I was at the passenger door to the Volvo when I heard the scuffle. I turned and saw Luke holding Santo back with a hand at his chest. He gave a shove, barely a movement of his arm but Santo fell back several paces. Luke turned to me and advanced, pinning me against the Volvo.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, his voice low and lethal.
“Nothing, Luke. I have to be somewhere. I’ll see you later at the loft,” I replied, my voice small, my eyes skidding away from his.
I tried to slide away but he got even closer, his hand went to my jaw, his thumb splayed on my cheekbone and I looked at him.
“Babe,” he murmured, eyes warm on mine.
At that word pain sliced through me. Against my will and to my total mortification, I felt tears well in my eyes. He saw them and got ultra close. His face softened but not completely. Not even close.
And that hurt even more.
“Talk to me,” he whispered in his gentle, affectionate voice.
I jerked my face from his hand, slid out from in front of him and quickly got in the car.
Santo jumped behind the wheel and we took off.
I didn’t look back.
* * * * *
Ren’s offices were a lot like Lee Nightingale’s except the wood was darker and instead of a cowboy motif there was a lot of fancy glass and modern art.
Also he didn’t have a black lady receptionist with a huge Afro and a messy desk. He had an ultra gorgeous blonde receptionist with an obsessively tidy desk.
Her head snapped up when she saw us enter and her eyes narrowed on me in immediate and unconcealed hate which I thought was kind of weird. Considering the fact that I was freaking out, I didn’t have time to confront a bitchy receptionist.
“Ren’s expecting you,” she told Santo and she didn’t sound pleased about it.
“Yeah, Dawn, I know,” Santo muttered, sounding like he thought she was a bitch too and leading me into an open doorway and down a hall. Santo stopped and so did I. He knocked on a door and when we heard Ren calling us in he opened it.
Ren was already moving around his desk. His office was huge and his desk was not obsessively tidy. It was covered with papers and files in a way that it looked like he was really busy.
I walked in with Santo, saw Ren give a jerk of the chin and without a word Santo took off.
Ren stopped in front of me, put his hand to my neck, tilting my chin up with a gentle thumb in the soft spot between my jaws and looked in my eyes.
“Jesus, Ava,” he murmured and I knew at his words that I was clearly not hiding my emotional freak out which was kind of a bummer.
I stared at him then started blabbing. “I need quiet space. I need to be alone. No bodyguards. No tough guys. No imminent threat of kidnapping and car bombs. I need to think. I need to get my head together. I haven’t been alone for days. I need to be alone.” Before I could stop myself, I leaned into him and put my hand on his (it must be said, rock-hard) abs. “Ren, please, can you arrange that for me?”
He watched me for a beat, his eyes scanning my face. Then he said softly, “Yeah, honey, I can arrange that for you.”
I sagged into him.
“Let’s go,” he finished.
I felt relief flood through me, so much, I didn’t notice he took my hand and held it as we walked out of his office, down the hall, through the reception area, to the parking garage and to his Jag (I did, however, notice Dawn glaring at me).
We drove through downtown where his offices were and I stared wordlessly out the window. My phone rang, I looked at it, saw it said “Luke calling” and flipped it open.
Then I flipped it shut, open again and turned it off.
I knew Ren watched this and I didn’t care. I was beyond caring, about a lot of things.
He took me to a house in Cheesman Park, a big, old, graceful one. He expertly parallel parked in front (and I had to admit, I was impressed, I could never parallel park) and walked me to the door. Inside it was a big, house-wide front room, side dining room to the back and left, kitchen on the other side, behind a wall, lots of windows with some stained glass. A split, sunny staircase in the middle where Ren led me up and to a bedroom.