Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I shrugged, finishing my drink, and reaching for the bottle again.
Bastian’s hand shot out, closing over mine on the bottle, keeping it against the bar.
“What are you drinking about?”
“I’m not drinking about anything. It’s a party. Everyone is drinking.”
“Saff…” he started, his voice actually sounding concerned.
I wasn’t accustomed to that—having anyone worry about me, want to know what was going on with me.
I felt the absurd sting of tears in my eyes and blinked them frantically away.
“What?” I snapped, leaning into annoyance. It was easier. Uncomplicated. More comfortable than actually opening up, letting anyone in.
I mean, even if I were capable of doing that—with anyone—I definitely couldn’t talk to Bastian about this.
Because despite trying like hell to stop thinking about it—about him—I couldn’t get Soren out of my mind.
It had been almost two weeks since the little incident in the empty club. And while I shot off one or two-word answers to his occasional text updates, I tried not to engage when he clearly wanted me to. When I wanted to.
Because that want was dangerous.
It could undo the deal.
It could undo Renzo’s respect for me.
It could undo me.
And that was the scariest of all.
Bastian watched me for a moment, his eyes thoughtful.
“Look, I know a thing or two about needing to keep all your shit to yourself,” Bass said. “You can’t exactly be in your feelings in prison. And, after a while of tamping all that shit down, it becomes the default. Even when you are finally free to talk to someone and let all that pent-up shit out, it’s hard.”
“And, what, I’m supposed to open up to you? I hardly know you.”
“Sometimes it’s easier that way. Look,” Bass said, exhaling hard, “I’m not gonna try to make you tell me. This is just me saying I’m here. And reminding you that creating a new problem,” he went on, waving the liquor bottle, “ain’t gonna solve the old one.”
With that, he set the bottle back down and walked off.
I stared at the bottle for a moment before pouring another drink.
I spent the next half an hour trying to get absorbed in the crowd, in their conversations, in something—anything—but the thoughts of Soren that kept invading my mind.
By the time I was moving into the elevator, deciding I was only going to bring the morale of the party down, there was just one thought swirling around in my head.
Soren’s address.
It was a terrible idea.
I didn’t technically even know if the offer was still standing. If he would be home. If he would be alone.
My stomach twisted at that last thought.
Even if, objectively, I had no right to feel jealous if he took another woman to his bed when I’d avoided ending up there myself.
Hell, I didn’t even think I was capable of jealousy when it came to a man. None had ever meant enough to care what they did and with whom.
“Ugh,” I growled, making the woman next to me on the subway inch away, avoiding eye contact.
Great.
I was one of the subway crazies.
That was what Soren did to me.
So why the ever-loving hell was I on my way to Manhattan to see him?
“Men ruin everything,” I told the woman, who glanced over with knowing eyes.
She gave me a nod. “Preach.”
Her posture relaxed. Because, really, who out of us hadn’t been driven half-crazy by a man before?
By the time I caught sight of Soren’s building, I was sure I was going to turn around, go home, and chalk this stupidity up to too much whiskey and the need to take some man—any man, not this one man—to bed.
But as I closed in on the front door, the man outside of it in his doorman uniform gave me a soft smile.
“I believe you must be Miss Amato,” he said, making me stiffen.
“What? How do you know that?”
“Forgive me, miss,” the doorman—Walter, his name tag declared—said. “But Mr. Vale gave me a description of you and told me to let you up if you came by.”
“When did he say that?”
“I suppose, originally, a few weeks ago. But he reminds me daily.”
He did?
“Daily?” I asked, dubious.
“Sometimes he asks if I just saw you, but you didn’t come in. I was starting to feel bad about having nothing to report. Am I going to be telling him you happened past, or…”
There was actual hope in the man’s voice. Like he would be genuinely heartbroken for Soren if I chose not to go up.
What kind of man got that kind of loyalty from the people in the periphery of his life? This wasn’t the first time someone who worked for him seemed to authentically care about him.
It was that way with Teresa, his lawyer, and Gav the contractor. Hell, even the exterminator was friendly with Soren.
“Is he home?” I asked, glancing past Walter into the sleek, modern lobby.