Authors: Shelby Reed
An odd tugging in her heart told her if that were the case, then he was suffering, even more than she had been over the last two weeks.
She didn’t have to cajole or bribe to get into the building. The pudgy, red-coated doorman from weeks before was absent. A well-dressed woman coming out the glass door held it for Billie when she approached, giving her tank top and khaki shorts a cursory glance as Billie thanked her and headed into the complex.
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The lobby was deserted. She headed straight for the elevators, pressed the button and waited, heart pounding, every sense sharpened to the plush environment around her. Classical music drifted from somewhere down the chandeliered hall beyond the elevators. The sound of female laughter muffled behind walls floated on the air, and the faint fragrance of incense drifted around her.
After a moment, the brass-paneled doors slid open and she stepped into the empty elevator, her fingers shaking as she reached to push the button for the fourteenth floor.
What would she say to Adrian if he actually answered her knock? She envisioned herself relaying Rosalie’s terse message, then turning on her heel and marching away without another word, head held high.
He might let her, too. A wry smile curved her lips. It would be so like him to do the unexpected, and not necessarily the most courteous thing.
Then again, what if he flung open the door, grabbed her arm and hauled her against him, swallowing her words with his kiss before she could utter them?
“Stop it, Billie.” The sharp sound of her own voice bouncing off the mirrored walls startled her out of her romantic musings. Damn it—the man was no good for her, and she, all wrong for him. Despite the lovely potential that had seemingly lurked around every corner of their brief relationship, they had nothing to offer each other. If they had…if the chance for love had truly been present, she’d be with him now instead of in this elevator, throat dry with dread and anticipation. Fate wasn’t so cruel that it would dangle this man before her, this
impossible
man, as her one and only chance at true love…was it?
The doors opened onto an empty, silent hallway. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped out, arms clasped tightly over her chest, and started in the direction of Adrian’s apartment.
She paused outside his door and listened. No sound came from within. She knocked firmly, then waited, her gaze drifting to the Chippendale console across from his apartment. A lush fern had replaced the elaborate bouquet she remembered from before. Even a simple plant looked expensive in this exclusive building.
As Billie had feared, Adrian didn’t answer his door. A niggling concern tugged at her conscience, and she knocked again.
No answer.
Her fingers strayed to the brass knob, hesitated, then grasped it and twisted.
The door clicked open.
Holding her breath, she edged it ajar, just enough to peek around it. The foyer was dim, the kitchen lights off. Pushing the door open wider, Billie crept over the threshold, took a few more tentative steps and glanced into the living room.
The elegant room was a mess. Newspapers lay scattered on the sofa and coffee table. Clothing—a hodgepodge of T-shirts, running shorts, jeans, socks—spilled from a laundry basket on the floor in front of the grandfather clock. A pair of tennis shoes had 160
The Fifth Favor
been abandoned in the middle of the carpet, kicked off with the laces still tied. An open pizza box sat on a leather armchair, its contents hardly touched and already yellowed from sitting too long.
Lined up in an odd, precise pattern on the nearby occasional table were six import beer bottles, six Budweiser cans, a half-empty fifth of bourbon and an assortment of drained shot glasses.
Her eyebrows crept up. It looked like Adrian had recently embarked on a one-man bender.
She slowly crossed the room, her attention fixed on the gentle flutter of the gauzy curtains covering the balcony doors. One panel flipped aside, tossed by the night breeze, and finally offered her a glimpse of the man she sought. He was sitting astride the balustrade, his attention focused downward.
Billie froze, every muscle in her body tightened in alarm. “Adrian—” she choked.
“
Don’t
!”
His head turned sharply, but she couldn’t read the expression in his dark eyes before Rudy appeared from behind the curtains and bounded toward her with a startled, ferocious bark.
Frantic, Billie backed up and held out her hands to the exuberant Labrador, who had recognized her as someone familiar and fun to play with.
“Hi, Rudy,” she said in a shaky voice, and he dragged his slobbery tongue across her hand. He trotted back toward the balcony with one last plaintive look in her direction, as though to coerce her to join him.
