Today I am packing up my stuff to move.
The truth is, I still don’t feel great about moving in with Brock, but if Xavier Marin is living in that apartment building, then I will not be. And I have to admit, it won’t be torture staying in Brock’s two-bedroom Upper West Side apartment. It isn’t exactly a penthouse, but it’s gorgeous. It even has a porch that doesn’t double as a fire escape. Also, when it gets hot during the summer, he has air-conditioning. Air-conditioning! It’s the height of luxury.
Brock drives me to the Bronx in his Audi. It doesn’t have a ton of trunk space, but fortunately, I don’t have a ton of stuff. One of the bonuses of this apartment was that it came partially furnished, so most of the stuff in it isn’t mine. Whatever doesn’t fit in the trunk and back seat, I can leave behind.
“I’m so glad we’re moving in together,” Brock tells me as we navigate the streets to my apartment for the last time. “This is going to be great.”
The smile on my face feels like plastic. “Yes.”
How can I do this? How can I move in with Brock when he doesn’t know the truth about my past? It’s not fair to him. And it won’t be fair to me when he finds out and kicks me to the curb.
I am still working for the Garrick family—for now. The more I thought about it, the less certain I felt that Douglas had been watching me that day. After all, he was talking to his mistress, and he didn’t seem focused on me at all. I jumped to conclusions. And learning my boss is having an affair is no reason to give up a lucrative job, especially since finding a new one is always difficult for me. I may be moving in with Brock, but it would be a
mistake to become dependent on him. I need my own income—just in case he does kick me to the aforementioned curb.
At a red light, Brock reaches out and rests his hand on my knee. He smiles at me, and he looks oh so handsome—like movie-star handsome— and all I can think is that this is a bad idea. He’s making a terrible mistake and he doesn’t even know it. And part of me wishes he would take his damn hand off my knee.
He hasn’t told me he loves me again since that day at the restaurant. I can tell he’s itching to say it, but he’s said it twice now, and I have said it zero times. If he says it again, I’ll either have to say it back or… Well, I have to say it back if I want this relationship to continue. There’s no question anymore.
“Hey.” Brock pulls his hand away as we turn onto my street. “What’s going on here?”
There is a police car with flashing lights parked in front of my building. I press my lips together to refrain from telling him that police cars are parked here all the time. My stomach turns as I wonder if there’s a chance they could be here for me. Maybe Xavier changed his mind about pressing charges.
Oh God, are they going to take me away in handcuffs?
“Brock,” I say urgently. “Maybe we should get out of here. Come back another time.”
He crinkles his nose. “I’m not driving back to the Bronx again tomorrow. Come on, it’ll be fine.”
Just as I’m about to have a full-blown panic attack, the door to my building swings open, and an officer is leading a man onto the street, his hands cuffed behind his back. Looks like they aren’t here for me after all. It’s probably another drug bust.
And then I see the scar above the left eyebrow of the man in handcuffs.
It’s Xavier.
I roll down my window just in time to hear Xavier shout at the officer leading him to the police car: “You’ve got to believe me! Those drugs… I never even saw them before. They aren’t mine!”
Even from where we’re parked, I can see the officer roll his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what everyone says when we find a shitload of heroin in their apartment.”
A second before they get to the patrol car, Xavier’s eyes fill with panic. Even though he has to realize it’s a stupid move, he shakes off the cop and starts running down the block. Of course, he’s got his hands cuffed behind his back, which means he isn’t going to get far. The policeman catches up to him a few seconds later, and I watch as he gets thrown to the ground.
This is the best show I’ve seen in months.
Brock’s eyes widen at the scene unfolding in front of us. “Jesus Christ.
You’re lucky you’re moving out of here.”
“That’s him,” I breathe. “That’s the man who assaulted me.” “Wow. So he was on drugs too? I guess that’s no surprise.”
I didn’t get the sense that Xavier was on drugs during our interactions. He always seemed completely sober. But if they found it in his apartment… better yet, if there were a lot of drugs found there—enough to imply he was dealing—he’s not coming back anytime soon.
“I don’t have to move,” I blurt out. Brock’s mouth falls open. “What?”
“He won’t be living in the building anymore,” I point out. “So I don’t have to leave.”
Brock’s lower lip juts out. “I don’t understand. Don’t you want to live with me?”
That is an incredibly tricky question. Yes, it would be nice to have the extra space and the air-conditioning and the doorman to keep out burglars. But that’s not a good reason to move in with your boyfriend.
“I do,” I say. “Someday. But… not yet.” “I see.” His tone is icy.
“I’m so sorry.” I reach out to squeeze his hand, but he doesn’t squeeze mine back. “I’m just the sort of person who needs my own space. That’s all.”
His blue eyes meet mine. “Is that really all?”
I imagine Brock’s parents are the kind of people who do a background check on any woman his son would move in with. Hell, they may have already done one. But I’m betting they looked up Millie Calloway, which was my only saving grace. It’s only a matter of time before they find out my first name is actually Wilhelmina, and then Brock will find out everything.
I’ve got to come clean before that happens.
But with that asshole Xavier in jail, I’ve given myself a short reprieve.
