Because I Can Page 13

  “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “I’ll make your pot pie. Bring him on over here. I’m going to inspect him with a keener eye this time. Feel free to warn him. Be here at six.”

  I’m laughing when we hang up. I’m happy, I realize. I’ve been challenged, engaged, motivated, angry, inspired, and the list goes on, but I don’t remember the last time I was happy. I reach inside my desk where I’ve stashed the journal and pick it up, thinking about how many times and ways I’ve compared myself to Allison. I’ve been curious why she would leave a dream job, but I suddenly understand. It’s about a bigger picture, about where you feel you are and where you belong. Anyone looking in on me would wonder why I would leave Riptide. The answer is happiness. The people we love are the sunshine on even the rainiest day. We need them. They are bonds that hold us together in the stormiest of days.

  I wonder if anywhere in the writing on these pages, Allison ever said she was happy. I slide the journal back into my purse without looking at it. I already know the answer. She wasn’t happy. And right now, I really want to believe she chose to leave to find her sunshine.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  It’s five-thirty when Dash calls my phone. “I’m in the parking garage.”

  “I’m coming right down,” I say and I waste no time doing just that.

  I step off the elevator expecting him and his M4 to greet me. Instead, Dash is leaning on a burgundy car I’ve never seen, one booted foot over the other. It’s Dash I’m focused on though and not the car. How can I not notice him first? He’s in faded jeans, a brown sweater, and a brown leather jacket and he is sin and hot sex in bakery bathrooms.

  I close the space between us and he pushes off the car, pulling me close, and kissing me. “This is why I went shopping. I get to look at you in all the new clothes.”

  “You, Mr. Black, know all the right things to say. I guess that’s why you’re a writer.”

  “Depends on which critic you ask, baby. Some say I should have stuck to the FBI.” He holds up a key. “Your car.”

  “You didn’t have to rent me a car. It is a rental, right?”

  “Something like that,” he says, noncommittally. “Check it out.” He grabs my bag and I bring the car fully into focus. “It’s a BMW. That’s an expensive rental, Dash.”

  “I have a thing for BMW,” he says. “A bit like you do Chanel.”

  “It’s beautiful, but how much is this costing?”

  “That means the dealership likes me. A lot. I worked out a deal. You drive us to your mom’s. Make sure you like it.”

  “I already love it. It’s gorgeous,” I say. “And the color is very me.” I push to my toes and kiss his cheek. “I’d tell you it’s too much, but I know how you’d reply.” I soften my voice. “Thank you.”

  “Anything for you, cupcake.” He gives me one of his most charming smiles and opens the driver’s door for me.

  It’s right then that Tyler steps off the elevator and walks right for us, or rather, Dash. Tyler stops right in front of him. “I hear Ghost is going to a streaming service.”

  “We’ll see,” Dash replies. “Negotiations are ongoing.”

  “They want you. They’ll pay what it takes. You’re about to be an even richer man than you already are.” He eyes me. “Don’t get lost in the fireworks, Ms. Wright.” With that, he steps around us and heads to his car.

  In other words, don’t lose my identity. “What did that mean?” Dash asks, facing me now, and me him.

  “He warned me about you. He said you have demons.”

  “And you said?”

  “Now they’re my demons, too.”

  He catches the top of the open door with his hand. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing, Allie. Maybe that makes me a selfish fuck.”

  I press my hand to his cheek, his light brown, one-day stubble, teasing my palm. “No. It makes you human. And I love that about you.”

  It’s as close to telling him I love him as I’ve come. If he notices, he doesn’t show it. He covers my hands with his and kisses my knuckles. “Climb in, baby. We need to get to your mom’s.”

  It’s not what he wants to say to me. I feel that. But I don’t know that right here, in the Hawk Legal parking lot, he can say much more. I slide into the leather seat, and then to my surprise, Dash kneels beside me. “One day you’re going to leave me. And just know this, I don’t want you to leave, Allie.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but already he’s standing, and shutting me inside the car. He slides in beside me and says, “Rev her up and let’s see how she drives.”