Trembling, Billie approached the curtains again, brushed them aside and stepped out into the balmy night.
Adrian shifted to look at her without moving from his precarious perch. The wind tossed his dark hair, plastering his long-sleeved T-shirt to his body. He wore faded gray sweatpants and no shoes. His unshaven face was pale, his eyes circled with shadows of despair.
Still, a wayward smile played around his mouth, that old, familiar amusement that seemed to creep across his features so often when he regarded her. “Sorry about the overzealous welcome wagon. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She lifted her chin, cheeks burning. “Are
you
?”
His smile twisted. “Have you come to talk me down from the proverbial ledge?”
The soft slur of his words confirmed he was at least mildly intoxicated.
“Adrian—”
“It’s Chris,” he interrupted, the humor fleeing his expression. “My name is Chris.”
“Okay.” She took another step toward him, one eye on Rudy, who watched her with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. “Chris, what are you doing up there?”
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“Seeing the world through Luke’s eyes.” He turned back toward the glittering sea of lights sprawled beyond the balcony. “And looking for Rudy’s banana while I’m at it.”
Billie gulped in a breath, heartbeat slowing. “His banana?”
“A stuffed toy. He likes to throw it off the balcony, and inevitably I have to run down and get it.” He glanced at his dog. “Something’s not quite right with that scenario, Rudy.”
The dog panted and licked his chops.
“Will you please come down from there?” Billie demanded. “You’re making me nervous.”
Instead of doing as she asked, he motioned to her. “C’mere.”
With slow, careful steps, she approached the balustrade and peered over, one hand resting close to his hip, ready to grab in case he slid forward.
“Look,” he murmured.
A million sparkling lights shimmered across the surface of the city, a landscape deceptively glamorous, and one that had yielded so much pain for Lucien DeChambeau. It was beautiful and haunting in its significance. It was the last thing Lucien had seen before he died.
Billie glanced up at Adrian’s profile. “What am I looking for?”
“Rudy’s banana.”
But the hollowness of his reply told her that his attention wasn’t on the dog’s toy.
For a silent moment they stared down at the concrete, at the spot where Lucien had died. Then anger curled around the edges of Billie’s anxiety and she cast Adrian a narrowed look of reproof.
“When I saw you up here, I thought you were planning to jump.”
His lips curved upward. “And upstage Luke’s dramatic exit? Never.” He lifted his head and blinked as though to focus his eyes. “Disappointed?”
She didn’t reply. The breeze lifted wisps of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and drifted them across her lips in feathery caresses.
“I don’t see the toy,” Adrian finally said. “Do you?”
“No. I’m not looking for the damn banana. I’m here to check on you.”
“I’m more than okay.” Moving suddenly, he swung his leg back toward the safety of the balcony and landed with impossible grace, one hand braced on the ledge to balance himself when he might have swayed. “
Sono libero
. I’m free.”
The scent of alcohol drifted to Billie’s senses and she backed up. She’d seen Adrian a lot of different ways: smooth, manipulative, infuriated, impassioned, tender…but drunk and speaking Italian was not on the list, and the way his gaze skimmed her, head to foot and back, clobbered her equilibrium.
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“So tell me, why are you
really
here?” He moved toward her like a sleek, if somewhat intoxicated, panther. “To dig up more dirt for your scintillating article on the life of a gigolo?”
“No. I—”
“You’ve come to the wrong place,” he said bitterly, and swerved around her to enter the living room with Rudy at his heels.
She followed, paused to watch him examine the collection of empty beer bottles and cans he’d arranged on the table. He picked up a can, squinted at it, shook it. “Azure fired me.”
“Why?” Billie asked.
Laughter rumbled in his chest, a mirthless sound of derision. “Failure to perform.
So now I’m an unemployed whore, although not destitute yet. I never was one to squander my money on the high life.”
She didn’t know what to say. She closed the French doors behind her, rearranged the curtain panels, then turned to face him. Adrian had collapsed on the leather armchair, slouched down so that the back cushion caught his neck, one arm flung over his eyes.
