Fixed on You (18 page)

He let out a brief laugh, as if
he recognized his own vulnerability and it amused him or confounded him. “I’m
drawn to you, Alayna. Not because I want to hurt you or make you feel a certain
way, but because you’re beautiful and sexy and smart and, yes, a little crazy,
maybe, but you’re not broken. And that makes me hopeful.
For me
.”

I let out a shaky breath. God
help me, I wanted to reach out to him. I wanted to comfort him, knowing his
words about me said more about himself than any he’d ever spoken.

I didn’t move, though, still not
willing to break the moment. Even my tears had stilled, as if they’d interrupt.

“And maybe I’ve been a bully. But
I’m a dominant person. I can try to change things about me, but the
fundamentals of my personality are never going away.” His voice lowered
further. “You of all people should be able to understand that.”

He had me earlier. Probably back
when he’d insisted he didn’t want to be whatever with me, but for sure when
he’d inferred he was broken, and that I was not. And if none of that had
reached me, his last statement would have. I
did
understand him. More
than I had ever thought possible. What it felt like to be a certain way and to
loathe myself for it. How difficult it was to change and learn to accept the
parts of me that were fundamentally never going to change. And what it did to
me to believe I was incapable of falling in love the way normal people do.

I knew what it felt like to be
that person.

“I’m sorry.” It came out as a
choked whisper so I repeated it. “I’m sorry. You didn’t judge me and I judged
you.”

He nodded once and I knew that
was his way of accepting my apology.

“And I exaggerated when I called
you a bully. I haven’t done anything I didn’t want to. And your whole
confident, domineering thing is actually kinda hot.”

He almost smiled, but squeezed
his eyes shut as if trying to reign in his emotions. When he opened them again,
they were pleading. “Alayna, don’t quit. Don’t quit me.”

I looked away, knowing how easy
it would be to give in if I kept staring into those gray eyes. “Hudson, I have
to. Not because of this, well, not only because of this, but because of my past.
I’m not well enough to be with someone who has his own issues.”

Truthfully, I didn’t know if I
was well enough to be with anyone.

“You are, Alayna. You only tell
that to yourself because you’re scared.”

That drew me to face him. “I
should be scared. It’s not safe. For either of us. You should be scared, too.”

He let out a heavy breath. When
he spoke again, he was resigned, as if he didn’t expect his words to make a
difference yet he spoke them anyway. “I don’t believe that. I think spending
time with another person who has similar compulsive tendencies can provide
insight and healing.”

I leaned my head back against the
seat and stared at the car’s ceiling. I wanted to believe like he did—that we
could make each other better. But I couldn’t. All I’d witnessed and experienced
in my life around addicts told me otherwise. Besides, if he’d wanted me around
him to confide in and give some understanding, he should have told me his
secrets from the beginning. And he hadn’t.

As much as it pained me, I had to
break things off. I had to do the right thing once and for all.

But there were my own financial
woes. As irrelevant as money might have seemed at the moment, being able to
keep my job at the club had an enormous impact on my own mental well-being.              “I
won’t quit.” I turned to face him. “But I can’t have a relationship with you,
Hudson.” My throat felt tight, but I kept on. “All I can give you is the fake. I
have to protect myself here.” I should have ended all of it, but I didn’t have
the strength for that. This had to enough.

Hudson’s shoulders lowered
slightly. “I understand.” He nodded as if to reaffirm that he understood,
making me suspect that he didn’t understand at all but was accepting my
decision anyway. “Thank you.” He straightened, his poise returning, and I knew
that he was back to his regular confident self.

I had one more thing to say,
though. I leaned toward him, placing my hand firmly on his knee. “Hudson,
you’re not broken.”

His expression faltered briefly,
his eyes cast downward. When they rose again I saw them pass my exposed
cleavage. His brow rose. “What are you...? Is that...?”

I looked down to see what he saw.
The corset. Damn, I’d forgotten. A familiar tug of desire formed low in my
belly, followed by a more painful ache in my chest. “Yes. I’d worn it for you.”

