neck.”
Fighting back a smirk, I end up looping my arm above the presented elbow. Heat emits to my skin through layers of fine fabric as our steps simply synchronize without effort. “It’s a short distance. Why didn’t you stay in the car?”
The shrug has his arm grazing the side of my breast.
If we weren’t enfolded in our own world, I might have missed his sharp intake of breath.
“Because it’s a short distance.” His answer borne by my question.
“Hm.” He was comfortable in the car. I wasn’t, but that’s not really what’s foremost on my mind. “Why were you at I.So.Metrics?”
The arm stiffens against me. “I would pose that question to you.”
“To work out,” I return immediately. “That was on my schedule.”
“I.So.Metrics was never on it.”
I slant a baffled look at him. “What difference does it make where it happens as long as it does?”
“Eli wasn’t in the position to determine that. I was.”
“So this is a control thing?”
“Not at all. It’s a principle thing.”
“Eli was my trainer. I believe that puts him in the position to determine that.”
“Aren’t you quick to defend him.” It wasn’t a question. His voice hardens perceptibly, anger steaming the weather. “You’re not his type, you know. He’s gay.”
“What?” Disbelieving, I break to a stop to face him, forcing him to do the same while rain rapidly beats down around us. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It was obvious you needed a reminder.”
I’m shaking my head, not sure if I should laugh or throw my hands up in exasperation. “Were you afraid I wanted to run off with your trainer? For the record, Eli told me all about Scott,” I toss out before he could respond. “I wanted to meet him. That was part of it. If you meant to keep me a prisoner, then you should’ve spelled it out.”
With his free hand, he gestures at the opulent building merely yards before us. “You consider this a prison?”
“It doesn’t matter what the prison looks like. It depends on how you treat the people inside it. Hi, Sam.”
The uniformed doorman is under the awning, a friendly, fiftyish grandfather who’s taken to showing me pictures of his new granddaughter on his phone. We’re close enough to be heard but too far for him to pull the heavy glass door for us. He makes a show of not listening to the fast-heating discussion.
At my greeting, he dips his head of neat, thinning hair. “Miss Zine. Mr. Kutter. It’s probably a good idea to get out of this—”
Colin cuts him off. “Sam, would you give us a minute?”
To my amazement, Sam nods politely before heading inside without so much as a questioning brow.
“Unbelievable. You just sent him away like you own the street.”
“I own a lot of things, Paige, including your fate.”
Red hot blood fuses my flesh without warning. I turn, very slowly, to confront the unflinching stare pining me with purpose. “My fate is my own. You might pay me for my time, but I decided that. Those lessons? The trainings? They’re nothing more than what I allow.”
“You’re too smart to believe that.”
“And you’re too smart to not know fate can’t be bought.” It’s a game to him. Nothing more. My future, my livelihood, a rich man’s pastime. The appalling thought has my stance firming with pride. “I can pull the plug on this arrangement anytime.”
He takes a step, backing me against the side of the building. When the umbrella gets in his way, he simply pitches it aside. Rain immediately soaks us, plastering his hair and weighing my hoodie.
“But you won’t, will you? Do you know why I’m so certain of that?” Drops slither down his gorgeous face as he blinks back the wet assault. Dark eyes amplify until they’re the center of my stifling, soggy world. “Because money buys a lot of things. It bought this penthouse you’re leaning on. It bought your time with me. It’s buying your fate. And your brother’s.”
“My fate has been sealed long before you came along.” Shivers rack me, cold and hot all at once. It’s a wonder the wet hasn’t turned into vapor around me. Even now, with him in my face and whatever is up his stuck-up ass, I want to gently wipe the rain off him. “There’s nothing you can do about it. Money can’t buy everything.” No one can do anything about it. Not him. Not me. Not my doctors.
The dripping, saturated face makes his narrowed eyes appear more ominous. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. The things I can do.”
“Not this, Colin. My fate is something even you can’t control.” I wish desperately with all my stolen breaths it wasn’t.
And I’m furious. At fate. At Colin for not knowing, for believing he’s all but invincible. Even wealth can’t wrap life in an untouchable bubble.
I plant a determined palm on his chest, nudging him. He gets the hint and doesn’t try to deter me when I sidestep him to head inside the pampered prison, leaving a trail of the wet outdoors in my wake for poor Sam to clean up.