“Did you hear me? You can finish the article, Billie. Just say I self-destructed.” His throat moved as he swallowed in an obvious bid to maintain control over his emotions.
“Stories like mine never have a happy ending.”
She said nothing, just watched him, a blur of high-speed thoughts darting through her mind. Part of her wanted to flee, to leave this man she didn’t understand and couldn’t reach. Part of her toppled a little further into love and wanted to touch him, hold him, battle away the demons of his past—something only he could do himself.
Right now it looked like the demons were winning the war.
Inhaling strength and poise, she said, “When was the last time you had something to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.” He spoke from behind his arm, only the lower half of his face visible. Several days’ growth of beard darkened the too-angular lines of his jaw.
“You’ve been drinking.”
His mouth quirked. “What gave me away?”
“You need something to absorb all the booze flowing through your veins.” She started toward the kitchen. “Let me at least fix you something to eat.”
As she passed him, his hand shot out and caught her wrist. His grip was ruthless, and Billie winced as he pulled her back to stand in front of him.
His eyes narrowed to black slits as he stared up at her. He didn’t lift his head or shift his lax position, but danger lurked about him; desperation rendered him utterly unpredictable. And still she wanted him, with a wild, ferocious hunger that warred with every commonsensical intention she harbored.
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“You want to do something for me, Billie? I can think of a few things that would make me feel better right now, and food isn’t one of them.”
“Go to hell.”
He didn’t release her. Under his cruel, silent direction, she sank to her knees before him, one hand trying in vain to pry his bruising fingers from her wrist. “Damn it, Adrian—you’re hurting me!”
“But that’s what you expect, isn’t it? Why else would you keep coming back for more?” His grip loosened, though not enough to free her, and the fingers encircling her wrist trembled. “You know what I am, what I have to offer you. Nothing but pain.
What’s wrong with you? Afraid to admit you have the same dark, twisted desires as everyone else?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me, you son of a bitch.” Anger choked her words even as a sick feeling crept through her, a fear that he’d stumbled upon something secret within her she was unaware of. Twisted desire—yes. For him. Twisted because he didn’t want it, and she couldn’t stop the sentiment from growing inside her, insistent and uninvited.
“I’m not here because I want to be,” she gritted. “Your sister’s worried sick about you and she called me to ask if I knew where you were.”
Adrian released her and sat up. “Rosalie?”
“That’s right.” Rubbing her wrist, she got to her feet with as much grace as her trembling legs would allow. “She’s been calling you for days. She couldn’t get away to drive into the district and check on you, so she asked me to do it for her. And I foolishly agreed.”
What little color remained in his cheeks drained away.
“I came only for your sister’s sake,” she repeated in a blind, stumbling attempt to convince herself. “And now I see you’re just fine. Enough to be cruel and ugly.” Her breath hitched under the urge to weep as she backed toward the foyer. “I’m leaving now. Call her, please, and let her know you’re okay.”
Billie made it as far as the door and opened it before Adrian’s hand emerged from behind her and slammed it closed again. She hadn’t thought an intoxicated man could move so quickly.
His electric presence behind her sent a shimmering wave of awareness up her spine. Drawing a breath for strength, she slowly faced him. Despair carved deep lines in his features; his eyes were bleak. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and she tried not to care. She tried not to wonder what the hell had happened to create this ghost, a shell of the vibrant force she’d known mere weeks ago.
“I’m such a bastard,” he said softly.
“Yes. You are. And I’m leaving.”
He stepped back in capitulation, his hand dropping to his side.
Billie started to turn, but then he said, “Wait…”
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“What?” she snapped, too aware of his plaintive caress hovering just short of her elbow. If he touched her with any of the need already written in his face, she’d fold.
“You’re drunk and ornery, and I’ve got a million better things to do than spar with you.”
He straightened, a frown darkening his face. “Like what?”
“Like working to meet tomorrow’s print deadline. I do have a life, despite what you think. My world does exist without you in it.”