He sighed. “Wow. That was…that
was very thoughtful of you.”

We still wanted each other, and
it would be so easy to let that want rule us.

But I was stronger than that. I
could be stronger than that. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. I am, too.” His eyes
lingered on mine for a moment, before he shifted gears entirely. “This may be
poor timing, but I need to get back to my mother’s show.”

“Sure.” 

“And since you’re supposed to be sick,
you will need to go home.”

I listened as he ordered Jordan
to drive toward my apartment.

“When is our next show, boss?” I
asked, half praying the answer was soon, knowing that the more time before I
saw him again, the better.

“I’m not sure. I have to fly to
Cincinnati tonight.” He pursed his lips. “And I am not your boss.”

“Cincinnati? Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight. I have a meeting
first thing in the morning. My jet’s leaving early evening.” A private jet. Of
course. “I’ll text you later to arrange the Hamptons. We’ll leave Friday
afternoon.”

“So you’ll be gone all week?” I
don’t know why I asked. It shouldn’t have mattered.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Oh.” He already felt distant,
like he’d already gone. I turned my head to hide the tears that were filling my
eyes.

The car pulled over to the side
of the road. I looked out the tinted window and saw we were in front of my
apartment. Jordan got out of the car, and shortly after, my door opened.

I didn’t want to get out. It felt
awkward and awful—my second sort-of-not-at-all break-up in a week. Why did this
one hurt so dang much?

Without looking back at Hudson, I
stepped out of the car.

“Alayna.” He called me just as I
stood fully. I pasted on a fake smile and ducked my head back in. “Thank you
for today. I think you’ve truly made an impression on my mother. Good work.”

I stayed at the curb until Jordan
had shut the door and gotten back into the car. A shiver ran through me,
despite the hot summer day. Wrapping my arms around myself, I headed up to the
small studio apartment that felt big for all the loneliness it held.

At my door I found a bag of gourmet
coffee and I dissolved into tears, completely melted by his gesture.
My
elastic band lie.
Hudson never missed a beat. I wracked my brain trying to
figure out when he had arranged to have it delivered, and realized it had to be
before the limo conversation. It was a sweet gesture. I wondered if he wished
he hadn’t done it now.

Whether he regretted it or not,
it gave me an excuse to reach out to him once more. I pulled out my phone and
typed a carefully thought out text. “
Thanks for the coffee. And for everything
else.
”

It was a goodbye to the great
whatever it was we’d had, fleeting as it was. I needed the closure. Maybe he
did, too.

I pushed send and had a moment of
panic, wondering if I’d done the right thing by ending our relationship,
wondering if I could undo it, praying that his response would show me he was
having the same doubts as I was.

But Hudson didn’t respond at all.

I stalked Hudson online again
that night.

Not because I felt I needed to
learn more about him, but because the distance between us felt so
overwhelmingly vast. It was a familiar feeling, one I’d felt with guys I’d
dated only to discover later, in therapy, that I’d been overreacting. But this
was different. We were apart for real, not only in my psycho head. And I
couldn’t bear it. I had to get closer to him in whatever way I could, even if
it was only via the Internet.

There were already new blog posts
and news feeds from the fashion show. The event had great reviews, and more
money had been raised than projected. I flicked through the pictures of models,
a little wistful that I had missed that part of the day. And there were
pictures of me with Hudson, kissing outside the limo when we were on our way
in. I stared at those the longest, saving one particularly close shot as my
wallpaper desktop.

Most of my stalking, however, was
on Pierce Industries and its business ties in Cincinnati. I searched way longer
than I should have, trying to deduce if Hudson really was going there, and
finding nothing helpful. Did he really have business or did he just want distance?

It shouldn’t have mattered. Our
next assignment wasn’t until Friday. But the need to know ate at me, consuming
my mind until I’d spent hours exhausting every avenue of research I could think
of.  

