As soon as I slammed the door behind me, I knew it was over, but I didn’t let the hurt set in.
I stalked to the elevator, fueled by my anger.
I was done. I wasn’t going to beg and plead with someone who didn’t give a shit about me or went out of his way to invent reasons to push me away.
He didn’t even care about himself enough to reach out for help.
Well, screw that.
I cared about him. I worried about him.
And I warned him.
I roughly pushed the down button on the elevator and cobbled an immediate plan on my way to the lobby.
He’s left me no choice.
I wasn’t going to be here to check up on him and I couldn’t bear the thought of him exposed, endangered and alone.
I warned him.
The concierge, Lawrence, was at the desk. I wiped my expression clear as best as I could and approached.
“Good evening, Lawrence,” I greeted.
“Good evening, Dr. Miles. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if it would be possible for me to talk with Quinn Sullivan—either via phone or a meeting here. Would you be able to contact him for me?”
“Yes, sir. May I know what this is regarding?”
“Security concerns,” I said flatly.
“Very well, I’ll ring the penthouse.” He lifted the phone handset, then pointed to a seating area. “Please, have a seat while you wait.”
I situated myself on a sleek settee facing the desk and watched as Lawrence spoke into the phone. I wondered if the man would meet me. From what Steven had told me, his boss was big, mean-looking, and under a lot of stress from his wife’s complicated pregnancy. They’d welcomed their son two weeks ago, but that didn’t mean this guy’s mood was going to be any more receptive to me. Also, the confrontation he’d had earlier in the evening with the police and Kat’s cousin sounded like a difficult situation. I’m sure the last thing he wanted was for me to interrupt his evening to alert him to Steven’s problem.
The thing was, I really didn’t give a shit.
He could come down here and glare at me all he wanted to as long as he listened to me. As long as he gave me assurances that his company could and would do the work they specialized in. As long as he protected Steven, I didn’t care if he had his guys throw my ass out into the gutter of Randolph.
I just hoped he’d listen.
I was agitated, too amped up on adrenaline and anger to sit still. As soon as Lawrence hung up the phone, I stood and walked back to the desk.
“What did he say?” I demanded.
Lawrence furrowed his brow at my snappishness and replied, “He’ll be down in a few moments.”
I watched the elevator intently. A few moments later, the doors opened to reveal a tall—and surprisingly young—man, exiting with purpose. I don’t know why I was surprised by his age. I knew he was a new father, but something about Steven’s references had my imagination painting him as a paunchy, curmudgeonly father-figure with a young, hot wife. Not this towering, icy-gazed, relatively youthful man. If he were as old as forty, I’d be shocked. It also didn’t escape my notice that he was strikingly handsome, which irked me for some reason. His handsomeness was combined with a hint of thuggishness—his body fit and large, his expression fixed to mask any look other than cool disdain.
He wasn’t the only one with a mask, I thought, and fixed my own expression.
As he approached, he gestured to the settee I’d vacated. “Have a seat, Dr. Miles.”
As soon as I sat, I said, “Thank you for meeting with me. Steven needs your help, but he won’t ask for it.”
He raised a brow at me but didn’t reply. He sat down on the chair opposite from the settee and leaned forward. His black T-shirt fit tight across his shoulders and his eyes were piercing. The severity of his appearance was tempered somewhat by the evidence of baby vomit on his shoulder. I doubted he even knew it was there.
If I hadn’t been heartsick and angry, I might have smiled.
“He’s being stalked by a man who tried to assault him on a date,” I continued. “He doesn’t think anything can be done about it, but the guy is making contact more frequently—sending cards in the mail. Maybe more, I don’t know.”
His expression didn’t alter, but he sat up straighter in the chair.
“He talked to your information guy and found out who the man was, but that’s all. Nothing further was done to stop him. I want you,” I continued, “to make sure nothing happens to Steven. Give him help, even if he’s kicking and screaming the whole time.”
He was quiet a moment before he asked, “What about you?”
“I won’t be around. I don’t matter.” I meant that to mean I was no longer involved in this situation, but another meaning, the one that meant I didn’t matter to Steven anymore, struck me suddenly and my breath hitched.
I didn’t think I could continue this conversation running on adrenaline. The adrenaline was rapidly being replaced with sadness.
I had to get out of there.
I stood up and held out my hand for a shake. Sullivan stood and met my hand firmly.
“Take care of him, Mr. Sullivan.” Without waiting for a reply, I turned on my heel and left.