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The place I go when there is nowhere else I feel safe or understood.
I’m not ready to surrender that part of me.
Not even to Nick.
“Thank you for offering this to me,” I murmur. “I love that you want to help. But you’ve already given me too much. More than I can ever hope to repay.”
“Have I ever said anything about repaying me?” His voice takes on an edge as he looks at me now. “I want you to have it. You said yourself, you need somewhere to paint.”
“I have somewhere, Nick.” I pick up the silk cord and lift it over my head. “I hope you understand. When it comes to my art, I want to do it—I need to do it—on my own.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t open his hand to take the key when I hold it out to him. I set it down on the table between us, next to his phone. Then I fold my hands in my lap and wait for him to say something. It takes a long time.
Finally, he blows out a heavy sigh. “If you’re going to be making the trip to East Harlem on a regular basis, then do me the favor of allowing Patrick to take you and pick you up. I’d rather not spend most of the day wondering if you’re safe or if you’ve lost your damn phone somewhere and can’t reach me.”
“Okay.”
I nod, guessing this is about as decent a compromise as I can hope to win from him. He’s brooding, not happy with my rejection of his gift, but at least he’s talking to me.
When he caresses my cheek, his fingers are tender and affectionate against my face. “Your ride starts today. I’ll go with you, then Patrick can take me to my office.”
“All right.”
As he leans in to kiss me, his phone chimes again. He glances down at it, frowning. Andrew Beckham’s picture is on the display. Nick gives me a rueful look, then reaches over to swipes the screen lock.
“Yeah, Beck.”
“Sorry to call you at home.” The attorney’s baritone voice carries through the speaker. “You got a second? It’s about that condo project over in Brooklyn.”
Nick exhales, already stepping away from me. “I have to take this.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got all of this.”
I stand up and start clearing the dishes while he walks into the living room with his phone. I load the plates and silverware into the dishwasher, then wipe down the counter and table.
The key on its silken cord feels heavy and cold in my palm as I place it on the bar.
When I glance over at Nick, he’s watching me. He moves the phone awa
y from his mouth. “I need to head in now. How soon can you be ready?”
“Give me five minutes.”
He nods, retrieving his suit jacket from where it’s folded neatly over the back of the sofa. “I’ll meet you downstairs. Patrick will have the car waiting out front.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Just the usual schedule delays and contract bullshit. Nothing big, just things I need to take a look at personally.”
“All right. I’ll be right down.”
He goes back to his call, heading out the door as he speaks, and I walk into the bedroom to get dressed. A few minutes later, wearing jeans and a layered camisole and gauzy tunic, I step off the elevator and into the lobby.
Nick isn’t on the phone anymore. He’s standing just outside the building entrance, talking with a beautiful strawberry-blonde. Although the tall, elegant woman has her back to me and I don’t know her well, I would recognize her anywhere.
But I didn’t realize that Nick knew her too.
They both turn my way as Manny opens the door for me and I step out of the building.
