Billionaire's Captive Complete Trilogy - Stasia Black Page 0,124

cab. It might take awhile to gather your stuff together.”

Okay, fair enough. And cabs aren’t too hard to find in this part of town so we pay the cabbie and then walk into the lush white marble-lined lobby. My steps falter at the line of beefy security guards blocking the elevator. But Rachel knows just what to do.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” the doorman asks.

“We need apartment 32D,” Rachel leans in and flutters her lashes. “Adam Archer’s residence. He’s expecting us.”

“Of course, ma’am. One moment.” The doorman puts a phone to his ear. If he’s wondering why we’re in ballgowns with opera gloves, he doesn’t comment.

I sidle up to Rachel. “What are you doing?”

“Buzzing Adam. He’ll let us in.” She seems so confident.

“Is he here?”

“The party broke up soon after you left.” I can see she wants to ask me more questions, but the doorman interrupts.

“Apartment 32D. Right this way,” he escorts us past security to the elevators and types in a code with a white-gloved finger. Rachel thanks him prettily, but I’ve fallen silent. The mirrored elevator wall shows two disheveled debutantes.

I gnaw on my lip for thirty one of the thirty two floors. Will this send the wrong message to Adam, me coming here right after I broke off the engagement? Whatever, I’ll set him straight soon enough. He’s pulled multiple dick moves and it’s time to start setting things straight. Or rather, continue setting things straight. I started things off right at the ball and it’s time to continue taking back my own life.

Besides, Rachel’s here so it’s not like he can try anything funny. I shake my head even at the thought. Adam’s harmless. I know Logan hates him and has the elaborate conspiracy theory about him having some part in Logan’s terrible accident, but Adam’s like a tamed house cat—all the lion has been domesticated out of him through millennia of careful cultivation.

Adam opens the door with a wide smile on his face that doesn’t even dim when he sees Rachel beside me. “Ladies, welcome.” He gestures us into his apartment.

I steel my spine. “Adam, I’m just here to get my stuff back. It wasn’t cool that you moved it without even telling me.”

He nods but just keeps gesturing us inside. “I understand. I was just trying to make everything special for you when you were under so much stress, but I can see how it could be considered overstepping. I’m sorry. Look, Daphne, I’m sorry for everything. Please. Come in.”

I blink. Okaaaaaaaay, wow. I didn’t expect a genuine apology. For the first time all night, the plastic mask of his boyish good looks has cracked and I feel like there’s genuine emotion shining through his eyes.

I nod slowly and step inside Adam’s apartment.

My stuff is everywhere, mixed in with his. My lamps are artfully nested amongst his modern, angular furniture, giving a softening, feminine touch to the place. My art is mounted along the walls.

I don’t know whether to be flattered or creeped out.

Maybe if we were a real couple, genuinely in love… But we never were. Never even close. Did Adam think that was real love? A real relationship?

Compared to the intimacy I’ve found with Logan, that’s sad if he did.

Logan. Even thinking his name makes my chest clench. He hurt me tonight by not believing in me when he said he would. If he can’t trust me, then how can we ever—

“Here, let me get you a drink, and then I’ll help you gather your stuff together.”

“No, really, Adam, you don’t have to—” I start, but he’s already disappeared into the kitchen. But he doesn’t come back with champagne or anything like that, just two glasses of ice water, one for Rachel and one for me.

It’s thoughtful and I actually am really thirsty, so I take a long, deep sip. “Thanks, Adam.”

“Here’s the suitcase with your clothes. You can change while we start packing.”

Wow. He’s actually being decent about this. I nod and roll the suitcase he pointed out to the guestroom. As I close the door, I hear him and Rachel start to make small talk.

Unzipping the suitcase, I sort through the clothes, frowning when I see all my underthings among the other clothes. Good gods, did he pack this? The brief image of him in my apartment, hands in my underwear drawer sends a creepy chill down the back of my neck.

But then I shake it off. That doesn’t seem like the kind of manual labor Adam Archer would be