Page 39 of Takeover

After eating the second cookie, I spend the next forty or so minutes responding to emails before meeting my driver outside to go home.

As soon as I get home, I let Carla leave for the weekend. I find Vincent sitting on his bed while Lindsay tries to zip his suitcase with her good hand. I step inside and zip the suitcase, and as soon as I do, Vincent practically jumps into my arms.

“You have fun with your mother,” I say to him. He lays his head on my shoulder.

Lindsay looks on.

“We’re going to see the puppets,” Vincent says.

“There’s a children’s bookstore in Soho that does puppet shows on Saturday mornings. You should come and join us.” I don’t mistake the note of hopefulness coming from my ex.

“No. You two enjoy your time together.” I hold back and don’t remind her about how it’s been months since she’s spent any quality time with him.

“I’m going to text you the address. The show starts at ten, but you can meet us for breakfast at nine. There’s a breakfast place right next door.” She types something on her phone, and my phone buzzes in my pocket a few seconds later.

All too soon, my son is gone, and the house seems empty. I grab my private cell phone and pull up the Instagram app. She’s the first face I see. Of course, she is. She’s the only one I follow under this fake profile. I’ve been following her since after Thanksgiving. I lived for the pictures she posted from her family vacation in St. Thomas. Hell, if my sister hadn’t been recovering from surgery, I might have cut the visit short and flown to St. Thomas for a much needed vacation.

I’ve never been an indecisive man, and the fact that it’s taken me six hours to finally get my ass here pisses me off. It was exactly two weeks ago today that I showed up here and had the best weekend of my life.

The smell of the bouquet fills my car. Pink peonies this time. I don’t know why, but they remind me of her. Feminine. Dainty. Beautiful. Just as someone is coming out of the building, I grab the door and go inside.

Feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline, I take the steps two at a time until I get to her floor. As soon as I get to her door, I rap my knuckles against the wood and hold my breath. Soft footsteps glide across the hardwood floor of her apartment. I hear a rattle of the doorknob, but the door doesn’t open. Neither does she ask who it is.

I knock again.

“Yes?” she says. From the edge in her voice, I know she’s already looked through the peephole.

“Open the door, Tara.”

“What do you want?” Yeah, she’s definitely angry. I think back to our last meeting at her apartment, and don’t recall doing anything to make her upset. If memory serves me correctly, our last time together was quite pleasurable.

“Let me in and I’ll tell you. Come on. We can order Thai.”

She’s quiet for a while, but then she says, “Now’s not a good time. I’m not taking visitors.”

“You’re not taking visitors?” I repeat. “Who are you? Queen Elizabeth? Open the damn door before I break it down.”

I can hear her hissing behind the door like a venomous snake. If I could see her, I’d bet her eyes are either shooting fire or she’s giving me the middle finger from behind the door.

“Go away.”

“Let me in before I make a scene in this hallway.” I pound on the door. “Try me.”

She lets out a string of expletives before she finally yanks the door open.

I’m like a drowning man who was just given a life raft. She’s that first burst of air after almost drowning. She’s even more beautiful today than any of the times I’ve seen her. Her hair is different. She’s gotten it cut since I saw her last. Her bangs are shorter, and her hair rests right above her shoulders. It’s styled in loose curls. And I might be a man, but I know a professional makeup job when I see one. The rest of her is covered in an oversized bathrobe. Way oversized.

I walk past her and step inside. Instead of handing her the vase of peonies, I walk inside the apartment and put them on her kitchen table. I let out a breath when I find the apartment empty.

“Are you hungry?” I pull out my phone and do a search for local Thai restaurants.

“What are you doing here?” She tightens the sash to her bathrobe and crosses her arms. Yeah. That’s definitely a man’s robe. I eye her up and down before leaving her standing in the kitchen. She follows behind me as I check the rest of the rooms in the house, which are all empty.

“What the hell are you doing?” She tries to grab my arm when I open her bedroom door. There’s no man in there, but there are piles of clothes everywhere.

“Whose robe is that?” I ask.

“What? Are you on something? I think you’d better leave.”

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