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The confused look is back, and I lean close, getting my face all up in hers. I need to really lay it out for her, huh? Figures.
“I don’t fuck women who belong to someone else.”
Ani’s face twists and her head snaps back, away from mine. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I jab my finger down at her iPad. “Is that what you’re going to tell your boyfriend when you go back home to Chicago?”
Ani’s eyes drop back to her iPad and understanding finally dawns over her face. She wrinkles her nose and looks back up at me.
“I think you’ve made an assumption,” she starts, in a conciliatory tone. Fuck that shit. She’s not bluffing her way out of this.
“And I think you need to leave my fucking home,” I return, my voice ice cold. “Take your picture and get the fuck out.”
Ani blinks, and actual tears spill over her cheeks. A muscle tics in my jaw, but I’m not fucking caving. She turns, grabbing her small purse. Looping it over her head, she clutches her iPad to her chest and leaves, quietly shutting the front door behind her.
There’s nothing but empty silence when she’s gone, and I blow out a breath. I’ve got no problem with confrontation, so I have no idea why my chest suddenly feels tight. Turning back to the shit show that is my cooking attempt, I turn off the stove. I snatch up the frying pan and dump the whole thing in the trash. Fuck it. I’ll drink my dinner tonight.
Chapter Eighteen
Anica
Dashing away the tears so the doorman doesn’t know something is wrong, I stop on the street, my fingers closing around my phone. I can’t call Antonio. He’s on David’s side. Luckily, before I panic, a cab turns into the street. I stick my hand up, and it pulls up at the curb.
Shivering slightly, since I didn’t grab a coat and my blouse is sleeveless, I rub my arms to keep them warm. I open the door when the cab stops, and dive into the backseat. There’s only one other person I know in New York.
“Fifth Avenue. I’ll know the building.”
The cabbie looks skeptical, but his eyes find David’s building and he nods, pulling into traffic. He glances in the mirror at me every so often as I silently cry but doesn’t speak. I’m probably not the first crying woman in the back of his cab, and I won’t be the last.
“Fifth Avenue.” His brash voice cuts through my misery, and I glance up in surprise. My eyes dart along the street. Eventually I spot it.
“The white one.” I point with a shaky finger, and he duly pulls into the drive. The doorman opens the door for me, his eyes fixing on my red eyes.
“Ma’am,” he starts, but I walk past him, hugging my iPad to my chest. I remember Max Westerhaven’s floor number, and find myself pounding on his door. Please let him be home.
Finally, after what feels like an age, the door opens and he stares at me, trying to place me.
“Uh, An..i…ca?” he guesses. Right, because we’ve only met once.
“Uh yeah.” I quickly swipe the back of my hand over my face and Max’s eyes take in my tears.
“Is everything okay?” He steps back, ushering me inside. I nod but ruin it by sniffling and Max’s hands flutter ineffectually around me as he herds me into his lounge area and sits me down on the plush white couch.
“What’s going on? Is everything okay at David’s?”
There’s a note of concern in his tone. Oh. He probably thinks something bad happened to David.
“Um, yeah,” I mumble back, staring at the blank TV. “David and I… um, we….”
My eyes dart over at him and understanding dawns on Max’s handsome face. He frowns slightly and his eyes rove over my face and body again. Yeah, okay. I get it. David screws supermodels, not people like me. Whatever. Blowing out a breath I drop my iPad into my lap and press the home button. The photo of me and Andrew, which caused this whole mess, lights up and Max’s eyes drop to it.
“David made an incorrect assumption when he saw this, and he kicked me out. I’m sorry I came here, but I don’t know anyone else in New York.”
“Shit,” Max mumbles under his breath. He clears his throat. “You can stay here. I’ll get you a towel and something to sleep in. Come on, I’ll show you to the spare bedroom.”
We stand and he pulls out his phone. “I’ll let David know you’re here.”
If I wanted him to know that I would have gotten Antonio to drop me off. My hand shoots out and grabs his wrist.
