Because I Can Page 12

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Once I’m sitting at my desk again with my door shut, I do so with Brad on my mind. That meeting with him was odd. And nothing about him sits just right with me. Was he the man in the journal, not Tyler? That question just won’t go away. I know I told Dash I would leave this alone right now, but there is a nagging feeling in my gut like I have answers that need to be revealed at my fingertips.

  I pull the journal from my purse and stare down at it. I’m not giving this to Neil. It’s too personal. And that passage from earlier is bugging me right along with the encounter with Brad. I open to the page I’d read earlier.

  I’ve experienced his touch when it was both punishingly erotic and then when it was a tender caress. I’ve seen that tenderness in his eyes, as well. I’ve seen vulnerability in him, too, that no one would believe he’s capable of ever experiencing.

  There was nothing that resembles this passage in Brad’s eyes. Nothing. At all. But she does say that what she saw in the man she’s writing about, was not what the rest of the world sees. I flip to the middle of the journal, hoping to get a better tone to where Allison was mentally before she left. This page is titled: Life after him

  Last night we had a fight, a gut-wrenching, heart-twisting battle, to be more accurate. I did nothing but try to protect him. He just can’t cope with me knowing he needs to be protected. He can’t allow himself to be openly vulnerable with me. So what did he do? He tried to send me away, then he pulled me back and fucked me senseless. God how he fucked me. But then it was over and the wall crashed back down. It’s over. Now it’s over.

  As for what life is without him. There is none. At least, not one that is happy.

  I shiver with the foreboding words certain of one thing. The man in the journal is not Brad. I think it’s Tyler.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The afternoon is just as busy as the morning.

  It’s one call after another, but I decide that going to New York, and Riptide, is a good idea. The generous donations come with a huge challenge. Can we get them validated in time? The real possibility that we cannot means we might auction items off for too little. And to rush the validations is expensive in itself, and I don’t know if Riptide, Mark specifically, will allow that to happen. I pull up my email and shoot him a note:

  Mr. Compton—

  The generosity of donations for this auction is astounding. The items donated by country music royalty are dream-worthy. The problem is that each item needs validation. I just don’t have the time and manpower. I’m thinking of coming there at the end of the month to try to figure it all out. I could really use your expert advice. I’m in over my head but trying to swim to the surface and make this a win for all involved, especially Riptide.

  Looking forward to your input,

  Allie

  Once the email is sent, I send Katie home. It’s five after all. She can work from home, which is what I intend as well. I text Dash: On my way. You want to work there a while or go home?

  Home, baby, he replies. How do you feel about Chinese food?

  Hungry, I text back. I’ll pull to the door, but you’re driving us home.

  Home.

  We are having the kind of conversations that only couples have. It’s really kind of surreal. My computer beeps with a message from Mark. I quickly pull it up to read:

  Ms. Wright—

  Since you work here, and you’re reporting to the wrong office, having you show up to the right one for a change would be appreciated. As for the quandary you’re in, I have answers. I’ll share those answers when you show up to work.

  Goodnight.

  The message is so very Mark Compton. While some might think he’s reprimanding me, I’m fairly certain he just told me that I’m missed. It’s nice to be missed. It’s confusing to be missed. The push and pull between New York and Nashville is real.

  For now, though, I have Nashville on my mind.

  I gather my things, and with my briefcase loaded up and on my shoulder, I decide to stop by Tyler’s office yet again. I’ve tried to catch up with him twice earlier, in the hopes of talking about New York, but he’s been nowhere to be found. And his secretary is no help. She just blinks at me and says, “He’s not in.”

  I exit the lobby to find the doors to Tyler’s side of the office locked with the lights out. Okay then, so much for that. Honestly, the whole place is a ghost town at only five o’clock. I step into the elevator and it’s not long before I’m in the parking garage. I step out of the car and freeze with the utter silence. No one is around and I curse Dash for making me so jumpy. That prickly sensation on the back of my neck is back and I grab the car keys from my purse and scan the area. I see no one, but I feel someone. Or now, I really am going crazy.

