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I head to the elevator that takes me down to the side entrance and leads to the side street of the studio building. The same path I took this morning when Maxwell and I arrived at such an ungodly hour to appear live at 7:45.
When I reach the ground floor, I head out the double doors, bracing myself for the cold again. Maybe Brandon set this up so he could pick me up after the show instead of Maxwell, though I expressed that I wasn’t ready to see Brandon.
I push through the doors, ready to confront Brandon or Maxwell, when I’m grabbed from behind and dragged behind a foul-smelling dumpster.
“Let go of me!” I scream out.
“Shut up, you stupid bitch.” A hand holding a cloth clamps it over my mouth, and the last thought I have is that the accented voice doesn’t belong to Brandon or Maxwell. Something terribly wrong was happening.
Whoever had ahold of me was determined to smother the fight out of me. Trying to elbow this man in his muscled middle did nothing to loosen his grip.
Then everything went black.
CHAPTER 17
Brandon
I couldn’t leave right away after Violet stepped outside to check on me. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother figure, and the embarrassment of how Ava and I broke up made looking her in the eye too difficult.
Waiting down by the driveway to make sure Ava was okay already felt pathetic, but the fact that her mother felt sorry for me piled onto the pity. I couldn’t make Ava understand my actions if she wouldn’t talk to me.
Asher voiced what I feared the whole time: that she’s too young for me. Too good for me. Ava could find a younger man who didn’t have half of my attachment issues and fight or flight nature.
Hours later, when Bree texted that she was turning down Stonybrook Lane, I finally drove off with my metaphoric tail between my legs. I decided once I returned to the city I’d throw myself into work. Back to what I do best.
Why did I think that I could even entertain something with Ava?
The next two days passed with excruciating gradualness, but I was determined to try putting Ava out of my mind. I only thought about her, oh, every twenty seconds.
The splashy news headlines speculated about media heir Reid’s homicide, citing his father’s many enemies who might finally be out for retribution. Though unlike most of the public, I wasn’t convinced Reid’s death had anything to do with his father’s enemies. The homicide detective quickly ruled out Ava and I as suspects since our alibi was corroborated by hospital CCTV and visitor’s logs.
While I was barking at my poor staff unprovoked, I kept up with what Ava was doing. I even joined those awful apps just so I could see her.
Yeah, I’m becoming very pathetic and taking it out on everyone around me. Tried not to listen to Bree and Kamaya in the kitchen when they mentioned Ava’s upcoming morning show appearance. Both women speak in hushed voices whenever I am near.
Everyone around me is now walking on eggshells and afraid to even mention Ava’s name in my presence.
One of my former protectees emailed, requesting that I accompany her for the next three month of traveling back and forth between New York and London while she’s filming an upcoming season of her new show. The message was veering into flirtation, and I only felt revulsion.
The old me would have jumped at the chance, but now I couldn’t imagine being an ocean away from Ava. Especially with the stalker still at large.
Leaning back at my desk, I broke out of my reverie when a notification sounds, and I see that Ava has arrived back home. The alarm in her apartment is set toarmed home - stay.
Before I think about my actions, I start reaching for my coat. Maybe Ava would be willing to speak to me. Over a week was enough time for someone to cool off, right?
I couldn’t take more of this.
My phone rings, and I’m stupidly hopeful its Ava. Instead,JAMESflashes on the screen. I’m angry enough to slam my phone through my window, but the bulletproof glass would only break my flimsy iPhone.
James was the last person I wanted to speak to.
The thought of that man took the wind out my sails. Maybe Jonathan would have some wise advice for me after I’ve made an utter fuck-up of myself. Before I can talk myself out of it, I let Kamaya and Westin know I’m heading out and make my way uptown to the university.
When I reach the School of Classics information office, the bored desk attendant barely looks up from her phone and gives me a disinterested look before flipping her mobile face down.
“Could you tell me where Professor Eastwood is lecturing?”
The attendant’s brows furrow. “I don’t recall a Professor Eastwood.”