  Obviously, he doesn’t want to talk about why I might leave him. He wants me to let this go. And so, I do. For now. I let it go. But I’m not letting him go. I’ve learned something about Dash tonight, something I already knew but let myself forget. He goes and encourages people to beat him up in the ring because he hates himself. And I don’t know why. Not yet. And I don’t think he wants me to know why.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  My mother greets us at the door and we’ve barely stepped into the hallway when she flings her arms around Dash. “Thank you. I know what you did, Dash Black. Thank you.” And then she bursts into tears. “You have no idea the pressure we were feeling and I didn’t want to tell Allie. I didn’t want to worry her.” She looks up at Dash with absolute gratitude beaming from her eyes. “And don’t tell me it wasn’t you. The only other person in my life with money is my ex, and he would never help me.”

  “Well, I will,” Dash promises her. “Always.”

  “I can’t believe he did this,” my mother says, hugging me now. “How did he know?”

  Dash and my stepfather have moved down the hallway now toward the kitchen. “He saw some bills when he was here. He did this for you before he told me. And he didn’t want the credit. He just wanted to help.”

  “My God, Allie. I’ve never known someone so generous and kind.”

  “Funny, but that’s not how he sees himself at all.”

  “Well, then he needs you to change that. You know that, right?”

  “Yes, Mom. I do. Very much.”

  We join the men in the kitchen, and Dash slides an arm around me. For the next hour, we laugh and chat, and my mother goes nuts over Dash’s TV news. “What about Henry Cavill as Ghost?” she suggests.

  “She wants Henry Cavill to be in everything,” my stepfather says dryly.

  “And you want Kate Beckinsale.”

  Dash and I laugh at their exchange, and he good-naturedly plays along with their casting suggestions.

  It’s a good evening and when Dash and I step outside, I want more than anything to tell him how much I love him. But I don’t want him to think it’s an emotional response to my mother’s emotional response. So I don’t tell him. Not now.

  “Can you drive?” I ask.

  “Of course,” he says, walking me to the passenger side of the car.

  He opens my door and I step into him. “She says you’re the most generous, kind person she’s ever known.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “That you don’t see yourself that way.”

  “How do you think I see myself, Allie?”

  “Broken like me.”

  There is something jagged and dark that flickers in his eyes. “Broken, but not like you. Let’s go home.”

  I climb inside the car, and I know that all of his broken pieces, and mine, too, want to cut us. I don’t want to let that happen. I just don’t know if it can be stopped. It’s as if we’re glued together, perhaps by each other, but it’s only so long until we shatter.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The next few days, Dash and I start forming little habits together. When we workout, who makes the coffee—me, usually—and a meetup for lunch, which for now, is at the bookstore, which seems to be his best writing location. Meanwhile, I start feeling like the auction is coming together. It’s on the evening before Dash and I leave for New York, that I step onto the elevator to find myself alone with Tyler’
s father.

  “Mr. Hawk,” I say, surprised to find him here and I don’t know why. He’s the center of everything here at Hawk Legal. “How are you?” I ask, out of a lack of any more brilliant conversation piece.

  “Jack,” he corrects, turning to face me as I follow his lead and do the same of him.

  That’s when I really look at him, his piercing gray eyes intimidatingly observant. Not to mention, it really is astounding how much he looks like Tyler—tall, athletic, and good-looking, though there is something about Hawk senior that is calculating in a way I do not read from Tyler. Hence the intimidating observant eyes.

  “Jack,” I amend.

  “Better,” he approves. “And as to the question, how am I? I’m quite wonderful, thank you. How are you? I hear you’re making us look good with this charity auction.”

  He’s heard. From Tyler, I assume, which is curious. The two of them don’t exactly get along, so I wonder how any conversation between them goes anyplace but badly. “I’m certainly trying,” I say. “I’m headed to New York to coordinate the appraisals of the auction items tomorrow actually.”