  I start walking, and when I get to the car, despite clicking the unlock button on the key, it’s not unlocked. I try again. It won’t unlock. I want to scream. I’m about to call Dash when a fancy sportscar pulls into the spot two cars over. I’m relieved for the company and determined to be in the car before whoever just arrived heads inside and I’m alone with whoever my stalker is again. Not that I really have a stalker. I just keep feeling like I’m being watched. At this point I set my bag on the ground, and right when I would dial Dash, Tyler is standing beside me, looking so very arrogantly handsome, and perfectly him, in a blue pinstriped suit.

  “Problems, Ms. Wright?”

  “I can’t get the car to unlock,” I reluctantly admit, my cheeks heating. “As silly as that sounds. It’s not even the first time I drove this car.”

  He holds out a commanding hand. I offer him the keys. He clicks the lock. “Try it now.”

  I open the door. “Okay, I’m embarrassed. How did you do that?”

  “The new M4’s have a tricky key. Which you don’t know because it’s not your car.” He holds out the key for me to take.

  I close my hand around them but he doesn’t let go. “When your identity becomes his identity, what is left of you, Ms. Wright?”

  Unexpectedly, he doesn’t hit a nerve, nor does he stir insecurity in me, as I might expect with this remark. This is now, I refuse to allow Tyler to muddy the water of past and present. Nor will he force a reply that would be about my mistakes, someone that is not Dash.

  “Allie,” I correct defiantly. “Ms. Wright is as generic as you accuse me of becoming. And I’m not losing my identity to Dash. I’m borrowing his car. Mine broke down.”

  He studies me a moment and releases the keys. “You realize he’s not a simple man, I assume?”

  “I’m pretty sure we’re both clear on that point,” I say, my defensiveness for Dash driving me to add, “but rarely are brilliant, creative people simple.”

  “He’s got demons chasing him,” he says. “You either accept those demons or you walk away. And if you walk away, do it now, not later, when you do so bleeding.”

  “I don’t choose to accept his demons. I choose to help him fight them.”

  “And you think you can do what no one else can?”

  “Is that what happened with Allison, Tyler?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Did she try and help you fight your demons and the demons won?”

  His lips thin. “You, Ms. Wright, never know your limits. And you do have limits.”

  “As do you, just the wrong ones.” I’m speaking of the journal entries, of course, of his unwillingness to be vulnerable with Allison.

  He arches a brow. “Meaning what?”

  “Nothing. I have limits, remember?” I change the subject. “But speaking of limits, the donations have been generous, but I don’t know if I can get all the validations done in time for the auction. We need to get to pricing. I need to go to New York City and go through the auction validations in person. If they can even get them all done. They are volunteering their help.”

  His intelligent blue eyes narrow on me and his lips curve slightly. “Let me guess. You’d like to go during Dash’s charity signing.”

  I don’t justify that re
mark with a counter punch. I simply say, “Yes. A few days before so I have plenty of time at Riptide.”

  “Offer Riptide a commission on anything they validate and sell.” With that, he turns and starts walking. I draw in a breath and call after him.

  “Tyler.”

  He halts and turns to face me. “Yes, Ms. Wright?”

  “Tell her you love her, leave it on her machine, text her, but mean it. Go in all the way. If you do that and she’s okay, she’ll come back for you.”

  He inhales sharply and then says nothing. He just turns and starts walking.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  I pull up to the bookstore and I’m out of the car as soon as the engine is idling. Dash is joining me in a quick flash and I hand him the keys. “You don’t want to drive me home, cupcake?”

  “Tyler had to unlock the car for me, so no. When I can’t even open the doors, I should not be trusted behind the wheel.”

  He laughs a low, sexy laugh and helps me into my side of the car, kissing me soundly on the lips before heading around to the driver’s side. “Sorry, baby,” he says, joining me. “The key glitches. I should have given you a few tips, but you seemed to have the swing of things.”

