Page 24 of Safer Together
~ Chapter Eight ~
Elliot
I arrive back at the penthouse, frustrated out of my fucking mind. She walked away from me. No, scratch that, she ran away from me. Without even so much as a goodbye. Who the fuck does that?
Angela does, so it seems. I retrace the night in my mind again, for what seems like the millionth time since I tried to follow her in that damn getaway taxi. Still nothing springs to mind about why she would leave. I mean, sure, she seemed a little upset when I found her outside the bathroom shortly before we left but she smiled at me and took my hand while we said our goodbyes. We walked off the boat together, hand in hand toward our awaiting car so we could go home together, and then I turn away for what, fifteen fucking seconds, answering a question, and by the time I look back, reaching my hand out for her, she is closing the door of a taxi. I started to run towards the taxi, calling out her name and she looked at me, our eyes connected and yet she still took off.
I rake my hands violently through my hair several times and then rub my face too. I pull out my phone and dial her number again; for the third time tonight, she doesn’t answer. Her beautiful voice comes through the phone in the way of her voicemail message.
“This is Angela White from Nashville Realty. Please leave a detailed message and I will get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you and have a lovely day,” followed by that god-awful beep.
I take in a breath and leave my third voicemail for the evening: “Oh Angie, I don’t know why you’re not picking up, I need to know that you are okay. I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong, but whatever it was, I’m sorry. Please let me know you are okay,” before pulling the phone away from my ear and hitting the end call button.
I open the message app on my phone and send my best friend Drake a message:
Hey man, you home yet? Wanna have a beer?
I receive a message back almost instantly; he always has his phone within reach.
Got home around five minutes ago, Kat’s still partying though. Sure thing brother. But you’re shouting. I’ll be up in five.
I put the phone back in my pocket and head into the bedroom to take off my tie, shirt and jacket. On the way back out to the kitchen, I stop in at the office and grab the stress ball sitting on my office desk, I start squeezing it instantly.
Drake and Kat’s apartment is in the same building as my own. Both having to work long hours, we each needed a place close to our companies’ home bases, for me making it easier to still get in a decent amount of shut eye when those early meetings mean getting up at an ungodly hour when I’m back at home, or a lesser of two evils when I’m closer by.
We bought them at the same time, directly off the plan. One of the perks when you know the architect, John White. And let me tell you, that guy really knows his stuff. We have collaborated on several projects. Another perk is that once I had laid down the cash for the apartment, he was more than happy to let me change whatever I wanted. Being the penthouse, I had the entire top floor of the building. What should have been two four-bedroom, five-bathroom, penthouses was now just one three-bedroom, four-bathroom, media room, study, games room, gym, museum, kitchen, and one hell of a large open-planned living/dining area penthouse. Perfect for me, especially since I’m the only person to have ever stayed here.
No girl has ever seen this place, not even an interior decorator. I’m not the one-night-stand kind of guy, and lucky for me, Angela doesn’t seem to be a one-night-stand kind of girl herself, not that I wouldn’t mind having her every night for the rest of my life. But in order for that to happen, I have to win her back. Convince her that we can make it work. But how am I going to do that, when she’s left?
No doubt, she ordered that cab to the airport, where she hopped on a bloody plane back to Nashville without even telling me. Not even one goddamn word, and now she won’t even answer any of my calls. “Fucking hell,” I groan out and throw the stress ball I have in my hands as hard as I can against the wall. Only the faintest sound emits when it finds its target, and not even a mark to say where it hit. I walk over to its resting place and bend to pick it up, and that’s when I hear the doorbell.
Padding to the door my heart races momentarily, thinking she’s come back to me, before remembering that she doesn’t know about this place. And that ache comes right back and settles in my chest.
I open the door without even looking through the peephole.
“Put a damn shirt on, would you, Sands, I don’t want to see those abs,” Drake punches my shoulder as he walks on past.
“You’re just jealous you don’t have a six-pack, my brother. Maybe you should turn one of those rooms in your apartment into a gym. It comes in handy, believe you me.”
He turns on the spot and lifts his own shirt just slightly, “I’ve got one too you know, it’s not as defined as yours, but it’s there.” He turns again and makes his way toward the kitchen, opening the fridge and helping himself to a beer. “And why would I need a gym, when I can always come up and use yours? Besides I get enough exercise at our regular racquetball sessions. Which reminds me, we are overdue, man.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. Drake and I have always made a habit of making ourselves at home in each other’s place. Having known each other for as long as we have, has its perks, like drinking the same beer, and it always being present in each of our refrigerators. I come back out of the bedroom pulling a black t-shirt on, before pouring myself a whiskey and lounging in the well-loved brown leather Chesterfield lounge chair. Drake takes up a spot on the couch opposite.
“So, I’m guessing you didn’t call me all the way here to chat about putting a gym into my apartment. Did you? Nah, man, you wanted me to come up here to chat about your girl. Am I right? Speaking of whom, where is she?” Drake doesn’t mince his words. Direct, straight to the point, one of the reasons why he is so successful in business, and the reason why he and I get along so well.
“Thanks for coming such a long way,” I smirk back at him “I just don’t know what to do man,’’ I murmur before lifting the glass of whiskey to my lips and having a sip, the toffee flavor lingering on my tongue. “I know I love her, it’s just so damn hard when she lives so far away. And leaving like she did tonight, without a damn word, I just don’t know why she would do that. We were getting along so well.”
Drake nods in acknowledgement before taking a pull from his beer. “Stop giving me excuses. Distance is nothing when you have the amount of money we do, you have a private jet, for fuck’s sake. Anytime you’re thinking about her, you can be there within a few hours. Or send it down there to pick her up and bring her back to you. Stop sitting here pining about it and just hop on that plane and go to her, tell her how you feel. You’re going to feel like a dick if you don’t.” He has a point. Drake always does.
“Can you think of why she would take off without telling you? I mean you said things were going well and all, but could you have missed something?” he says while waving his hand in front of him and putting into the side of his temple. Think man, a phone call maybe. Did you guys decide to take it up a notch after you left tonight and she refused?”
I almost choke on my mouthful of whiskey at that comment. “You know damn well I wouldn’t make a move on her like that. I’m waiting, she is too, but fuck me, she makes it hard. Just looking at her sometimes makes me rock hard. I’ve never been affected by a woman like this. Never. And to make it worse, I never got to tell her how I feel. It happened so quick, man. Everything was good, we had an amazing night, the Christmas party went off without a hitch, dinner, drinks, we were heading home together. Someone called out from behind me, I answered their questions and by the time I turned around she was hopping into a fucking taxi and driving away, in the space of fifteen seconds.” I take another gulp of whiskey, followed by another, draining my glass, then resting it on my knee, on the edge of the base, rolling it around in circles.
“How do you know she went back home then, if you haven’t been able to speak to her? I mean she could have gone back to your place,” Drake says, leaning forward slightly. “I mean, man, like you have said to me, she hasn’t got a ton of cash to spare, and this close to Christmas, everything is even more expensive.” Underneath his caring tone and his carefully chosen words, I hear what he was insinuating, I stand up then.
“Great thinking Drake, I mean why didn’t I think about checking in at Sands Manor first?” sarcasm dripping heavily from my voice. “Of course, I fucking checked. She hasn’t been there, and the reason I think she has gone home is a plane took off to Nashville just over an hour after she left the party. She could have gotten there in time.”
I made my way over to the whiskey decanter and poured myself another one, three fingers this time. I mean why not, the woman I love ran off on me, with no explanation. Life’s looking pretty damn crappy right now.