  “At Riptide, correct? Isn’t that where you worked before joining us?”

  “Technically,” I say, “I still do. I’m on leave until January.”

  “In other words,” he observes, “my son hasn’t convinced you to stay as of yet.”

  “Not exactly,” I say. “It’s complicated.”

  The elevator opens and he motions me forward. We now have the awkward walk to the garage elevator. Together. This encounter just won’t end and as if proving that point, the minute we’re in the second elevator, Jack is facing me again. “Define complicated.”

  “I never intended to stay,” I reply, “and now the question of staying or going, becomes, as I said, complicated.”

  “Ah,” he says. “Complicated is personal. I understand.”

  The doors open and I all but bolt into the garage, eager to escape to my car, but he’s not having it. He steps into my space and pauses beside me. “Perhaps I can make it less complicated, Allie. We’ll talk when you get back from New York.”

  He gives me a warm look, almost too warm, though I feel as if Jack Hawk flirts with the world, it’s just his way before he walks toward what I believe to be a Jaguar. Once I’m in my car, I replay the conversation. What exactly does that mean? He’s going to make it less complicated?

  And why does it make me uncomfortable?

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Dash books us in first class for the long flight to New York City, and does so with the hopes he can get in some good quality writing time. It’s mid-day when we settle into our seats and I’m a bit emotional about the trip.

  The flight attendant offers us drinks and Dash orders some sort of whiskey while I welcome a glass of champagne.

  “You’re nervous,” Dash observes.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m observant like that. Talk to me. What are you feeling?”

  “Excited for your signing. Nervous about dealing with my boss.”

  “Why nervous?”

  “Well, if you knew Mark Compton, you’d understand that he creates that in everyone. But bottom line, he’s going to pressure me about my loyalty to Riptide over Hawk Legal.”

  “And where does it lie?”

  With you, and my mother, I think, but also to the job I’m tasked with performing. “To the charity,” I say. “I’m passionate about what I’m doing with it. I want it to be wildly successful.”

  “I’m glad you are,” he says, and it feels as if he’s talking about more than my commitment to the charity. Almost as if he knows that commitment is part of my commitment to him.

  “Didn’t you say you’ve traveled with your job?” he asks.

  “I went to Germany, London, and Italy, and a couple of different states, all for publishing events.”

  “And you liked those places?”

  “Italy and Germany quite a lot. I didn’t get to see much of London. The event was just too far from the tourist sites.”

  “London is a lot like New York City, familiar in a way you don’t expect. Did you ever travel with your father?”

  “No,” I say. “He was literally gone my entire childhood. My understanding is he left my mom behind when he went on the road. It made it easier to play around on her. When I first got the job in publishing, she was jealous. Books and travel were as much her dream job as mine.”

  “Good thing you like both considering books and travel are my life. I’m pretty sure we can find some ways to turn her into an adventurer.”

  “Dash,” I whisper, my heart squeezing with his words that suggest we are so much more than a three-month playdate. His eyes meet mine, tenderness in their depths, as he lifts my hand and kisses it.

  The moment is cut short when the intercom sounds and announcements are made, forcing us to prepare for takeoff. “You need to write,” I say. “We both know you’re going to get pressured about that book in New York.”

  “Yeah. You have no idea, baby. But yes, I’m going to write.”

  We settle back into our seats, and I rest my head on the cushion. I’m going to New York with Dash, which in and of itself, is really quite surreal. But even more so how I feel about my return to the city. It’s hard to believe that the city of lights, action, and magic that it had once been to me, is more a muted story that feels overdone.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  After a flight delay and dinner in the airport, we arrive at the Jersey airport at eight that night. By the time we’re in Manhattan, it’s after nine. By the time we’re in the fancy presidential suite of a high-rise hotel, we’re halfway to ten. The bellman escorts us to our room, and while Dash talks to him, I take in the room of blues and creams that includes a living area kitchen combo, and a full dining table. Of course, there are windows. Lots of windows, with the kind of views that only the rich and famous enjoy in this city.