At least I stopped myself at
online stalking and checking my phone over and over for a response from him. I
didn’t call the airport to see if a Pierce Industries jet had taken off—that
wouldn’t have been healthy behavior.

Besides, I had no idea what
airport.

***

I awoke the next afternoon with a
knot in my chest. My muscles felt jittery even before I’d had any coffee. They
were my usual anxiety symptoms, but I couldn’t say for sure what had caused the
attack. Worry about my meeting with David? Or stress about Hudson?

In an attempt to relax, I popped
in a yoga DVD before I had to get ready to leave. The narrowed focus and
rhythmic breathing loosened me for the most part, but the edge still lingered.

I spent longer than usual
prettying up for my meeting at the club. Not for David, but for myself.
Sometimes looking good made me feel good, and I was willing to try every trick
in the book to get rid of the tension. But no matter what I did, the anxiety
remained, buzzing through my veins with a steady electric current.

It was simply nerves about the
promotion, I told myself. I’d feel better after meeting with David.

As I was on my way out the door,
I got an incoming text. I checked it eagerly. But it wasn’t from Hudson. It was
from David.

“
Something’s come up,”
it
said. “
Reschedule for Wednesday at 7.”

Then I knew. That the stressing
had nothing to do with David, because moving our meeting did nothing to change
the way I felt. I should have felt relief, or a spike in the tension since it
would have to be dragged out two more days. Also, I should have wondered about
what had come up. David and I were close enough that he’d tell me. But I had no
desire to ask.

Hudson.
It was Hudson that
kept coming to mind. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he thinking of me?

I texted back a confirmation to
David and paced my apartment, trying to decide the best way to get my ex-lover
off the brain. I needed to catch a group. Checking online, I made sure there
was still an Addicts Anonymous session scheduled on Monday afternoons. There
was, but I had plenty of time before the session started.

I could run. With Jordan driving
me around so much, a bit of aerobic activity would be good for me. I changed
into shorts and a tank top, put on my running shoes and started out.

The run helped clear my head, the
endorphins flowing through my body making me feel better and more confident.
And invincible. Which was why when I found my route had led me to the Pierce
Industries building, I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t a
big deal to be there. Especially since I only went inside to use the bathroom
in the lobby before resuming my run.

I felt so good from the exercise
that I decided to skip therapy all together and keep on with my run for a while
longer, continuing to the Lincoln tunnel before turning around. I passed the Pierce
Industries building again on my way back. And since I knew there was a drinking
fountain inside, I went in again, this time lingering a bit in the lobby,
scoping out the elevators looking for some sign of Hudson in the building. I
managed to make myself leave before I slipped into a car and pushed the button
for the top floor.

The next day I didn’t possess as
much strength.

Not only did I return to the
building three times, but each time I rode the elevator. I told myself it
couldn’t be called stalking exactly, because Hudson was out of town—though I
had yet to accept that as truth—and because I never actually pushed the button
for Hudson’s floor. Instead, I let fate take me wherever, journeying with whoever
stepped on to whatever floor they were going to, then forcing myself to return
back to the lobby. It felt like elevator roulette—if the car took me to the top
floor, then I was meant to stop by Hudson’s office. But each time, I missed the
bullet, the other passengers never choosing his floor.

Until Wednesday.

Even though my shift the night
before had gotten me home at almost six in the morning, I was awake and back at
the Pierce building before one that afternoon. My first ride took me only to
the fifth floor. When the passenger stepped out and the doors closed, I leaned
against the back of the car and sighed, knowing the car would return to the
lobby if I didn’t push a button.

But instead of going down, the
car went up. Someone must have summoned it from a floor above. I held my breath
as I watched the needle rise higher and higher. Then it stopped on the top
floor. Not the secret top floor that required a code and would take me to the
loft, but to the floor that Hudson’s office was located on. I braced myself for
what I’d see when the doors opened, hoping I’d learn something by peeking
around whoever stepped into the car with me.