  “Well, how could you know I can’t operate a basic door? On the positive side, I told him about New York.”

  His eyes light with mischief. “Told him?”

  “Actually, yes. I did.”

  That evening, Dash and I order our Chinese food, and eat and work upstairs in the bedroom sitting area, while the sun sets. It’s a good night that neither one of us seems eager to spoil with outside influences. We don’t talk about Tyler. We don’t talk about Allison. We keep things about us. When it’s finally time to throw in the towel on work, Dash takes our leftovers downstairs. I grab my shoes from the floor and walk to the closet to figure out what to wear tomorrow since I haven’t taken anything to the cleaners, only to find shopping bags all over the floor of my closet. I drop my shoes and kneel down, peeking inside a bag that holds a pair of Chanel dress pants. The next bag is lingerie. My eyes catch on the garment bags hanging next to my clothes. I stand up and go to them, unzipping one of them to find a gorgeous pink Chanel dress.

  “I looked at your labels and sizes,” Dash says from the doorway. “I tried to get as much right as I could.”

  I whirl around to face him. “What is this, Dash?”

  “It’s a big closet. I wanted to fill it for you, but you can take anything you don’t want back.”

  I fight the triggers that want to consume me. My father bought me gifts. Brandon bought me gifts. They had a plan and it was to own me, in a way no one could believe possible, actually. A horrible, embarrassing plan. It’s why I don’t own those gifts now. Just the bag I kept to remind me of exactly who, and what, my father is.

  “I don’t claim to be an expert shopper, at all,” Dash adds. “In fact, I’ve never shopped for anyone but my sister.”

  I blink him into view. “You did this yourself? You actually went and shopped for me?”

  “Yes. Well, the salespeople helped me, but none of us know your taste. But I also knew you wouldn’t let me take you shopping either. So, take anything you don’t like back, baby.”

  I let the garment bag in my hand slide away and swallow hard, tears welling in my eyes. “Hey, hey, hey,” Dash says, stepping over bags to join me, cupping my face and stroking my cheek. “What just happened? I was trying to make you happy, not sad.”

  “I was about to turn all of this down, but then you said you shopped for me. You did this.”

  “Why would you turn down the gifts, Allie?” he asks softly.

  “I told you I’m not about the money, Dash. And I make my own money. You don’t have to support me.”

  “Is that how you look at this?” His hands settle on my shoulders. “Me supporting you? That’s not what this is. I don’t buy gifts for women, Allie. Never. It’s not my thing. But hell, I take that back. I am taking care of you. I want you to have nice things. What is wrong with that?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “I appreciate what you did. The idea of you shopping for me is honestly swoon-worthy, Dash. But from now on, after this, I want you, just you, not what you can buy me. Don’t you want to know that I’m here for you?”

  “I already know you’re here for me, Allie. You going to tell me what this is all about? Is it about your father?”

  “He has a history of fancy gifts and broken promises.” I grab his waist. “I know that’s not you. I just want us to be real.”

  He strokes my hair. “Baby, we’re as real as it gets. Take the clothes. Enjoy them. Trade them in for things you love. Hopefully, I did good on a few things.”

  “The pink dress. I already love it. And the lingerie—”

  “Is for me,” he says.

  I smile and he reaches in his pocket and produces a credit card. “I want you to take this.”

  I hold up my hands. “No. No, that I’m not taking.”

  “I want you to have it. And use it. I paid off your mother’s medical bills today.”

  “Medical bills?” I pulled back to study him. “What medical bills?”

  “I saw the stack of bills when I was there.”

  “I don’t understand. She has great insurance.”

  “Even with good insurance, her portion was hefty.”

  “How much, Dash?”

  “Fifty thousand.”

  “Oh my God.” My hands press together. “Oh my God. You paid off a fifty-thousand-dollar bill?”