  Dash’s money and power, as well as his fame, is everywhere, much like my father’s money, power, and fame. Perhaps that should scare me, sending me running all over again. But it doesn’t. Those things don’t define Dash’s character as anything close to my father’s. Dash is a man who can be confident but not arrogant, blessed and therefore generous, gifted, and yet humble. My father is his polar opposite.

  The door shuts behind me and when I would rave about how pretty it is here, Dash is pulling me into his arms, folding me close, his hand on the back of my head. “In case I haven’t told you, I’m glad you’re here with me, Allie.” His mouth closes down on mine and with what I can only call a wicked sweet heat that sweeps over us, and consumes the very air around us.

  He scoops my backside and lifts me, my legs wrapping his waist as he carries me to the living area, and sets me down in front of the couch.

  We undress each other then, no words spoken, but there is a tenderness between us that I have never quite felt before, a shift, a growing intimacy. And when he sits down and pulls me on top of him, straddling his hips, when he’s inside me, pressed deeply, I know that we are making love, perhaps really making love for the first time ever. I ride him with a slow sway of my hips, and his eyes and hands are somehow hungry, and yet, there is a tenderness to every moment we share. And when I collapse on top of him, my face buried in his neck, my breasts pressed to his chest, I don’t want to move. I want to stay just like this for the rest of the night. And I know now that Dash and I are not two ships passing in the night. We are two ships sailing together, navigating stormy waters, but finding the calm with each other.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The next morning, I dress in a multi-toned, form-fitting pencil skirt and a silk blouse while Dash is the cool, confident writer in jeans, boots, and a sleek, tan leather jacket. And he makes it work. He owns the look. He owns the room. He owns me, I think. Most definitely me. Once we step outside the hotel into a biting wind, I decide Nashville, even during an unusual cold spell, is not even close to this b
itter. Dash and the driver escort me to Riptide, where Dash walks me to the door. “I’ll only be a few hours. Then I’ll come and get you?”

  “Yes. Perfect. I don’t need more than a few hours.”

  His fingers close around my waist, under the Burberry trenchcoat I’m wearing, and he walks me to him. “You look beautiful today.”

  My cheeks heat despite the cold wind. “Thank you,” I say softly.

  “I’ll show you how beautiful in a few hours.”

  With that promise, he kisses me and opens the door to Riptide. I hurry inside and I’m greeted first by the security guard, and then by the receptionist. Many other greetings follow, but my path is a straight shot to Mark’s office. I stop at his door and knock, peeking inside. He sits behind his desk, a combination of good looks and absolute control of all things around him, that no one would deny. He’s present. He owns the room.

  He motions me forward and I claim the seat in front of his desk. “You’re glowing, Ms. Wright. Nashville has done right by you. Why do I believe that means you are not going to do right by me?”

  “I would never do wrong by you, Mark.”

  “Leaving is doing wrong by me.”

  “Nothing has changed as of now. I’ll be back in January.”

  He arches a brow. “As of now?”

  “It’s hard to leave my mother, but she’s healthy now. There’s no reason I should hang on so tightly. How is your mother?”

  “She’s a fighter,” he says tightly, offering nothing more. But of course, he wouldn’t. This is, after all, the stoic, Mr. Compton.

  “If she would like to talk to my mother, another cancer survivor, and a nurse, I can connect them.”

  His expression, even his shoulders, visibly soften in an unfamiliar way, for such a hard man, his mother’s illness continuing to offer just a hint of something gentler beneath his surface. “Yes. I do believe she could use an ear and voice from someone who understands what she’d gone through.”

  “Of course. I love your mom. And my mom. I think they will connect in a positive way. I’ll make it happen.”