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So, I'm running.
Or even better, flying.
I get the okay over the radio that I'm free for take-off and minutes later, I'm in the air.
But she's still all around me.
Chapter 20
Clarissa
Thehouse,theclub,the whole damn city feels empty without him here. But the anger I feel at him rages and swells so high it might just flood the earth.
What is his deal?
One moment he's telling me that he likes me and wants to find out what thisthingbetween us is, and the next he acts like he can't stand the sight of me.
Like he couldn't wait to get rid of me.
Like... he was hiding something.
Oh, my god.
Clarissa, you stupid fool.
He had someone in there with him. Why else would it take him so long to answer the door, and then when he did, he was panting, in a robe, barely opening the door and trying to get rid of me as quickly as possible.
My stomach ties itself into a knot a sailor would be proud of, and I let out strings of curses that would cause sailors to blush and call their mommy.
"Ms. Masters," Henry, James's bar assistant, appears in the door way.
"Guys! Would you call me'Clarissa', please? How many times do I have to ask you?"
My two employees eye each other before nodding and I feel instantly remorseful. It's not their fault that I just figured out that my fake fiancé had a woman in his bedroom last night and now he's fucked off to God knows where, probably taking her somewhere where I can't interrupt their fucking.
"Sorry, guys. I'm just not feeling great." Which isn't a lie. My temple still pounds throughout the day. The bruise is covered by carefully applied makeup and, well, the anxiety just keeps coming. If there's anything good about Matthias being away is that I won't have to worry about hiding that from him.
On the other hand, it has been better in the last few days.
Ironic.
"Clarissa," James says, with a gentle smile. "There's a guy here to see you. Um, he... is on the sidewalk on a bike... and a piano. And no, I'm not kidding."
That actually makes me laugh because James grew up in Harlem and only just moved out of a shoebox in a five-floor walkup with his girlfriend.
James had just won the Up-and-Comer title in the Neat bartender awards when I read about him in a magazine. He mentioned being between jobs while he looked for something that could provide constant inspiration.
When I showed up on his doorstep six months ago with nothing but an idea and no money, he talked to me for five minutes before agreeing to embark on this crazy journey with me.
He's seen things and nothing shocks him. Except a guy pulling a piano on a bike.
"Oh, great! I've been waiting to see him." I pick up the phone to text Matthias and ask if he wants to come and watch the audition with me. But then I remember.
James lingers in the doorway, waiting for me. "Matthias said he's bringing back a bottle of Macallan M for me from his trip."
I eye him. Did he just read my mind? "You... talked to him?"
He nods, unaware of the turmoil churning inside me. "He texted. He sent me a bunch of pictures from his flight as well. Crazy."