  “Yeah, baby, but she doesn’t know. I did it anonymously.”

  “Oh my God,” I say because I can’t seem to say anything else. “I have twenty thousand in savings. I’ll write you a check. And Riptide offered me a bonus and—” I try to move around him and he catches me to him.

  “It’s done, baby. I got this. And I got you.”

  “You are too generous, Dash. I don’t even know how to take this from you.”

  “By just doing it.” He presses the card in my hand. “Just so I know if you need anything you have it.” I open my mouth to speak and he says, “Humor me. Keep it in your purse. Please.”

  “Okay,” I say. My fingers curl on his chest. “No one has ever done anything like this for me, Dash. Not like this.”

  He cups my face and tilts my gaze to his. “And no one has ever been quite like you, cupcake. You have a good mother. We’ll take care of her. Together.”

  “We have to go see her before we leave for New York.”

  “I’m in. Whenever you want.”

  “Dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Dinner tomorrow night works.”

  He kisses me. “Check out your new clothes. I’ll bang out a few more words. And, Allie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing. We’ll talk in bed.”

  I smile. “We won’t talk in bed.”

  “No,” he says with a smile. “We won’t talk in bed. But we’ll try.”

  He leaves me in the closet, and I turn and stare at all the bags everywhere. He is good to me and it’s not with an agenda. He is just good to me. He wants to do this for me. I step out of the doorway and into the bedroom, calling after Dash.

  “Dash.”

  He rotates to face me. “Yeah, baby?”

  “How will you know I’m here for you? Not all of this?”

  He closes the space between us and says, “The same way you know I didn’t try and buy you like your father. You’ll know. And I’ll know.” And then he’s kissing me, undressing me, and we end up in the bed. Where we prove our prediction one hundred percent correct. We do not talk.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The next morning, I dress in my new pink Chanel dress with a pleated skirt, that looks like it belongs in Vogue. It’s my first “new” Chanel anything. I’m checking myself in the mirror when Dash appears behind me. “You like it?”

  “I love it,” I say, glancing over my shoulder and up at him.

  “Hmmm,” he says,
wrapping an arm around me and nuzzling my neck. “Me, too, but I think I’d like it better on the floor.”

  I rotate to face him. “I have to get to work. You know that. I have a couple of the firm’s clients coming in to talk about their donations this morning.”

  He groans but releases me. “For the good of the cause, I’ll wait to undress you until later.”

  I’m smiling an hour later when I claim my desk for the day, and quickly call my mother. “Mother,” I greet when she answers.

  “Daughter,” she replies.

  I smile at the formality of our little game we play often on the phone. “Will you make me your famous pot pie tonight?”

  She laughs. “You want me to slave in the kitchen for you, do you?”

  “Yep. That’s what I want.”

  “Are you bringing that handsome man of yours?”

  “Actually, I am. And so I don’t forget to tell you, we’re going to New York a few days before Halloween.”

  “We’re? As in you and Dash?”

  “Yes. As in me and Dash mom.”

  “You two are getting quite close it seems.”

  “Well, yes. I guess on that note, I should tell you that I moved in with him.”

  “What?” she says. “You did—you—wow. Does this mean you’re staying in Nashville?”

  “I’m trying not to overthink it.”

  “January is soon, honey. I’m not sure that’s overthinking.”

  “I have at least a month to six weeks before I have to make a big decision.”

  “I’m pretty sure you already did. You moved in with him. That’s already a big decision.”

  “You don’t approve?”

  “Oh, I like that young man. So does your stepfather. Just be careful. The heart can be a delicate flower, and he’s a high-profile, famous man. I won’t judge all by one, but I certainly got burned by someone of that caliber.”

  “He’s not like him,” I promise her, a knot forming in my belly just thinking of how badly my father hurt her.

  “No,” she agrees. “I don’t believe he is, but both of you need to earn each other’s trust.”

  “Wise advice from a wise woman.”